Jab and Jog: How a Needle in the Belly Might Just Save the NHS (and Your Trousers)
Geiger on weight-loss jabs, economic salvation, and the curious hypocrisy of the wellness-shy
So apparently, injecting yourself in the gut once a week is now the new national hobby. Forget diet clubs, personal trainers or doing anything remotely sweaty… because the miracle drug of the moment, Ozempic, is here. A jab so powerful it not only melts your waistline but also, according to economists, saves the NHS money and single-handedly boosts the economy by £5 billion a year. Which, let’s be honest, is about the same amount the NHS loses annually in paperwork and biscuits.
Now, let me just say: I lost weight the old-fashioned way. You know, the boring way. I ate less. I moved more. I stopped treating cheese as a food group and remembered that stairs exist. It wasn’t glamorous, it wasn’t fast, and nobody applauded. But it worked.
Which is why I can’t help but raise a slightly judgemental eyebrow at the people who once refused the Covid vaccine because it had “only been tested on 400 million people,” but are now merrily injecting themselves with Ozempic because it promises to make them thin enough to sit in a Ryanair seat without causing turbulence.
I mean really. The same people who said, “No way am I putting that untested government poison in my body” are now sprinting, well wobbling, towards the nearest pharmacy to score an appetite suppressant so strong it makes cake look like gravel.
But I’ll be honest, I’ve changed my mind, I’m not against it.
Because if this weirdly effective injectable science goo keeps people out of hospital, gets them off the sofa and back into the workforce and stops the NHS haemorrhaging money like a poorly packed colostomy bag, then frankly, jab away. Stick it in every spare love handle you can find. Because right now, the NHS isn’t just on its knees… it’s flat on its back, clutching its chest and whispering, “Tell my spreadsheets I love them.”
According to the experts, these GLP-1 agonists, known by their delightfully sci-fi names like Ozempic and Wegovy, can help reduce sick days, boost unpaid productivity (whatever that is), and get people back into employment. Which is marvellous. I’ve always thought we need more people volunteering, gardening, or doing literally anything other than sitting in loungewear Googling “healthy crisps.”
Even the Chancellor’s getting involved, rubbing her hands together and imagining a magical Britain where everyone’s slender, employed and capable of walking up stairs without gasping like a Victorian chimney sweep.
But… and it’s a big but… literally and metaphorically… this is also a country where four million people qualify for these drugs. Four million! That’s the equivalent of everyone in Wales deciding they’ve had enough of pies and signing up for a weekly jab instead.
And this is where I become slightly uneasy. Because while I’m all for medical innovation, this sudden rush to medicalise weight loss feels a bit like using a flamethrower to light a candle. Especially when a lot of the obesity crisis could be solved with two revolutionary ideas: stop eating so much, and go for a walk.
Still, let’s not be grumpy about it. If the choice is between giving people a drug that actually works, or continuing to watch the NHS drown under a tsunami of diabetes, joint replacements and mobility scooters doing 4mph in Lidl, then frankly fire up the syringes.
And if we can now deliver these wonder-jabs via an app? Even better. Because if there’s one thing Brits love more than a shortcut, it’s a shortcut that comes with a notification and doesn’t involve having to speak to anyone.
So in my convoluted conclusion, yes, the hypocrisy is real. Yes, it’s slightly mad that the same people who wouldn’t touch a Covid jab now want to inject themselves into a smaller trouser size. But if it works? If it genuinely saves money, saves lives and lets the NHS focus on things like cancer and heart attacks instead of creaking knees and breathless stair-climbing?
Then fine. Jab on, Britain. Just try not to moan when the side effects include being able to see your feet again.
###
Chris Geiger, Author of The Cancer Survivors Club.
Daily Dose of Disbelief!
Bsky: @chrisgeiger.com
Bsky: @thecancersurvivorsclub.com
Bsky: @dailydoseofdisbelief.com
----