MANILA, Philippines -- Even the diagnosis was terribly timed. I was confirmed as a Type II diabetic?the kind who doesn?t need insulin injections but who requires oral medication because my pancreas doesn?t secrete enough insulin, the hormone that regulates the sugar in my blood?in September 2001, at age 37, a month before a trip to Spain with my mother and an aunt.

My first doses of the drug metformin hydrochloride upset my stomach so much that I opted to stop drinking it until I got back from Europe?I mean, hey, what?s a few weeks? delay when you?re off to the land of turron and churros con tsokolate, right?

The news should have been devastating to a rabid sweet tooth like me. I was, after all, the kind of person who skipped main courses to get to dessert?and I mean, a whole lot of dessert. I could have a quarter of a banana cream pie for lunch, all by myself. There are days when I feel I could kill if I didn?t have a candy bar (preferably a Snickers bar, nuts, goo, and all).

But somehow, at the onset, I didn?t think it was that serious. The company doctor who made the diagnosis did say I was definitely diabetic, but assured me that my numbers weren?t that bad. I had none of the dreaded symptoms, like constant thirst or failing eyesight. And until today, my sugar levels seem quite tied up with my weight. If I?m exercising properly and lose some pounds, the numbers plummet accordingly; when I?m stressed, eating too much, and have missed over a week of physical activity, they begin to rise.

Eventually, however, after finally going to a specialist and getting the lowdown on what I could and could not do, I finally accepted that I?m stuck with this disease for life, and I have to work hard to keep it under control. My doctor confirmed that, yes, my numbers weren?t too alarming, and I could actually allow myself an occasional slice of cake or some candy just so I don?t lose my mind.

Still, the more I read up on diabetes, the more the prospects looked a little grim. Besides, I had a sobering precedent. My older brother, Don, had been diagnosed with diabetes in his mid-30s; he died in 1999, at age 48, from complications arising from the disease, and I had been there to watch him die. Make no mistake about it?diabetes is serious business, and if I?m not careful, it will really kill me, one way or another. It could wreck my kidneys, ruin my heart, and do all kinds of damage to my vital organs.

Fortunately, because I am perpetually on the move, I?ve never allowed the specter of diabetes to darken my days. Although I have my off moments, I have been generally vigilant, and every scoop of ice cream or piece of cake must be paid for. I read labels like mad, and you?d be shocked at how much sugar those alleged ?fitness? drinks are loaded with.

In fact, a diabetic should learn to tell the difference between real juice (risky, but manageable) and a ?juice drink? (suicide in a bottle). Even in the heat of summer, I avoid the tempting bottomless iced teas and lemonades, which are basically refined sugar and food coloring swimming around in cold water.

I have accepted that exercise is my best friend, and at this stage, it can still help neutralize that additional piece of cake?a good thing to know because at age 45, my diabetes is now closely tied up with my cholesterol and my blood pressure (both normal, thank goodness).

I?m not a big fan of ampalaya (bitter melon), but I?ve learned to eat it?a lot. That, and tons of cereal and oatmeal with fruit. Incidentally, fruits aren?t supposed to be very good for diabetics, but somehow they?re easier on my system, and my glucose levels don?t go as bonkers after a slice of mango as they do after a candy bar. It?s refined sugar that?s the real culprit for me, and I think every diabetic would do well to observe and figure out what his or her genuine poison is.

I?m still on metformin, but for three years now, I have also been taking a drug called Januvia, sitagliptin phosphate, which somehow simulates my pancreas into working more. It?s not cheap, but it works?without messing up my system. I get quarterly laboratory tests, and good results always give me a reason to celebrate. (I call good friends and exclaim, ?I?m normal! I?m normal!?) Speaking of friends, enlist their help; you?ll be glad you did when a friend discourages you from that second helping, or comes home from a trip and brings you sugar-free goodies because she knows.

I bought myself a glucose meter, and while friends are intimidated by the gadget and wonder how I ?cope? with drawing blood and monitoring my sugar levels twice a week, it?s really no big deal. I record my blood sugar levels in a notebook to report to my doctor, whom I visit quarterly, and I encircle the numbers that are higher than they should be. Predictably, over the last holiday season, my notebook was dotted with circles; come January, the circles had all but disappeared from the page.

The best news is, in today?s wonderful world, a sweet tooth like me doesn?t have to wallow in misery. Okay, so maybe they do taste more ?chemical? than real sugar, and too much may not be a good thing, but right now I say, God bless Splenda, Stevia, Halo (locally made and quite good), and all those gentle artificial sweeteners, because they can still help me conclude a good meal. You?d be surprised at how delicious some of the sugar-free stuff on the market can be?I think of the chocolate mendiants at Bizu, or the Dark Chocolate Almond yogurt of Better Than Ice Cream, or even the Brazo de Mercedes from KG?s Kitchen, and I can still say, life is sweet.

A diabetic must learn to choose her battles, though. When the dessert isn?t worth the risk, I make do with a cup of brewed coffee with a packet of Splenda. That?s a good enough ending for me.