Weight-loss drugs are not the answer to Britain’s obesity problem

Finally, the answer to childhood obesity: Ozempic. Why didn’t I think of that? Let’s put all our obese kids – that’s 22.7 per cent of them by the time they start secondary school – on the magical “skinny pen” and boom. Problem solved.

What Prof Louise Baur, president of the World Obesity Federation, actually said last week at the International Congress on Obesity in São Paulo, was that there is “growing evidence” to suggest that Ozempic, the diabetes medication that is used as a weight-loss drug, could be effective in treating severely obese teenagers.

Given the medication acts “in exactly the same way” in younger patients as it does in adults, she explained, “with a similar safety profile”, it “may be justified” to use it with children as young as 12 – and in extreme cases, for children even younger.

I have the utmost respect for doctors and scientists, but they are prone both to over-excitement (about new “miracle drugs”) and short-termism – and there’s plenty about these drugs to get excited and short-termist about. We’re talking about medication so effective and fast-acting that patients typically lose 10-20 per cent of their body weight – sometimes within weeks. One friend of mine lost 18lbs in nine weeks on Wegovy. And last month a study found that the jabs also cut the risk of heart attack by a fifth. That’s what I call results!

Now, for what I call terrifying: the idea that any civilised society would consider abdicating responsibility to the extent that they would inject kids with appetite suppressants. The fact that weight-loss drugs fail to address any of the root causes of obesity: that they take discipline out of the equation, despite it being critical for every child’s development and a skill that will be needed in every area of later life.

Prof Baur may have added the caveat: “obesity is not an acute-care, once-treated-always-cured disease”, rightly pointing out that lifestyle changes should always be combined with weight-loss drugs, but given the drugs don’t teach you to eat any healthier, who is going to be ensuring those lifestyle changes occur? We’re back to square one, aren’t we?

Then there are the side effects. These are bad enough for adults – with doctors saying that an increasing number are ending up in A&E suffering ill-effects – but the prospect of children enduring those side-effects? The nausea, the vomiting, the blurred vision, the confusion, the fast heartbeat, the anxiety, the trouble breathing, the depression? Those are just the ones doctors are currently aware of.

There’s still very little known about the long-term health implications of GLP-1 medications, although a decrease in both muscle mass and bone density has been suggested. Oh, and recent reports show that the majority of patients regain most if not all the weight within a year of stopping the medication. If that’s not the all too predictable sting in the tail…

You would hope all this would be enough to have our government and our health chiefs dismissing the idea of children taking weight-loss drugs out of hand, but I wouldn’t be so sure. Obesity prevention is obviously so much harder than obesity treatment – in adults, but particularly in children. It requires tough conversations and unpopular policy changes. It requires a nanny state focus on dietary advice, exercise plans and the passing of more food labelling and advertising rules.

Meanwhile, what does obesity treatment require? Money. It’s an expensive cop-out. But here’s the wake-up call: British taxpayers are already tired of shelling out that money. Indeed, a new poll commissioned by UKactive – published on Sunday – revealed that 85 per cent of adults want the next government to prioritise obesity prevention over quick-fix “cures”.

Little wonder when you consider that we’re footing the bill for all those NHS weight-loss jabs; that 64 per cent of adults in England are now overweight or obese (a statistic that has doubled over the past 40 years and will doubtless continue to mushroom); and that the “skinny pens” are among the most expensive prescription drugs available. So if anyone were seriously to suggest adding 22.7 per cent of our secondary school-age children to that bill? I’m guessing it’s not just the moral and ethical aspects people might take issue with.