Fateful diagnosis long in the making

Sweet collection. Old Orchard, Haxby (2003)

End of life medication

Long ago in my teens I would walk up the hill to the NAAFI on Blandford Camp to buy a stash of sweets. A Cadbury Flake. Curly Wurly. Star Bar. Opel fruits. Smarties. Rowntrees Fruit Pastilles. The list goes on.

I would walk back down the hill and up the stairs to my small bedroom. Climb into bed under the covers and eat that sweet comfort food. All by myself. Away from the world.

I had a lonely existence on that Army camp. Just another temporary stop of my nomadic childhood. So I developed a sweet tooth I guess. To relieve the misery.

It was a habit that never went away over the years. In spite of sugar addiction I was always relatively slim up to around 26 or 27. Then I went overweight and then obese for the next 25 years.

On April 15, 2019 - that habit caught up with me. At least officially.

I was diagnosed with type 2 diabetes. Way over the threshold. It surprised me as I had no glaring symptoms. I've actually lost a fair bit of weight over the last year and am now just overweight, no longer obese. Never felt better. But unexpected weight loss is also a symptom of the sugar disease.

At 50 years of age my mortality is becoming ever more present.

I immediately stopped eating sugar and dabbled with a 'keto' or ketogenic diet. Then realized that was unsustainable. A fantasy.

So I've started taking medication. For the rest of my life. I felt Braille on the box of tablets. Will I go blind one day and need to feel for those little bumps?