Prediabetes

Welcome to Blossom Group’s Prediabetes Page

Because your sugar’s causing drama — and we’re here to spill the chai.

So, you’ve just been told you have “prediabetes,” and suddenly things are starting to make sense. Feeling tired all the time? Brain fog that makes you forget where you left the car keys? Eating healthy but still feel like a lifeless roti left out in the blazing sun? Don’t worry, you’re not alone, and you’re definitely not broken. Prediabetes isn’t a life sentence, but it’s your body asking for a bit of extra attention. It means your blood sugar levels are higher than normal but not high enough to be considered type 2 diabetes — yet. The good news? It’s reversible with the right steps, like balanced meals, regular movement, and managing stress. Think of it as hitting the pause button before things escalate. We’re here to guide you, one small, meaningful change at a time. Let’s take this journey together — chai in hand, of course.

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We offer a range of specialized services tailored to meet your individual needs. Our approach is focused on understanding and responding to what you require, providing effective and practical solutions.

Freque"Mi Name Rodney — And Apparently Even Mi Blood Sugar Is Givin Me Stress."ntly asked question example

"Mi Name Rodney — And Apparently Even Mi Blood Sugar Is Givin Me Stress."

Mi name's Rodney.
Forty-four. Jamaican-British.
Used to be a railway guard — for eighteen years.
Guarded trains like dem was mi family. Platforms knew mi name.

Then one day, outta nowhere — BAM.
Redundancy.

Just like dat.
No card, no cake, no handshake.
Just “Sorry, mate” and vibes.

So now mi at home…
No job. No plan. And apparently — no pancreas that can be bothered to function properly.

At first mi seh, “It’s alright. Mi just need a likkle rest.”
But rest turn into routine:

Wake up tired
Eat biscuit for lunch
Panic about bills
Nap
Pretend everything’s fine
Panic again at 2am

Mi house? Mi house is tryin to kill me.
Mi call it “Mould Palace.”
Damp in the walls. Cold in mi bones.
Even mi kettle got anxiety.

Council say, “Log it online.”
Mi Wi-Fi say, “Try again, bwoy.”

Mi fridge? Echoes.
It got:

One half-used bottle of ketchup
Ice tray wid no ice
And one lime mi scared to touch because it’s growing a beard.

Meanwhile, Universal Credit seh, “We’ve made a decision.”
Mi seh, “Yuh need to make me a sandwich.”

Michelle — mi wife — she a real one.
Works care job, long hours.
Still come home and ask, “Rodney, yuh eat?”
Mi seh, “Yes babes,” while mi belly playing riddim in the background.

Mi start feelin… off.

Mi mouth dry like mi live in Sahara.
Mi skin feel weird.
Mi sleep like Sleeping Beauty but wake up feelin like Frodo after Mordor.
Mi use di toilet at 3am like mi training for Olympics.

Mi thought, “Maybe it’s just stress.”
Turns out — stress AND prediabetes.

Doctor send letter:
“Rodney, your HbA1c is high.”
Mi seh, “Mi never met her, but tell her mi sorry.”

And the GP?
Talk like mi have PhD in Human Biology.
"Insulin resistance... glycaemic index... elevated markers..."
Mi blink three times and seh, “Is this an exam?”

So mi stop goin.
Mi avoid dem like TV licence man.

But Layla — mi youngest — she drop flyer on mi lap.
Blossom Group. Some aunty explain health in real talk.

So mi go.

And mi meet her: Khadija Aunty.
Hijab, trainers, and fire in her eyes.

She look pon mi and seh,
“Rodney, your body tired of being polite.
It’s now shouting in sugar.”

Mi seh, “FINALLY! Someone explain it without giving me trauma.”

Now mi makin moves.
Small-small.

Walk after dinner (even if mi just walk to complain about walking)
Oats instead of sugar sandwich
Water with lime — not cola with guilt
Sleep before 3am (sometimes)
NHS app (installed by mi daughter, powered by fear)

Mi still poor — let’s not lie.
Still live in mould mansion.
Still ration biscuits like dem gold bars.

