Phone call

My doc called me on Monday to give me the results of some blood work from Friday.

For several years, I have gotten the same general comments: “Your good choles

“Your good cholesterol is a little low, and your bad cholesterol is a little high. Aerobic exercise will help that.

“Your triglycerides are a little high, but your blood sugar looks good.”

From time to time, a liver enzyme will insert itself into the conversation, but the doctor could record that report and play it back six months later and still be accurate.

I have attributed this to the Blansett and Robins portions of my DNA. They tended to be robust, vigorous folk, except for some cancers most likely attributable to heavy smoking.

Mom’s side of the family had some issues with diabetes, and both she and my sister developed Type II diabetes. But my brother and I have stayed clear of it.

So, it was no surprise Monday when the doctor started off the report in a familiar fashion.

“Your good cholesterol is a little low...” But then he went off script. “Your blood sugar, though, is elevated. It’s high enough, I think you might be diabetic.”

Dang it, DNA, what’s going on here? You’re supposed to make me immune to that kind of thing.

The blood sugar was 300-plus, which apparently is high enough to be worrisome. I have never had to know about blood sugar, so the numbers didn’t mean much.

I had another blood test on Tuesday and hope the results trump the ones from Friday.

In the meantime, just in case, I browsed the Internet to see what kind of dietary changes might be in store.

I don’t eat a whole of sweets, so I am ok there. My problem has been that I eat a lot of healthful things, with “a lot” being the operative element.

Legumes are my friends, I see, which is good, because I could eat pinto beans and purplehull peas every day and be a happy camper. Butter beans, too.

And sweet potatoes. Google recommends them, so I can eat sweet potatoes on the days I don’t eat beans.

And winter squash. In fact, we had acorn squash - squarsh, if you are from Fitzhugh - on Sunday, before the doc’s phone call. And there is a butternut squarsh on the counter, ready to go into the oven on a moment’s notice.

Today, I’m more thankful than ever that I was raised to plain, country food.

Now the problem is: what to do with the 12 pounds of chili I made and froze on Saturday.

Surely there is a loophole for it.