Before I left for Myrtle Beach, I had some blood drawn at the doctor's office.
During vacation, I received a call that my blood sugar had tested very high.
On Thursday, the doctor told me that I'm diabetic.
I knew I had risk factors (obesity, family history, etc.) , so it wasn't a complete shock, and I also know it's a very manageable condition. Also, in the grand scheme of Things That Could Be Wrong With Me, I know it's very mild.
Still, it struck me with a swift, forceful punch.
I've also been very sick for several days with some mysterious respiratory ailment, which the Dr. thought may be pneumonia, but I couldn't afford the chest X-Ray to confirm it.
Sooo...in between the coughing spells and blowing my nose every two minutes, I've had lots of time to ponder and ruminate, and I've realized that this diagnosis was one that I needed.
Whatever else it is - frightening, sad, confusing, upsetting, slightly devastating - I've decided that it's actually going to yield positive results.
I've known - and secretly wished for - a "wake-up call" for quite a while now, and a large part of me is grateful for its receipt.
The other part of me? Scared to death.