I could not afford brand-name Wegovy. Without insurance coverage, it was $1,300 per month. My telehealth provider prescribed compounded semaglutide from a 503B outsourcing facility for $350 per month. This was in mid-2023, during the shortage, when compounding was clearly legal.
The compounded product came in a multi-dose vial rather than a pen. I had to draw up my own doses using insulin syringes — a learning curve but manageable after watching a few YouTube tutorials. The medication was clear and colorless, came with a certificate of analysis showing purity testing, and was shipped cold.
My experience was largely positive. The appetite suppression, the food noise reduction, the weight loss — all matched what I read from people on brand-name Ozempic. Over 5 months I lost 32 pounds. The side effect profile was similar: nausea during titration, constipation, some fatigue.
Where it got complicated was dosing consistency. At one point, my pharmacy changed their formulation and I noticed the medication felt weaker for about a month — less appetite suppression, mild return of food noise. Whether this was a compounding variation or placebo, I cannot say definitively, but it shook my confidence.
When the FDA resolved the shortage in February 2025 and compounding was shut down, I was stuck. My telehealth provider could no longer prescribe compounded semaglutide. Brand Wegovy was still unaffordable. I went two months without the medication and regained 11 pounds before I managed to get insurance coverage through a prior authorization fight that took weeks.
The compounding debate is complicated. I believe my compounded medication was effective and produced by a legitimate facility. But I also understand the FDA's concerns about quality control. What I resent is that the real problem — the absurd pricing of brand-name GLP-1 drugs — never got addressed. The compounding market existed because Novo Nordisk charges more than most Americans can afford.