My story begins in South America, where I grew up.

When I visited my grandmother and other relatives for our yearly trip, I would wait for the special time when I was allowed to sit by the bedside of my grandmother.

She was always resting, but sometimes she would have enough energy to be awake for a short time and tell me stories of my father as a young boy, and about her childhood in their rustic little town.

I wanted to know all of our family history but, alas, this story time was always brief. What I didn’t know is that my grandmother suffered from type 2 diabetes, was on insulin, and had limited energy.

Around the age of 10, my parents told me that, sadly, my grandmother had died.

From that time, my parents warned me to be careful about sugar because the gene for diabetes ran in our family.

As any young kid or teenager would do, when I was away from home, I ignored any warning about diabetes. I lived my life, eating without concern of diabetes or a second thought to the repercussions of my diet.

Like many young people, I loved Coca-Cola® and Fanta® (a sweet orange soda drink popular in South America).

I ate Dulce de leche (a milky-caramel product similar to Nutella®) straight out of the can! My lunches were frequently hamburgers, sandwiches, fries.

Unaware of the connection, I suffered the effects of these foods, frequently falling asleep on the school bus after school.

I travelled to the United States to study engineering and promptly adopted the Standard American Diet (SAD).

My meal was fairly balanced, with an appetizer of pretzels with chocolate, a main dish of two peanut butter cups, and for dessert, a bag of M & M’s. I also had a substantial liquid intake, counting of course the four or five cans of Coke® and three cups of coffee. This is how I got through college.

I graduated with a degree in engineering and started working in medical research. With my new salary, my diet improved significantly. Instead of opening my vending machine fridge every day, I could now afford to visit McDonalds, Taco Bell, Arby’s and a favorite Philadelphia cheesesteak joint where I would regularly order one with provolone and a side of fries with extra Cheez Whiz. I kept “hydrating” myself with Coke and coffee.

When my salary was upgraded, so were my food choices. I could now afford to binge on pints of Ben and Jerry’s “Cherry Garcia” without a second thought, and barbecue huge porterhouse steaks most weekends.

I continued on a roller coaster of energy, having to set two or three alarms to wake me up in the morning because I would just turn them off and doze back to sleep.

I would eventually stumble out of bed and get going, but afternoons found me in a zombie-like haze and I would end up getting a few extra strong cappuccinos to prop me up.

This continued until my body finally gave up one day.