*An Analysis and Commentary on Virginia Heffernan's, “The King of Ozempic Is Scared as Hell” by Bryant McGill*
#### America is a time bomb. And Novo is standing right next to it.
Let us speak, for a moment, of the curious paradox of modern medical marvels. On one hand, we stand on the precipice of a new renaissance in the “biologics revolution” that promises to catapult us toward a future of enhanced longevity, robust health, and genuine life-extension therapies. On the other hand, across refugee camps in conflict-ridden regions—and disturbingly, even within the borders of the United States—people still die for lack of basic medicines like insulin. One cannot help but be aghast that a country considered among the world’s wealthiest finds itself in a position parallel to zones defined by acute crisis. In reading Virginia Heffernan’s sweeping and vivid portrait of Novo Nordisk, weight-loss wunderdrugs, and the inescapable moral weight of insulin production, we are confronted by one stark question: What, precisely, does it mean to be “wealthy” if our health system fails to deliver fundamental care?
This tension is the beating heart of the article, **“The King of Ozempic Is Scared as Hell.”** From the vantage point of Denmark, the epicenter of the biologics revolution, we see the story of a company—Novo Nordisk—that rose to stratospheric financial heights by inventing lifesaving insulin therapies first and, more recently, capitalizing on a near-insatiable American appetite for semaglutide-based weight-loss solutions such as Ozempic and Wegovy. If you, like me, see life extension as the next frontier of human potential, then biologics—the art of deriving powerful pharmaceuticals from living cells—are a trove of promise. Yet the tale of insulin’s century-long trajectory exposes an unsettling problem: We cannot progress to advanced life-extension technologies if we cannot even guarantee universal access to treatments that already exist, like insulin.
To grasp this state of affairs, we must trace back to Denmark’s pioneering efforts. Denmark’s stature in the pharmaceutical domain is no coincidence. The nation, barely 6 million strong, has harnessed the synergy of research-friendly policies, a comprehensive social system, and a historical emphasis on scientific curiosity. From Hans Christian Hagedorn’s early breakthroughs in refining insulin from animal pancreases, Denmark has laid the essential groundwork of the biologics sector. Yet, as Heffernan’s article reveals through the story of long-surviving diabetic patient **Erik Hageman**, this foundation in insulin research and production was not merely about commerce; it was about whether a 2-year-old child, labeled defective in the eyes of a Nazi occupation, was worthy of living. In those earliest years of insulin therapy, the shining moral impetus was undeniable: **No one deserves to die because their body doesn’t produce the right chemical.**
But the conversation about saving lives through insulin now intersects with a far more sprawling narrative of cost, corporate consolidation, and healthcare access. Novo Nordisk, for decades, was a quiet hero providing half the world’s insulin. Insulin—**a biologic** derived from specially engineered yeast—stands at the dawn of the biotech age, the original “golden molecule.” The manufacturing process is an almost mystical enterprise: caretaker scientists coddle living microorganisms so that they express insulin, often in massive fermentation vats that smell as comforting as bread or beer. While small-molecule drugs (like aspirin, Prozac, or Lipitor) are comparatively cheaper and easier to make, biologics demand high-end bioreactors, state-of-the-art climate controls, stringent purification processes, and ceaseless vigilance. Thus, the cost to produce them is considerably higher.
Now Novo Nordisk wields not only insulin but also an entire arsenal of semaglutide-based therapies—Ozempic and Wegovy—that soared to become the company’s multi-billion-dollar blockbusters. These weight-loss medications, originally intended to help manage type 2 diabetes (where the body’s use of insulin deteriorates), morphed into solutions for a global appetite obsessed with “food noise” and a cultural mania for slimming down. Amid all that mania, it is jarring to watch the insulin story fade into the background. After all, semaglutide works wonders for type 2 diabetics and those looking to shed pounds; it does next to nothing for type 1 diabetics, who rely on insulin to stay alive. So, if the revenue and brand recognition surge on the back of semaglutide, might insulin production—and the well-being of type 1 diabetics—fall by the wayside?