But mi understand what happening in mi body now.
And mi laugh.
Mi laugh at di madness.
Because honestly?
If yuh don’t laugh, yuh cry into yuh empty cereal bowl.

Mi name Rodney.
Sugar tried tek mi out.
Capitalism tried tek mi out.
Even mi own toilet tried drown mi at 2am.

But mi still here.
Still fighting.
Still joking.
Still choosing life — on a budget.

If yuh going through it?
Come link Blossom.
Khadija Aunty got paratha and plain English.
And mi got jokes.

Let’s beat this thing together.
Preferably before mi gas runs out.

“I’m Sylvia. I’m a Nurse. I’m a Mum. And I Have Prediabetes.”ently asked question example

I’m 55.
I work in healthcare.
Nurse. Full-time.
And when I say full-time, I mean 72 hours a week, barely sleeping, barely breathing — running on caffeine, painkillers, and a strange ability to keep smiling through exhaustion.

I’m also a mother.
Two daughters — one’s 12 and still sleeps with her teddy. The other’s 26, trying to find her feet in this expensive, mad city.
And I care for my mum.
She’s 71. Alzheimer’s.
Some days she calls me “the nice lady.” Some days she just stares.
She used to be my rock.
Now I hold her up — physically, emotionally, financially.

And now, it turns out...
I’ve got prediabetes.

When I got the letter, I didn’t cry.
I just sat there — in my uniform, at the kitchen table — and thought:
“How am I supposed to manage this too?”

Because this isn’t just about blood sugar.
This is about losing control — of my job, my energy, my life.
I can’t afford sick days.
If they think I’m not fit to work… that’s it.
No more roof. No more care for Mum. No dance classes for my youngest.
Just fear. Cold, quiet fear.

And yet, I kept pushing through.
Skipped the GP follow-up. Ignored the symptoms.
Focused on keeping everyone else afloat.

Until last Saturday.

I was walking past the community centre — dragging myself home from the early shift — and I saw a little sign:
“Blossom Group – Health, Food, Benefits, Support. Just come.”

So I did.

And inside?
Warmth.
People who looked like me.
Aunty in hijab handing out mint tea and calling everyone “beta.”

I told them: “I’ve got prediabetes. But I can’t even think about food plans. I’m just trying to survive.”
They didn’t judge me.
They sat me down, handed me food that didn’t taste like punishment, and said, “Let’s talk real life.”

They helped me check if I was missing out on benefits.
I was.
No one had ever told me I could get support for being a carer.
They helped me apply.
Helped me understand Universal Credit without needing a degree in admin.
They even booked me into a GP I could trust — someone who doesn’t use ten-syllable words and forget I’m human.

And the best part?
They reminded me:
I’m not weak. I’m tired. And I’m doing too much alone.

I left with a food box. A benefits form. A blood sugar info sheet.
But mostly, I left with something I hadn’t felt in a long time:
Permission to put myself on the list.

So yes, I’ve got prediabetes.
Yes, I’m scared.
But now?
I’ve got community.
I’ve got information.
And I’ve got a tiny voice in my head — maybe it’s Khadija Aunty — saying:
“Sylvia, your body’s not broken. It’s just asking you to come home.”

“I’m Basit. I Am 35. I Work. I Worry. I Don’t Feel Okay.”

My name is Basit.
I’m 35.
I am from Algeria.
I live in London.
I work in a chicken shop.
Fourteen hours a day. Every day.
No weekends. No breaks. Only tired.

I live in one room.
Four of us sleep in it.
Seven men share one toilet, one shower.
Sometimes the water cold. Sometimes it doesn’t work.

I don’t complain.
This is London.
People tell me: “Work hard. Save money. Send some home.”

I try.

My mother and father are in Algeria.
They are getting old.
I send what I can.
I have twelve brothers and sisters.
I’m the one in London. The one who made it out.
That is what they say.

But sometimes, I feel I didn’t make it.
I feel… stuck.

I eat what is there.
Leftover chicken. Chips. Cola.
Too tired to cook.
Too poor to buy fresh things.
No fridge space. No kitchen.
Just a kettle and hope.

