Diagnosis

"Good morning Mr Saint, we have your blood test results. When are you next available to see your GP?"

I'd only gone for a check-up as a result of my dad getting ill but then my family started showing concern for my health. I don't live near them, not far but far enough for it to only be around birthdays, Christmas, weddings that kind of thing, that we meet up.

"I can get in after work today if that works."

A routine check-up. That's all it was. That's what it was supposed to be.

"I'll book you in straight away."

The GP is never available at such short notice. Two weeks it normally takes. If you're dying get yourself to the hospital. If not, whatever it is you think you have, it can wait.

"Ok, thanks."

I arrived at the surgery in plenty of time. Checked my reflection on the way in. Ok, so I looked tired – black rings around my eyes, hair a little unkempt and greying hairs on my chin – but that was normal. I'd lost weight too but that's a good thing right? Only last summer were my family telling me I looked good, asking if I'd been training again. Truth is exercise was the last thing on my priority list but I took the compliments. Just a routine check-up. Their concerns are just a reflection of their own stress around dad.

"Good afternoon, and how are you feeling today?"

"Fine thank you."

"Ok, great. That's great."

She shuffled uneasily through the papers in front of her. Clicked a few keys and stared at her monitor. Readying herself to drop whatever news it was she had."

"So, Mr Saint, if I could just ask you a few questions. Tell me again why you came in."

I retold the story of my dad. How he'd suffered with a painful neck for several months, that it had got to the point where the doctor had sent him for an MRI only to find out that his top-two vertebrae were basically Swiss-cheese. A result of having contracted some tropical virus twenty odd years ago that had slowly been eating away from the inside out. How my family were showing concern for my welfare, that I looked like I'd lost weight. How I'd brushed all of it off as them just transferring their worry for my dad onto me. "It's nothing," I told them "just stress of the job." I believed I was fit, healthy. Nothing could touch me. I was the only one in my family that didn't need glasses, never suffered allergies, never got ill. Whenever I needed medical attention growing up it was because I'd hurt myself properly. Like tearing 99% of everything in my ankle skateboarding then walking home from town or breaking my collarbone at school and carrying on playing football. Sure, I was fine.

"Ok, and what about family history? Any aneurisms or heart attacks…diabetes?"

"No, nothing. My grandparents are in their nineties, still bowls champions."

"Right…well…I have some news for you. Mr Saint you are diabetic."

"What?"

"Yes, sorry about that."

"...I…"

"Unfortunately, there are further issues. You simply don't fit the profile of either a type 1 or type 2."

"How so?"

I'd had such little experience with diabetes I didn't know there were two types let alone knew what the difference was between them.

"Well, normally type 1 is identified in children or young people. Teenagers. You are…36?"

"Yeah…yes"

"And type 2 is normally a result of lifestyle factors. Eating, drinking, lack of exercise that kind of thing…"

I have always eaten healthily. It was drilled into me as a kid and on my teaching pay I'm lucky to have anything left over after bills to spend on beer, as much as I'd love to have more than my fill from time to time, it just doesn't happen. Especially now I have three kids. As for exercise, sure I could do more but it wasn't that long ago I'd given up my job as an outdoor-pursuits instructor.

"…but it says here you ran the London Marathon a couple of years ago? So you see, we're not quite sure how to proceed. You're…an anomaly."

"Right. So what do I do?"

At this point my head started spinning. The GP began to explain her vague plan of medication and further checks, a list of appointments that would now become my routine. I'd lost focus. Started planning how the conversation might go with my wife when I got home.

"Hi darling. So, what did they say?"

Turned out it wasn't the only news we got that day. And certainly not the worst.