Life is full of memorable days. And, if you’re reading this, you’ve probably experienced the same sort of memorable day my husband, Emerson, and I went through more than a year ago. My name is K. Schipper, and I certainly wasn’t thinking of anything quite as upending to our lives as prediabetes when he headed out the door for his annual checkup.

Sure, I’d had my concerns, especially in my more pragmatic moments when I’d think about the fact that the man I’ve been married to for more than 30 years, was not only obese, but much-less-prone to exercising than I am. The fact that his systolic blood pressure was sitting in the 130-140 range has also stirred that little nagging voice in the back of my mind.

We do know about blood pressure. Nineteen years ago, I had my own memorable day with my doctor. My systolic blood pressure was at 160, my total cholesterol almost 300. I was surprised then, too, and I’m not sure why, since heart disease killed my father at 50, and every woman in both sides of my family has medicated for high blood pressure starting around the age of 40.

Home I went, and we overhauled both the pantry and what we were eating. We lost weight. And, with the medication my numbers went back to where my doctor was much happier with me.

If anything, I was expecting Emerson to come home with a prescription for something to lower his blood pressure and a suggestion to exercise a bit more. So, when he gave me a brief call to say he was coming home with medication, and it wasn’t for blood pressure, I was concerned. However, I also needed him to pick up some vegetables for the salad I was making as our main entre of the day, so I knew he’d come home and explain – eventually.

When he did come through the door, groceries in one sack, a glucose meter and a bottle of Metformin in the other, and a diagnosis of prediabetes, I had only the smallest inkling of what was to come.

Probably the contents of the grocery sack epitomized our problem. Although my request had been for a large zucchini, a red pepper and an onion, the recipe I was planning to make also included spaghetti pasta – white, of course – and as always, I figured the two of us would split a bagel or I’d warm up some dinner rolls – white again – to go with it. And, he had also considerately brought home a package of day-old, reduced-price brownies from the store’s bakery.

Yes, while I can congratulate myself in taking a great deal of fat and cholesterol out of our diet, we had replaced it with carbohydrates, and now those were going to have to be changed, replaced, closely monitored and always with that meter to tell us how we were doing.

To say I was a little out of my comfort zone isn’t the half of it.