Brace Yourself — The Weight-Loss Jab Fad Might Just Give You Cancer. Who Knew?
Who Needs Willpower When You’ve Got Lab-Grown Chemicals — Oh Wait, Maybe You Do!
So there I was, halfway through bashing out yet another column about how the nation now trusts a magic syringe more than its own backbone to lose a few pounds, when I made the rookie mistake of peeking at the news. There it was: “Cancer Concerns Spark Caution Over Weight-Loss Injections.” (See Article) Well butter my backside and call me Mystic Meg; who could possibly have predicted that pumping ourselves full of lab-grown chemicals to dodge a salad might come with a tiny asterisk that says might cause cancer?
Honestly, this country, really? We trust a weekly jab of something invented last Tuesday more than we trust our own mouths to stay shut at the buffet. Brace yourself, because this is exactly what I’ve been ranting about since the first chubby backside lined up for an Ozempic prescription; there is no shortcut that doesn’t come with a barbed hook attached.
Now, before the wellness lobby spams my inbox with photos of their ‘before and after’ belly folds, let me be clear. I understand some people genuinely need these drugs, or gastric bands come to that. For those drowning in weight-related illness, fair play; this solution can be a lifeline. But the rest of you, the healthy but lazy folk who’d rather jab yourselves than jog to the corner shop? You’re signing up for a chemical lottery, hoping to slim down quicker than your willpower can say Victoria sponge.
It’s the same grim fairytale every time. We spent decades slathering ourselves in sun cream that turned out to contain carcinogens. We sprayed aerosol deodorant into our armpits until the ozone layer waved a white flag. We ate low-fat ‘diet’ cheese that had the nutritional value of a bath mat. Now we’re mainlining gut-wrenching injections because we’re too bone idle to bin the biscuits.
So yes, before you get all squeaky on social media, I get it, losing weight is hard. But so is chemotherapy. So is thyroid surgery. So is explaining to your kids why you now glow faintly in the dark because you played human pin-cushion with the latest pharmaceutical miracle.
Some people reading this will point to studies showing these injections might even reduce some cancers by lowering inflammation and tweaking hormone levels. Lovely theory. So was smoking filtered cigarettes; until everyone found out the only thing the filter did was slow down your funeral by about twenty minutes.
Yet here we are again. The soon-to-close-due-to-lack-of-funds Macmillan helplines are lighting up with worried patients who now can’t tell if their weight-loss shot will clash with their cancer meds. Imagine that for a second. You’re fighting the biggest battle of your life and at the same time rolling the dice on a chemical shortcut you didn’t actually need. It’s like skydiving while juggling chainsaws just because you wanted to feel ‘a bit lighter for holiday photos’.
I’m convinced half of Britain would cheerfully volunteer to inject dishwasher fluid if you promised it would shrink their muffin tops by August Bank Holiday. Meanwhile, the poor NHS, battered, bruised and captained by Wes Streeting’s clueless grin; is expected to bankroll this circus, while ministers who wouldn’t recognise a healthy lifestyle if it danced naked on their lawn keep waffling about ‘innovation
I know, I know, it’s boring when I say the answer is what it’s always been. Eat less. Move more. Drink water that doesn’t fizz. Walk somewhere that isn’t the fridge. You never see fat starving people in Africa. You don’t see Maasai tribes queuing up for a GLP-1 prescription before they trot off to chase a goat for lunch. They eat less because they have less. We have plenty and still whine about it while deep-throating takeaway kebabs at 2 a.m.
So here it is yet again, written slowly for the back row, there is no jab, no tablet, no ‘miracle peptide’ that can outwit a doughnut. I hope I’m wrong about these cancer warnings. I hope none of you sprout an unexpected lump because you fancied skipping leg day forever. But I won’t hold my breath.
If you’re genuinely serious about dropping a belt notch, do what I did. Shut your mouth more often than you open the fridge. Pick up your feet and shuffle round the block. It’s unglamorous. It’s slow. It’s effective. And most importantly, it doesn’t come with a helpful leaflet titled Possible Side Effects: Sudden Death, Spontaneous Vomiting, or Unwanted Tumours.
Now excuse me while I brew a sensible cup of tea… free of chemicals, calorie-free, no prescription required. For heaven’s sake, let’s all try keeping the needles in the medical cupboard and the crisps in the bin for a change.
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Chris Geiger, Author of The Cancer Survivors Club.
Daily Dose of Disbelief!
Bsky: @chrisgeiger.com
Bsky: @thecancersurvivorsclub.com
Bsky: @dailydoseofdisbelief.com
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