I need to follow my doctor's advice. Instead, I risked my health for some noodles stuck to the bottom of the pot and a handful of crunchy stuff.

I had my physical a couple of weeks ago, with a full blood work-up. My doctor is checking my thyroid every four months or so, because I have both the family history and antibody count to support the conclusion that it will start failing any time now. She also checked my blood sugars and cholesterol and such.

While my thyroid is creeping upwards toward requiring drugs to function, of greater concern was my blood sugar levels and lipid counts. See, while the thyroid problems are attacking from my mom's side of the family, dad's family's diabetes is racing to be the first to kill me.

Which means: the dreaded diabetes diet. I did it once, when I was preggers with UberElder and had gestational diabetes. And for a few days, I was doing quite well. Except for the tamarind margarita I had Saturday night. But that was okay.

What crippled me today was the SpongeBob Macaroni and Cheese I finished from Younger's lunch. And the individual packet of Ritz Bits cheese sandwich crackers, which had 25 grams of carbohydrates and 12 grams of fat in its pretty, shiny red bag. It made me seriously ill and nearly comatose and it was my own damn fault.

I think I'm some sort of cheesy-carbo addict.

This isn't about fitting into a dress for a wedding or looking chic for my high school reunion. In fact, I didn't eat enough of either substance to affect my size and shape. But the physical effects are alarming. I knew they would be. Why did I eat the poison? Why?

Somebody come be my food warden. Please.