If you want something badly enough, you’ll do whatever it takes to get it. Fear something enough, and you’ll do whatever it takes to escape it.

I was parking the car when my doctor phoned with test results that showed elevated blood sugar. I had him on my headset, but almost ran into the wall when I heard.

Diabetes runs in the family. Mom had it, and I remember her bold prediction: “Your sugars were out of whack when you were born. You’re going to get it.” She was a great mother, loving and doting on me. She also had the ability to transform into a dark prophetess of doom at all the wrong times. That was one of them.

After the call, I dove into research and found two things that could reliably improve the situation: diet and exercise. I could wrap my head around exercise, even if I didn’t love it, but diet was another thing completely.

I loved my carbohydrates.

I loved sugar so much, I made honey sandwiches regularly as a kid. I’d lick my finger and stick it into the sugar jar to satisfy my cravings. Dessert was an essential food group, and one of my main joys in life was to visit a fine French patisserie and linger over the oeuvres before selecting the most decadent one to savour.

A farewell to carbs

All that went out the window with keto.

The ketogenic diet dramatically cuts carbohydrates, increases fat intake and moderates protein. It fuels your body without the carbs that raise blood sugar. True keto is hard to follow: it cuts out practically every carb from potatoes to rice, bread to pasta, and ups animal fats. So I follow a modestly low-carb version. But following even that version can be socially awkward.

My wife is Italian. Bread and pasta are at her core. She had a minor meltdown on learning about my new reality, and to this day I’m not sure the in-laws fully understand. But I committed to do whatever it took to get my blood sugar back in the green. I became friends with leafy vegetables, nuts and seeds. Cheese blunted the urge for sweets. I reluctantly embraced exercise with the mantra, “I don’t have to love it. I just have to do it.”

My blood sugar came back down to the point where my doctor said, “You know, you can ease up — it’s lower than mine.” But fear doesn’t evaporate when your doctor gives you a pat on the back. I remember mom pricking her finger six times a day to test her sugars, and injecting insulin morning, noon and night. Even then, it was a struggle to keep her blood sugar level.

Diabetes has been one of the leading causes of death in Canada since before I was born. It was effectively a death sentence for those with Type 1 — and for many with Type 2 — until the discovery of insulin a century ago. But insulin is a daily, imperfect treatment, not a cure. So my fear endures.

A voyage of keto discovery

I’ve discovered food substitutes, including a low-carb pasta that’s decent enough for my wife to mooch from when I make it. There are keto bread options that taste passably close to the real thing. There’s low-carb beer, almond crust pizzas and more.

But nothing comes close to the real thing, and I always feel like the odd man out when everyone else at the restaurant is twirling their pasta while I’m waltzing with my old friend, the salad.

My world changed the day I discovered an ice cream with a sugar substitute. It felt like the clouds parted, and God shone a light beam onto my head, whispering “You’ve suffered enough, son.”

I grabbed the chocolate chip mint flavour, dug in, and in one sweet, glorious instant, I was a kid again in Swensen’s ice cream parlour in Halifax. Whenever I got good grades, mom would treat me, and I would invariably order five scoops of chocolate chip mint and do my best to demolish them.

About a year after my beautiful ice cream revelation, research linked the magic ingredient to an increase in heart attack and stroke. My newfound relationship with ice cream ended in bitter divorce.

Hope springs eternal

I know that no matter what I do, my blood sugar isn’t going to improve dramatically anymore. There’s a good chance it’ll head in the opposite direction eventually. But I’m an optimist. There’s a lot of money driving research, and I live in hope that one day we’ll find a cure, not a treatment.

I can see that day clearly in my mind’s eye. I know the ice cream parlour I’ll visit. I can see the scoops of chocolate chip mint lined up. I can taste the first bite, and once more — for one glorious moment — I’ll become a little boy again, with a warm joy spreading through me.

Until then, I’ll keep on keto.