I bring you the tale of a very, very, very bad person*. One so bad that James Brown's Superbad springs to mind, but not at all in a cool way.
This psychopath, the bad kind has diabetes. The bastard kind.
My GP didn't say it like this, but it felt like he was saying "it's your own fault", because it's a lifestyle-related disease. It felt like he was saying: "The way you eat, your lack of exercise – those things are creating this diabetes for you".Baaad.
That's quite hard to hear: the diagnosis, then the complications, and then "by the way it's your fault". But in truth, it was absolutely, completely my fault.Ah so you openly admit it, you scoundrel! Have you no shame!
I had lost control of my health and my lifestyle. I had essentially abdicated responsibility for my own health and allowed it to get out of control, even though I was the chief executive of the NHS.What a cad, you bounder, you blackguard. Shame, shame and more on you.
So um yeah, if you'd been dancing like that fellah, all through your high powered meetings, you wouldn't be in this mess son.
Instead you wallow in your own filth;
For years my lifestyle was completely and utterly unhealthy. My jobs in the NHS meant I was away from home a lot; three, four or even five nights a week. Every morning in the hotel I'd have bacon, egg, sausage, tomato and fries for breakfast, then there'd be a dinner most nights.Sausage? Urgh, that's just unnecessary, a knave for sure.
Let this be a cautionary tale to all.