We had barely settled into the nightclub when I turned to my husband and admitted, “I’m sorry, but I think I need to head back to the hotel. I’m really not feeling well.” His expression mirrored my own disappointment.

We had jetted off to a well-loved island hotspot, eager for a much-deserved break without the kids. Our goal was to relive the exhilarating days of our early romance, filled with late nights and dancing until sunrise.

This time, however, everything felt empty. The thrill of indulgence was absent. Activities that once brought me joy now left me feeling indifferent.

It was purely by chance that I came across an article in the Daily Mail, which provided the clarity I needed.

The weight-loss medication, Ozempic, which I had been using for the past five months, had not only helped me lose weight but also dulled my enjoyment of other experiences.

This so-called miracle drug had significantly altered my relationship with alcohol, just as it had with food.

From the moment I started taking it, I pretty much stopped drinking. And as a fortysomething who still had a bit of a reputation as a party girl, the impact on my life was huge.

The decision to take Ozempic – first formulated to treat type 2 diabetes and later known for its weight loss effect – was not one I took lightly. (A different brand, Wegovy, has since hit the market in Australia solely to treat weight loss.)

The miracle weight loss drug Ozempic had dramatically affected this writer’s relationship with alcohol as well as food (stock image)

I was 42 and had had a baby two years before. Despite eating healthily and keeping fit (I had a personal trainer, had run a marathon and taken on various exercise challenges), the weight wasn’t coming off.

At 160cm (5ft 3in) and more than 76kg (12st or 168lbs), I was medically classed as obese. I simply did not recognise myself.

I spoke to a couple of friends who were taking Ozempic and researched medical papers on it, before submitting my details and photographs to an online pharmacy which agreed I was a suitable candidate.

Soon after I started taking it five months ago, it changed my attitude to food: not only does it dampen hunger pangs, but I found I didn’t crave my usual favourites.

I used to think, ‘I really want a pizza’ or ‘I’d love a take-away sandwich’ or have a hankering for an at-home comfort like a cheesy baked potato.

But there was none of that. It was a weird suppression of my desire for food.

And it had the same effect when it came to alcohol. I work in digital marketing and do a fair amount of client entertainment. I love margaritas, espresso martinis, champagne – or at least I used to.

But after taking Ozempic, nothing tasted right. It was bitter, or acidic, and when I did drink alcohol, I didn’t get the buzz from booze that I had.

In the old days, if I was out with a client, we might have a few cocktails then share a couple of bottles of wine over dinner. If I was out with friends, we’d have champagne or margaritas. At weekends, if I was going clubbing with my husband and friends, we’d have two or three gin and tonics before we left home, and over the night it would not be unusual for me to drink eight or nine vodka sodas.

But on Ozempic, I just went off alcohol entirely.

Most people knew I was on a health kick, even if I hadn’t told them I was on Ozempic, so it wasn’t hard to explain the change in my behaviour. And if anyone wondered where I’d found the willpower, they didn’t ask. I still went out with clients and friends, but I’d order one drink and nurse it all night with a bottle of sparkling water.

Of course dropping the booze undoubtedly helped with the weight loss, but I also experienced the other benefits of being sober. I was sleeping better (when not up for the little one), and being hangover-free improved my productivity and I was more able to cope with toddler tantrums.

While it’s quite possible I would have one day ditched alcohol without Ozempic, I also wasn’t complaining that the drug had forced me into a life of sobriety.

That night in Ibiza surprised me, however. I’d had some sangria earlier that evening and I think the unexpected sugar injection hit me hard. That’s the thing about Ozempic, I don’t know whether it’s physiological or psychological, but it makes you want to make healthier choices and live a healthier life.

And when you don’t, you really feel it.

Ozempic – primarily prescribed to treat type 2 diabetes – can help people lose weight

The rest of the trip was the same. We had tickets to some of our favourite clubs, but my heart wasn’t in it. By 1am, without booze to keep me going, I just wasn’t interested in staying up. Neither did I want to fall into bed for the sort of action we’d enjoyed pre-baby, either.

Losing weight on Ozempic has made me much happier with my body – after eight months I’m now getting towards my goal weight of 54kg (8.5st or 120lbs) so I’m more comfortable wandering around in my underwear, or being naked – but it hasn’t fired up our sex life.

To be fair, I’m not sure I can blame my low libido only on Ozempic. Having a toddler who doesn’t sleep plays havoc on that score, and my husband doesn’t have a particularly high sex drive, so often it was me who initiated things.

But recently he’s been the one suggesting an ‘early night’ and I’ve just gone along with it. There’s no doubt Ozempic has changed how I feel and respond to things that used to give me pleasure, but I’m starting to believe it’s affecting me in the bedroom, too.

If so, I hope I’ll regain my libido when I come off it. Once I reach my target weight I aim to maintain it without the jabs.

I feel like my brain has been reprogrammed when it comes to food. I can’t imagine going out and ordering a massive pizza, or craving something sweet like I used to. I’m not sure if the same is true for alcohol, but I know staying off the booze will help me stay slim.

Until I started taking Ozempic and stopped drinking, I hadn’t considered that on a big night out, I knock back 3,000 calories in drinks alone. And morning workouts — and wake-ups — are far nicer when you’re not working through a hangover.

I’d like to think the new sober me is here to stay. But it remains to be seen if Ozempic has temporarily tamed the party girl in me, or has banished her for ever.