**Heffernan underscores** that very concern: The delicate juggling act between continuing to supply insulin at an affordable or at least accessible price, while also channeling tens of billions of dollars into ramping up manufacturing for semaglutide. It is this precarious balancing that keeps Novo Nordisk’s CEO, **Lars Fruergaard Jørgensen**, up at night. And if you reflect on the inequities of the American healthcare system—particularly the baroque labyrinth of pharmacy benefit managers (PBMs), insurance companies, and outlandish medication pricing strategies—fear is a reasonable response.
We glean from the piece that these same PBMs, allegedly created to reduce costs for the consumer, often do quite the opposite. **If Novo Nordisk lowers the price of insulin**, PBMs might drop the product from their coverage lists, forcing patients to pay the entire cost out of pocket or switch to a competitor. Those who can’t cover those costs are effectively locked out of survival. Ironically, the end result in the United States is reminiscent of conditions in war-torn regions or refugee camps, where accessibility to *any* medication is precarious at best.
Lars Jørgensen’s telling remark resonates like an alarm bell:
> “The only place where we give medicine away like this is the refugee camps, war zones, and the US.”
The deeper existential question here becomes: if the U.S. is so “wealthy,” why are we locked in a scenario that almost parodies third-world scarcities? For type 1 diabetics, insulin is the difference between life and death. If they cannot access it reliably, it brings to mind improvised clinics in bombed-out neighborhoods. Indeed, if individuals must rely on corporate benevolence programs—akin to relief efforts in crisis zones—this begs the provocative question: **Is the U.S. healthcare system essentially functioning like a protracted catastrophe, where charitable dispensations fulfill the role of an emergency patch?**
Take it a step further: If we are still flailing with basic essential medicines, what chance do we have of ensuring wide-reaching, equitable access to truly forward-thinking life-extension therapies? The biologics revolution goes far beyond insulin: *CRISPR-based gene editing, advanced immunotherapies, regenerative medicine*, all are on a horizon that is arguably 30 to 50 years ahead of common medical practice. If we cannot cross the chasm of insulin affordability, how will we come together to ensure that radical longevity procedures—tomorrow’s promise—are not withheld from those who can’t pay top dollar?
Enter Denmark, a society in which the “social system is very progressive,” in Senator Bernie Sanders’ words, and where universal healthcare is a given, not a pipe dream. Their vantage point allows them to invest in new technologies that expand human vitality and life span, backed by enormous philanthropic foundations such as the **Novo Nordisk Foundation**—one of the largest philanthropic endowments on the planet. Could we replicate that model in the U.S. or in under-resourced parts of the world? Or are we doomed to let semaglutide mania overshadow the fundamental principle of shared well-being?
The possible real-world consequences loom. If Novo Nordisk is forced by economic pressure to prioritize its biggest cash cow—Ozempic and future variations of semaglutide—it may start channeling fewer resources to new insulin innovations or to ensuring that insulin distribution remains robust in every corner of the globe. Start-ups could attempt to fill the vacuum with so-called biosimilars, but if these new entrants fail to deliver consistent supply in times of low profit margins, type 1 diabetics risk falling through the cracks. And in Heffernan’s article, Jørgensen conjures a nightmarish vision: an actual insulin shortage. The unimaginable scenario where insulin, the century-old miracle, is no longer widely manufactured because it does not yield the necessary corporate returns in an overcomplicated, underregulated system.
Meanwhile, from an even broader vantage, the future brims with extraordinary promise. Biologics represent far more than insulin or semaglutide. We’re looking at a new dawn in medical science, with possibilities like *personalized gene therapies*, *lab-grown organs*, or age-reversing blood plasma treatments. Governments and philanthropic organizations—particularly in Denmark—appear committed to forging ahead in these domains. But it does no good to roll out more advanced therapies if the most vulnerable populations go without the fundamental scaffolds of survival. The question then arises: Is there the political will—and perhaps the moral imperative—to guarantee that as we refine these futuristic interventions, they do not become the exclusive bounty of the few in “super smart cities” around the globe while those in refugee camps or within low-income corners of the U.S. die from lack of simpler, established therapies?
