Point? Oh yes, I had a POINT to my story. Right.

To the ten of you reading this thing, apologies. Christmas happened. Moving on.

March of 2009 rolled around, and I had finally gotten over the last of my sicknesses, because it seemed like every few weeks, I would get an infection of some kind and be out for a few days. Every time I got near someone with a blood pressure cuff, they would tell me that my blood pressure was out of whack, and it was, because it was usually in the neighborhood of 140 over 90. I started a diet plan in earnest, but it was hard, because I really had no idea what to eat or how to eat it. I had never spent time reading labels and dissecting the nutritional content of what I so mindlessly ate. I was concerned with convenience, price, or taste. I had never really considered the nutritional value of anything. (And yes, obviously, I know that is bad NOW.)

But then, that fateful morning in March, everything changed. There was a health fair at my employer, and given all of the warnings I had gotten about blood pressure, I figured that it wouldn't be bad to have them take a look and check out my blood pressure. So, I signed up to get screened. Once I was there, I was told that I had to do all of the screenings, so I got a cholesterol and blood sugar test as well.

For breakfast that day, I had fixed instant oatmeal, and I also had a can of regular coke to go with it. The nurses that did the testing were sweet and friendly Southern women, who all looked at me with abject, silent horror in their eyes as each of my readings came back. My waist measurement was something in the neighborhood of 40 inches. My blood pressure, hypertensive range. My blood sugar? 209. All I had had of my breakfast that morning was three bites of my oatmeal and less than half of my drink. I was 28 years old. If you looked at me, you could tell that I was overweight, but I never looked like I was morbidly obese. I'm five foot six, with a medium sized frame, and I "carried" weight well. The numbers were the kind that you'd expect to see after about 15 more years of me not taking care of myself. Not what you'd see out of someone in their twenties.

A quick primer on blood sugar readings, for those who aren't in the know. A normal, healthy blood sugar reading can be anywhere from 82 mg/dl to 110 mg/dl. Anything below 82 is considered hypoglycemic. Above 140 (and this means directly after eating, too) is considered pre-diabetic. Over 200 is diabetic. There's no other way to interpret that, cause trust me, I tried.

I called my parents, horrified. My paternal grandmother and two of my uncles were diabetic. My maternal grandfather was diabetic. My Mom handed the phone to my Dad, and Dad said, "We are going to find out the name of an endocrinologist for you, TODAY, and you need to get an appointment. TODAY, Miranda. You can't put this off."

I promised that I would, and I quietly hung up the phone. I stared into space with tears in my eyes. The thing that I had always dreaded but didn't figure would ever REALLY happen to me was happening. Now what?

To Be Continued.