I thought I was just tired from work.
But it got worse.
My head was foggy. My mouth dry.
I pee five, six times a night.
I sleep but still wake up like I never slept.

One day I felt dizzy at the fryer.
I thought I was going to fall.

I went to the walk-in clinic.
Blood test.
Then letter came:
“Prediabetes.”

I didn’t understand.
I searched on my phone.
Too many big words. Too many rules.
No rice? No bread? What is left?

I got scared.

I am not married yet.
My mother asks: “When, Basit?”
I say: “Inshallah soon.”
But I don’t know if I can.

How can I marry when I can’t even look after myself?

How can I get better when I don’t have time to rest?

How can I eat “healthy” when I only have £3 to my name after rent?

Sometimes I cry, quietly.
I miss home.
I miss food cooked with love.
I miss space.
I miss being seen.

Then one night, someone at the shop — an aunty customer — told me:
“You should try Blossom Group. They help people like us.”

I didn’t know what it was.
But I went.

And it was warm.
Not the room — the people.
They gave me tea. Listened. Spoke slowly. Didn’t judge.
They helped me understand prediabetes in simple words.

They said:
“Basit, your sugar is high because your body is tired of surviving.”

They showed me small changes I can make.
Even at work. Even poor. Even now.

Now I carry lemon water in my bottle.
I try not to drink cola.
I eat before I’m starving.
I take 10 minutes to walk outside on my break.
Not much. But something.

I also got help from someone at Blossom who told me I might get housing support.
Someone else helped me book an NHS appointment with a kind GP.
One woman gave me a free box of food with lentils, olive oil, and garlic.
It reminded me of home.

I’m still scared.
But I am not alone.

My name is Basit.
I am not broken.
I am just tired.
And for the first time in a long time —
someone saw me.

And said: “You are allowed to feel better.”

The Real-World Veggie Guide for Prediabetes

“From Nairobi to New Delhi to Leyton — here’s how to eat your roots without raising your sugar.”

✅ The Blood Sugar-Friendly Crew — Eat Regularly

(Low-carb or fibre-rich, keeps your sugar stable)

🕌 Arabic & Middle Eastern

Molokhia (Jute leaves) – excellent fibre, great in soups
Zucchini / Courgette – light, easy, blends into curries or stews
Cucumber – refreshing, hydrating, no sugar problems
Tomatoes – loaded with antioxidants, better cooked with olive oil

🇮🇳 Indian & Pakistani

Spinach (Palak)
Sarson (Mustard Greens / Saag)
Tinda (Indian round gourd)
Methi (Fenugreek leaves) – bitter but powerful
Dudhi / Lauki (Bottle Gourd)
Karela (Bitter Gourd) – not everyone’s friend, but a blood sugar hero
Baingan (Eggplant)
Bhindi (Okra)

🌍 African (West, East, North)

Okra – common across cuisines, great texture and blood sugar impact
Cassava Leaves – careful, root is starchy, but leaves are usable
Pumpkin Leaves / Ugu – packed with fibre
Ewedu (Jute leaves) – like molokhia, full of goodness
Amaranth Greens (Callaloo) – great in Caribbean & East African cooking

🇬🇧 British & Euro

Broccoli
Cauliflower – make mash, rice, curry base
Cabbage (red or green)
Leeks – gentle on the gut
Brussels Sprouts – love them or leave them, but they’re healthy
Green Beans, Runner Beans – cheap, cheerful, and low impact

⚠️ Tread Gently — Still Good, but Higher in Starch

(Control portions, pair with fibre/protein/fat)

Yam (African or Caribbean types) – fibre helps, but still starchy
Sweet Potato (Shakarqandi) – better than white potato, but eat modestly
White Potato (Aloo) – limit, boil instead of fry, mix with greens
Beets – tasty, sweet, eat sparingly
Gongloo / Kohlrabi – moderate carbs, depends on how you cook
Green peas, corn – small servings only

🍲 Aunty Khadija’s Final Tips

Use traditional spices — cumin, turmeric, garlic, ginger — they support your body, not just the flavour.
Don’t deep-fry everything. Steam, roast, sauté in less oil.
Pair carbs with leafy veg, protein, and a splash of olive oil or ghee for better blood sugar balance.
Mix cultures on your plate — okra with broccoli, spinach with zucchini — your sugar doesn’t care about borders.
Eat like your ancestors: slow, together, cooked with love — not from a packet in 5 minutes flat.