Our sense of optimism must thus be tempered by an unrelenting sense of duty. We can celebrate the scientific wonders that anchor Denmark’s biotech industrial complexes—futuristic factories in Kalundborg or Odense, where billions of dollars and legions of engineers produce a living pipeline of potentially life-changing molecules. But we have to ask ourselves: Who will profit, who will access these breakthroughs, and who, inevitably, might be left behind?
To read Heffernan’s account of Novo Nordisk’s evolution is to understand that here is a company that wants to do right by the world—**it sprang from an altruistic foundation** aimed at ending diabetic fatalities. Yet it operates in an unforgiving global marketplace that demands shareholders get returns, governments get tax revenues, and healthcare intermediaries in the U.S. get a slice so big that the ultimate cost to the consumer is unspeakably inflated. When a system is that tangled, we find ourselves facing the travesty that is “life extension in the hands of the few.” The underlying structure must be re-engineered if we, as a global community, truly intend to see future technologies—for longevity, for chronic disease management, for genuine enhancements of human potential—accessible to all.
That re-engineering must take place at multiple levels:
1. **Policy** – Governments must re-examine how PBMs and insurance providers function, and question whether this labyrinth best serves people or corporate pockets.
2. **Philanthropy & Research** – Foundations like Novo Nordisk’s can seed advanced research, but philanthropic funding must also coordinate with public infrastructure to bring new treatments everywhere, including war zones, refugee camps, and the rural pockets of “wealthy” nations.
3. **Global Collaboration** – The biologics revolution, exemplified by Denmark’s success, might spur greater international partnerships so that advanced manufacturing doesn’t exclusively serve high-profit markets.
4. **Public Advocacy** – Perhaps the most vital piece of all: People banding together to insist that no one—no child in 1942, no adult in 2025—should die of treatable conditions or be shut out from therapies that can extend life, whether that is insulin or state-of-the-art CRISPR-based solutions.
In the end, *The King of Ozempic Is Scared as Hell* is as much an essay on corporate-cum-humanitarian anxiety as it is a retelling of the improbable rise of Denmark as a biotech colossus. That anxious tension at Novo Nordisk’s core resonates with any thoughtful person who wonders what modern civilization’s priorities should be. How do we harness the best that science can offer—**the seeds of actual life extension**—without reifying the idea that profit comes first, people second?
Therein lies the central question we must all grapple with when we talk about “refugee camps, war zones, and the United States.” How many more times must we watch members of our own communities slip through the cracks—forced to ration insulin, forced to risk comas and amputations—because we have structurally allowed the profit margin to overshadow the moral margin? Should the U.S., the wealthiest nation on the planet by many metrics, ever find itself in such a desperate position that it must rely on philanthropic giveaways, akin to crisis zones? If our system is so dysfunctional that a refugee camp might be an upgrade for some aspects of care, then everything else about our vision of progress collapses in on itself.
Jørgensen:
> "We’ll never walk away from people with type 1 diabetes. We owe that to them. We don’t see it as a burden."
And so, we can only hope that the spirit of Hans Christian Hagedorn endures: the impetus that no matter the external environment—even in Nazi-occupied Denmark, or in the face of labyrinthine capitalist structures—patients deserve to live. As we strive for new breakthroughs, from better insulin analogs to gene therapies and beyond, let us keep front and center this fundamental principle: **Equity in access is not a charitable afterthought. It is the measure of whether we are indeed making progress.** If we cannot deliver basic life-saving medicine widely and affordably, we have scarcely earned the right to herald a future of grand life extension for humankind.
