"Have you tried eating less and exercising more?"

I sat there in that examination room, staring at my lab results showing prediabetes and elevated blood pressure, and that's all my doctor had to offer me.

I wanted to scream. Of course I had tried eating less. I'd tried everything for the past fifteen years.

Weight Watchers. Keto. Intermittent fasting. Personal trainers I couldn't afford. Meal prep services that left me hungry and cranky.

But sitting there, being told once again that my weight was simply a matter of willpower, I felt smaller than I ever had.

Not physically – I was actually at my heaviest at 51 years old. But emotionally, I felt invisible. Dismissed!

Like my years of struggle didn't matter.

I was done trying.

When even GLP-1 medications became another disappointment

About six months later, I finally decided to try what everyone was talking about: those new GLP-1 weight loss medications.

My prediabetes was getting worse. My knees ached climbing stairs.

I was tired all the time. I knew I was running out of time to change things before they got really serious.

I'd heard the success stories, seen the before-and-after photos on social media. Even my own doctor had mentioned them as an option.

So I found an online clinic and was prescribed compounded semaglutide.

And you know what? It actually worked!

For the first time in decades, I wasn't constantly thinking about food.

That constant mental chatter about what to eat, when to eat, whether I should eat finally went quiet.

I lost 23 pounds. But then something happened that made my heart sink: my monthly bill increased by over 60% in just a few months.

"Your dose increased, so your cost increases too," the clinic coordinator told me matter-of-factly when I called to ask about the surprise charge.

When I developed nausea and asked for guidance, I was told to "drink more water."

When I asked about meal planning or how to manage my portions now that my appetite had changed, I was directed to generic handouts.

I felt like I was just another credit card number to them, not a person struggling with a real medical condition!

The breaking point

By month five, my costs kept climbing with each dose increase.

The nausea was getting worse, and I had no idea if what I was experiencing was normal or dangerous.

But the worst part? I was terrified to stop.

I'd already regained 8 pounds when I couldn't afford the medication.

The constant hunger was returning.

The thought of going back to where I started was unbearable.

That's when my coworker Lisa told me about Remmy.

The conversation that changed everything

Lisa had been struggling with weight for years too, especially after her hysterectomy when her hormones went haywire.

She'd tried the same big-name telehealth clinics I had.

"But Remmy was completely different," she told me. "From the very first call, they talked to me like I was an actual person."

She explained how her Remmy doctor spent 45 minutes on their initial consultation – not rushing through a checklist, but actually listening to her story.

How they explained that obesity isn't a character flaw, but a complex medical condition involving hormones, metabolism, and brain chemistry.

"For the first time, someone understood that I wasn't weak or lazy," Lisa said.

"I had a medical condition that needed medical treatment."

What really caught my attention was when she mentioned their pricing: one flat monthly rate that doesn't change when your dose goes up.

"Wait, what?" I said.

"That's not how any of this works."

"That's exactly what I said," Lisa laughed.

But they believe healthcare should be transparent and fair…

So no surprise bills. No dose-hike price increases. Just honest, upfront pricing.

Here's what made Remmy different from every other program I'd tried:

Six months with Remmy, and I'm down 34 pounds. But honestly, the number on the scale isn't even the most important change.

My labs improved, and my doctor was happy with the changes. I had more energy, felt healthier overall, and noticed improvements in my day-to-day wellbeing.*

But the biggest change? The mental freedom.

I don't think about food constantly anymore.

 I can go to restaurants and actually enjoy the conversation instead of obsessing over the menu. I feel normal around food for the first time in decades.

My relationship with my husband has improved because I'm not always tired and irritable from fighting hunger.

I have energy to play with my grandkids. I feel like myself again.