🌴 “The Date Myth” — By Khadija Aunty

“Beta… come sit. Let’s talk about the sweetest little liar in your kitchen: the date.”

You see, everyone thinks dates are holy.
“Sunnah food!”
“It’s good for energy!”
“My cousin lost weight just eating dates and lemon water!”
“Aunty, it’s natural sugar!”

Yes, yes.
BUT NATURAL CAN STILL KNOCK YOU INTO DIABETES IF YOU’RE NOT PAYING ATTENTION.

Let me break it down for you:

ONE date = 16g of sugar.
That’s like 3 spoons of sugar… wrapped in a brown, sticky hug.

Now multiply:

1 date with breakfast
2 after iftar
3 in a smoothie
1 at night “for digestion”

That’s 7 dates.
That’s more sugar than a gulab jamun, beta!

I’m not saying never eat dates.
But dates are like that cousin who’s fun at parties but borrows money and never pays it back.

Treat it like a treat.

🧠 Aunty’s Date Rules:

1–2 small dates a day — MAX, if you have prediabetes.
Never alone! Always eat with fat or protein — like a few nuts or with plain Greek yoghurt.
Don’t blend 6 into your smoothie and call it “healthy sugar.” That’s just dessert with gym clothes on.
Don’t replace all snacks with dates. It’s not a magical fruit. It’s a sugary fruit.
The Prophet (pbuh) didn’t eat 12 dates after biryani and Coke Zero. Context, beta. Context.

Dates are blessed. But they’re not blood sugar angels.
So have one.
Chew slow. Enjoy the blessing.

But don’t let “natural” become “dangerous.”

Love,
Aunty Khadija

🍉 Khadija Aunty’s Fruit Talk for Prediabetes

“Beta, listen — fruit is not the enemy. But sugar hides in nice clothes too. So let me tell you which ones to keep close… and which ones to respect from a distance.”

✅ Best Friends (Low Sugar) – Eat More Often

Papaya – soft, sweet, but doesn’t attack your sugar — very polite fruit.
Berries – strawberries, raspberries, blackberries — little champions with fibre and taste.
Kiwi – good vitamins, not too sweet.
Grapefruit – slightly bitter, but great if you can handle it.
Avocado – yes it’s a fruit! No sugar, full of good fat. Luxury on toast.
Lemon/Lime – add to water or food — not a snack, but vibe control.

🤝 Okay Friends (Medium Sugar) – Eat Smaller Portions

Oranges – better than juice, still a bit sugary. Eat whole with pith, not just juice.
Apples – not bad, but watch size. Small is sweet enough.
Pomegranate – lovely, but high sugar. Sprinkle — don’t eat like cereal.
Banana – only eat half if it’s ripe and spotty. Don’t go wild.
Grapes – tasty, but easy to overeat. Count them — not by the handful.

🚨 Sweet Drama Friends (High Sugar) – Special Guests Only

Mango – we love it, but it comes with sugar power. Eat a few cubes, not the whole mango.
Lychee – delicious, but behave like it’s mithai. Few pieces only.
Dates, dried figs, raisins – dry fruit is sugar in disguise. Good for energy, but treat like sweets.
Fruit juice – no, beta. It’s just sugar water with a fruit accent. Eat the fruit, skip the sip.

Khadija Aunty’s Fruit Rules:

Eat fruit with something else — not on its own. Add nuts, yoghurt, cheese, or dal.
Don’t drink your fruit. No juice. No smoothies unless fibre stays in.
Eat slowly. Not like someone chasing you with a glucose meter.
Watch your portion. One small bowl — not the whole fruit bowl.
Ripe = more sugar. Overripe fruit? Share it with the compost.

“Fruit is joy, beta. Just don’t let it bully your blood sugar.”

Vegetables