Wegovy, Ozempic and Ramadan: Eating Less

During the first week of my fasting the Muslim holy month of Ramadan, hoping to lose the usual five pounds of weight, London- based “The Economist” published a leading article about international drug companies competing in making and selling newly-invented weight-loss drugs.

Surprised by the expected profits those companies were going to make (“By the end of the decade, annual sales of obesity medicines could hit $80bn”), I was saddened by the high cost of those drugs (“And with a list price of almost $16,000 a year, those treatments are not cheap”).

There have been reports about the rich and the famous dropping hundreds of pounds of weight after using those drugs: Elon Musk, one of the richest men in the world, admitted a drug helped him shed weigh; Kim Kardashian, the reality TV star, lost enough weight to be able to wear a dress that belonged to late actress Marilyn Monroe; and endless TikTok’s videos showed women before and after using the drug.

I will stick with Ramadan — if for no other reason, because eating less saves money spent on food.

At the end of last Ramadan, I visited my doctor, and she was as glad as I was to know that my blood-sugar and blood-pressure went way down — and I lost those five pounds.

She, usually a reserved old lady, joked that I might want to continue fasting. She avoided answering my questions about the role of religion, saying: “Religion is between you and your god; medicine is between you and me.” She repeated: “Just eat less.”

This Ramadan, I wake-up at about 5 o’clock in the morning to eat “sahoor” (from the Arabic “sahr”, the part of the night before dawn).

In Washington, this time of the year, sun-rise is about 7:25, and sun-set is about 7:15. Because the “sahoor” is about two hours before sunrise, I fast for about 13 hours. This is better than when Ramadan comes in mid-summer, when sun-rise is about 6:00 and sun-set is about 8:30. With “sahoor” at about 4:00, and I fast for nearly 16 hours.

At “iftar” (evening breakfast), I am usually satisfied with a hot clear chicken soup. Later, I might eat something light, like cheese and fruits. Going to bed, I feel a little hungry, but I think of the big “sahoor,” when I will wake-up.

Fearing hunger during the day, I eat a lot of meat, also vegetables, a cup of coffee and a chocolate dessert. I write this with humility, as I follow the news of famines and wars, with accompanying hunger and suffering, in different parts of the world.

Many years ago, I took classes — and, being a journalist, wrote articles, reviewed books, and conducted interviews — about mindfulness (focusing one’s awareness when doing things). But I haven’t been able to master it; during Ramadan I do better. I feel a clearer mind, more creativity, more at ease with myself, and becoming quieter and slower.

I am puzzled by my ability to drastically change my year-long eating habits, and about my appetite, whether suppressing it is a conscious decision, or there are other unknown reasons.

This brings me back to the newly-invented weight-loss drugs.

Two popular ones, Wegovy and Ozempic, are manufactured by Novo Nordisk, a Danish company. In its website, it explains how a drug could work with brain signals that “are called appetite hormones that help regulate how much food you eat. Wegovy works similarly to one of these natural appetite hormones, so you eat fewer calories and lose weight.”

The company lists some of the side-effects: “thyroid tumors, including cancer“; “inflammation of your pancreas”; and “depression or thoughts of suicide.”

Not that Wegovy is the only drug with such side-effects, but it has more unappealing factors: Costing about $16,000 per year; being injected under the skin once a week, so as not to regain the lost weight, implying taking it for life; and that “forced” appetite-suppression.

But many reports were published about Americans feeling glad — and noticed positive changes in their lives — for taking those drugs. Last year, NBC television quoted a woman on Wegovy saying: “Something in my head says: ‘You’ve had enough (wine). Stop.’”

But, in January, “USA Today” quoted a fitness expert saying: “For how long? … We know you will reach a plateau on this drug.”

Finally, right after the end of Ramadan, I am going to again see my doctor; my blood-sugar and blood-pressure have already dropped way down, and I hope that I will lose those five pounds.

I am planning to ask her about the differences between fasting Ramadan and taking Wegovy or Ozempic. But, most probably, she will avoid talking about religion, and repeat her mantra: “Just eat less.”

I might tell her that I am planning to fast a week in January, after Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New Year celebrations. It will be non-religious, and only to lose weight. I already have doubts: Will I be as dedicated? Will I feel some full-mindedness? Will I be angry for “forcing” myself? Questions that might had been asked by people who opted for weight-loss drugs.

Whatever the results would be, my doctor and I might contribute to the historical debate about religion and medicine — and I will, again, save the money that I would have spent on Wegovy and Ozempic.

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