‘Another G&T?’ my friend Jess asks as she stands up to head to the bar.
‘Can I just have a lime and soda, please,’ I tell her before she looks at me incredulously.
‘That’s not like you! Are you feeling under the weather?’ she asks.
Not at all; I tell her instead that I have popped a pill which cleverly suppresses my desire to drink.
Naltrexone, I explain, is said to be a little like Ozempic for alcohol – and I have been trying this so-called wonder drug on and off for almost six months now.
Usually, at the start of half-term, I’d be making a beeline for the bar and making the most of not having to do the school run for the next week. I might start with a G&T before moving on to two or three glasses of wine, then wake up with a dry mouth, a pounding heart and a sense of dread the next day.
At this time of year, when summer is just beginning and the evenings are getting lighter, I would usually be stocking up on the rosé. I love nothing more than a bottle of Léoube or Whispering Angel, but I’ve become increasingly aware, now I’m 48 and perimenopausal, that alcohol is not my friend.
The impact of a big night out – hangxiety, poor sleep, rosacea outbreaks – really takes its toll. At one big event last year, a colleague persuaded me to try some very expensive whisky and a cigar at the end of the night. We stayed up chatting till 2am and I spent the next two days feeling absolutely wretched.
At this time of year, when summer is just beginning and the evenings are getting lighter, I would usually be stocking up on the rosé, writes Georgina Fuller
So I’ve decided to take action to cut down on the booze.
During last week’s heatwave, I had a 50th birthday and a work do with an open bar, both occasions when I would usually be knocking it back with wild abandon. So how does all this sunny frivolity compare when doing it with the magic pill?
Earlier this year, I signed up for a call with a company called The Sinclair Method, which provides non-judgmental support and a prescription to naltrexone, an opioid blocker which works by inhibiting the euphoric and sedative effects of alcohol.
It’s not cheap, though. A 12-week plan, which includes a private GP consultation (via phone or video) and one-to-one guidance through weekly calls and support sessions, costs £595. The prescription of 28 pills costs another £99, though you only take them on the days you drink. I was advised to start with half a 50mg tablet to get used to it, so at least, I reasoned, they should last a while.
I am what I would probably describe as a moderate drinker most of the time. That is, I usually drink for at least four or five evenings during the week but try not to have more than about 14 units (around eight medium glasses of wine). Naltrexone, by comparison, is designed for heavy drinkers (women who typically consume over 35 units a week on average).
But my ‘everything in moderation’ approach usually goes out of the window completely during the summer when I hear the siren call of rosé or a Paloma cocktail.
Dr Rachael Jolley, a GP at The Sinclair Method, explains that the pill helps to tackle the chemical high you get from alcohol, affecting the dopamine hit you initially get, which can make reducing intake that bit easier.
‘I think women in their 40s often start to become more conscious about their alcohol consumption and the ways it affects how they are feeling. It can be very easy to lose track of how much you’re drinking,’ she notes.
Naltrexone is an opioid blocker which dampens the euphoric and sedative effects of alcohol
I’d usually have gone round the room, wine in hand, and mingled. But I find, without alcohol, I stay in the same spot for most of the evening, writes Georgina Fuller
Before my friend’s 50th party, I start by taking just half a pill. Dr Jolley recommended building up slowly over time and, as I am only using naltrexone on and off, I haven’t built up much of a tolerance. I take it an hour before I start drinking, as advised.
I order a large glass of Whispering Angel when I arrive. I’m so busy chatting, I don’t really pay attention to how I feel when I’m drinking it and when another bottle is ordered for the table, I gladly accept another glass. After all, naltrexone only works if you drink, not by stopping drinking.
By the time our food has arrived, I’m feeling quite relaxed, happy to be in the moment. But I don’t have that usual urge to keep going on the booze though. That sense of wanting to chase the fun and maintain the boozy momentum simply isn’t there. I finish my second glass but switch to sparkling water for the rest of the evening.
I don’t feel dramatically different, I just don’t fancy another drink. Usually I’d be the one ordering another bottle for the table but I settle on a peppermint tea after dinner instead. Everyone is far too polite to comment on me not getting stuck in and, as a few of them are driving, I’m not the only one not drinking. I do feel a slight sense of detachment though when I’d usually be in the thick of it. I also feel quite sleepy.
But at least I wake up with a clear head and lots of energy the next morning.
A couple of days later, I have a work party with an open bar which would usually be a perfect excuse to hit the cocktails and get tipsy. I take half a pill an hour before I get there but I forget to take the rest of the pack with me. As I’m only taking naltrexone intermittently, I don’t think it will matter if I don’t take the other half but will it be enough, I wonder, to stave off temptation for a whole night of free booze?
I’m given a strong cocktail on arrival and it certainly takes the edge off, but I don’t get that same heady rush I usually get from drinking. My friend Jenny is driving, so she only has one drink and we head over to the bar to ask for some water and pink lemonade. By the time our other work friends arrive, I’ve lost the desire for another cocktail.
I stick to water for most of the evening but order a glass of rosé later on. I enjoy drinking it. I love the fruity flavour of a good glass but I’m also craving that fuzzy glow I usually get with alcohol. I’d usually have gone round the room, wine in hand, and mingled. But I find, without alcohol, I stay in the same spot for most of the evening. I’ve had a lovely time but I end the night feeling a bit flat. I’m sad I haven’t talked to as many people as I usually would and made the most of the occasion.
Without the buzz of booze, I don’t feel nearly as energised or engaged as I usually would.
I end up getting a taxi home a bit earlier than usual while everyone else is keen to carry on.
While I’ve enjoyed dabbling with naltrexone, and found it definitely worked, and made me want to drink less, it just can’t replace the high and that sense of camaraderie which I get from drinking with friends. I find I miss the tipsy feeling I get during an evening out at this time of year.
I’m glad I’ve managed to avoid some of the more common side effects of naltrexone though, which can reportedly include nausea, headaches, dizziness, fatigue and difficulty sleeping.
It’s definitely made me think and reassess my relationship with alcohol in the same way that someone who takes Ozempic or Mounjaro probably does with food, though.
I’m glad to know it’s there as an option to help with my alcohol intake and I’ll keep taking it from time to time. And yet I’ve realised I drink for fun as well as habit.
I think it’s amazing to have a drug that can take the addictive element out of alcohol but as a pleasure-seeker and often frazzled mum, I miss the buzz I get from a few drinks.
And while I haven’t missed the sense of dread I sometimes get the morning after while taking naltrexone, I think the sore head and anxiety are, more often than not, worth it for the shared camaraderie and fun I get from a boozy summer evening out.
I’ll raise a glass to that!
