It's almost never good news when your doctor calls you in the middle of the day.

"I'm calling about your blood work," she said, in a voice normally reserved for funerals.

"Okay," I replied, stretching the phone cord across the room to close my office door.  She'd tested me for everything imaginable, so theoretically this could be anything from a vitamin deficiency to immediate death.  I figured I should spare my co-workers.

"Well, your kidney and liver functions are totally normal, and your red blood cells and white blood cells are healthy...blahblahblah bunch of numbers that were essentially meaningless to me...but your blood sugar level was quite elevated, so I ran some additional tests, and...you're at 6.1.  Normal is under 5.7.  Most people would classify this as pre-diabetic."  She paused.

"Um, okay.  That sucks.  So what do I do?"

"OH!  I'm so relieved!  Most people usually freak out and then I have to talk them down."

"Well, I'm a sugar addict.  It's not a huge surprise or anything.  And I assume this is something I can fix?"

"It is!  Well, I mean, you've destroyed many of the cells in your pancreas, and you can never get them back, but you can absolutely lower the 6.1 into a healthy range and prevent diabetes."

Awesome.  I was beginning to see why people usually freak out.  "Okay, so aside from cutting out sugar...?"

"You're going to want to lose some weight and exercise pretty much every day and cut back on fats, as well.  And, of course, stick to low glycemic foods.  We'll have you come back in six months for another blood test, and if you make these lifestyle changes, you should see a major improvement."

Six months.  I can do that.

"I can do that," I tell her, and we hang up.  Slowly, I tip my candy jar into the trash can under my desk.

Six months.  Starting now.