## Between the Lines: How America’s Healthcare Chaos Endangers Anyone Unfortunate Enough to Engage It
Let’s be blunt: America is such a dysfunctional catastrophe that even touching its healthcare market has the potential to destroy a country. If there’s one thing that Heffernan’s article makes painfully clear, it’s this—Denmark, through Novo Nordisk, has essentially tethered its entire economic future to a volatile, self-sabotaging mess. And that decision could come back to haunt them.
Novo Nordisk, a company that once quietly provided half the world’s insulin, has become a biotech behemoth. It’s now worth more than Bank of America, Coca-Cola, and Toyota. The revenue it generates has pushed Denmark’s GDP past Egypt’s, and the company’s tax contributions have skyrocketed the wealth of cities like Kalundborg. Yet, the CEO of Novo Nordisk is **'scared as hell.'**
Why? Because America—**its most lucrative market—is also its most unstable.** The U.S. healthcare system is a dystopian labyrinth of pharmacy benefit managers (PBMs), insurance rackets, and profit-driven middlemen who make it **nearly impossible for a drug company to operate without stepping on financial landmines.**
Novo doesn’t just fear competition. They fear collapse. **If they price insulin too low, PBMs drop it. If they focus too much on insulin, they lose the weight-loss gold rush. If the Ozempic bubble pops, the entire Danish economy could feel the aftershock.**
And here’s the real kicker: **Novo Nordisk openly treats the United States like a war zone.**
The most damning line in the article wasn’t about semaglutide, obesity, or even insulin. It was this:
> *'The only place where we give medicine away like this is the refugee camps, war zones, and the U.S.'*
Think about that. Novo, **a pharmaceutical titan, is categorizing America alongside crisis zones.** A so-called 'wealthy' nation, where patients still ration insulin, where critical medications are so unaffordable that charity programs are the only lifeline. **What kind of world-leading superpower operates like this?**
Here’s the absurdity of it all:
- America is **the most profitable market for Novo.**
- America is also **a bureaucratic, exploitative disaster that threatens the company’s long-term stability.**
- Meanwhile, **Denmark is tying itself to the sinking ship, doubling down on Novo’s success while ignoring the Nokia-sized warning sign blinking in the background.**
If America’s market implodes—if PBMs collapse, if a political shift kills the price-gouging mechanisms that keep drug companies afloat, or if a scandal takes down Ozempic—the fallout **won’t just hit Novo. It could cripple Denmark’s economy.**
Novo’s CEO, Lars Fruergaard Jørgensen, doesn’t even try to hide the panic. He outright admits the future of insulin is at risk, that an **actual insulin shortage** is not just possible, but **a real and terrifying scenario.** And when a company as powerful as Novo Nordisk **cannot guarantee that it will always be viable to make insulin, the single most essential medication for millions of diabetics,** you know we’ve entered a new era of healthcare catastrophe.
And yet, this is just the beginning. The biologics revolution is unfolding before us—gene therapies, AI-driven medicine, organ regeneration, true life-extension technologies. But if the most powerful pharmaceutical companies in the world **can barely navigate the U.S. market without risking financial suicide,** what happens when the next generation of medicine arrives? What happens when true longevity treatments, next-gen insulin analogs, or CRISPR-based therapies have to fight their way through the same gauntlet of American dysfunction?
The takeaway from this article is crystal clear: **America is not just a threat to its own citizens. It is a destabilizing force in global healthcare.**
And if Denmark—small, efficient, and forward-thinking—has chosen to entangle itself with the reckless, self-consuming machine that is the U.S. economy, it may find itself trapped in a crisis of its own making.
Novo Nordisk is thriving today. But the deeper truth?
**America is a time bomb. And Novo is standing right next to it.**
#### READ: [The King of Ozempic Is Scared as Hell by Virginia Heffernan](https://www.wired.com/story/novo-nordisk-king-of-ozempic-scared-as-hell/)
*"Now that Novo Nordisk is the world’s weight-loss juggernaut, will it have to betray its first patients—type 1 diabetics?"*
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