When Nicole Bush learned the weight-loss medication her doctor recommended would cost about $1,000 a month, she didn’t have to think twice.
Not because she didn’t want the medication. She couldn’t afford it.
“I wanted to try it, but it was way out of my price range,” said Bush, 58, a special education teacher with Chicago Public Schools.
For much of her life, Bush had been on a weight-loss journey. She tried fad diets, joined workout boot camps, watched what she ate and counted calories. While she managed to lose weight over the years, those stubborn pounds never seemed to stay off.
Then she found a program that offered the medication for less than half the original cost.
Once she started taking a GLP-1 medication, the results were dramatic. Bush went from 172 pounds to 141 pounds — a weight she had struggled for years to reach and maintain. Today, she calls GLP-1 medications a “miracle drug” for people who have battled their weight most of their lives.
But she also knows that for many Black and Hispanic patients, that miracle remains out of reach.
The explosive popularity of medications such as Ozempic, Wegovy and Zepbound have transformed the way Americans think about weight loss. Television commercials, social media and celebrity endorsements have turned the drugs into household names.
Yet while demand continues to soar, access has not.
High costs, inconsistent insurance coverage and provider bias continue to create barriers for many Black and Hispanic patients. Even when doctors believe these medications could improve a person’s health, many insurers still refuse to cover them for weight loss, leaving patients to shoulder costs that can exceed $1,000 a month.
The disparity shows up in who gets the prescriptions. White Americans have a significantly lower prevalence of diabetes than Black Americans, yet they are far more likely to receive weight loss prescriptions, according to research cited by CNN and Epic Research.
A family searching for better health
Bush isn’t the only person in her family who has struggled with weight. Her mother and older sister have spent years trying to lose extra pounds.
While Bush initially turned to GLP-1 medication to lose the stubborn weight around her midsection, her sister’s situation was far more serious. Obesity had begun affecting her mobility. After both women started taking the medication, Bush noticed one of the biggest changes almost immediately.
“I just wasn’t hungry,” she said. “You don’t think about snacks or eating because you’re bored. You just don’t think about it.”
One afternoon, while hanging out with her sister, they looked at the clock and realized it was nearly 3 p.m. Neither of them had eaten all day, so they ended up splitting a hot dog.
“That’s when I knew the medication was working,” Bush said.
Today, Bush maintains her weight but doesn’t see medication as a permanent solution. She has reduced the number of injections because she eventually wants to maintain her weight through healthier eating and exercise.
She also has more energy, and her blood pressure and cholesterol have improved.
“I still go to the gym because I know when I do get off these injections, I want to be able to maintain it by living a healthy lifestyle,” she said.
Bush believes many people regain weight because they never change the habits that contributed to it in the first place.
Her story reflects a broader trend. A study published in the Journal of General Internal Medicine found that Black, Hispanic and Asian adults who qualified for obesity medications were significantly less likely than White adults to receive them, even after researchers accounted for differences in income, insurance, diabetes and other health conditions.
In other words, qualifying for treatment doesn’t always mean getting it. Bush knows she was fortunate.
“If I hadn’t found that program,” she said, “I probably wouldn’t have been able to do it.”
The real divide: Affording weigh-loss medications
Listening to Bush, I couldn’t help thinking about my own health.
Like many Black men approaching 60, I’ve spent years trying to keep extra pounds off. My mother had diabetes, so I pay close attention to my A1C and cholesterol. I work out five days a week, and some days I squeeze in two workouts. Could I do more? Absolutely.
But I also know medications like these are financially out of reach for many families, including mine. That’s what keeps bothering me.
We’ve turned GLP-1 medications into a cultural phenomenon. Celebrities like former NBA stars Charles Barkley and Shaquille O’Neal, retired NFL star Tom Brady, gymnastics superstar Simone Biles, and tennis legend Serena Willams rave about them. Commercials run almost nonstop. Social media is filled with dramatic before-and-after photos.
But none of that matters if the people who could benefit the most can’t afford the prescription.
Bush also noticed something unexpected after starting the medication.
“I don’t have a taste for alcohol anymore,” she said. “So, I’m not getting those calories from alcohol because I don’t even think about it.”
Researchers are still trying to answer important questions about these drugs, including their long-term effects, why they work so well for some people and less effectively for others, and what happens when patients stop taking them.
Those are important questions, but another deserves just as much attention: If GLP-1 medications represent one of the biggest advances in treating obesity in decades, why are so many people still being priced out of them?
Medical breakthroughs shouldn’t be reserved for the people who can afford them.
If these medications truly have the power to improve lives, then access — not advertising — may be the next challenge America needs to solve.
Reach James E. Causey at jcausey@jrn.com; follow him on X @jecausey.
This article originally appeared on Milwaukee Journal Sentinel: GLP-1 pills are popular. People of color can’t afford them. | Opinion
Reporting by James E. Causey, Milwaukee Journal Sentinel / Milwaukee Journal Sentinel
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By James E. Causey, Milwaukee Journal Sentinel | USA TODAY Network
