This is about Me.
I discovered the hard way that I’m in a high-tone fraternity that includes: Henry VIII, Khubilai Khan, Nostradamus, John Milton, Isaac Newton, Alfred Lord Tennyson, George IV, John Hancock, Thomas Jefferson and other lesser luminaries.
We each know gout on a profane level. When something hurts this much, you damn right it’s profane.
The pain is caused by uric acid crystals which form in the joints of your foot and toes and stick out backwards. The smallest movement hurts. Even a bed sheet hurts. Forget about walking. Pray you don’t have to go to the bathroom very often.
Gout can be a gateway to Parkinson’s Disease, heart attack, high blood pressure, kidney stones and, I’m convinced, insanity. The pain drives you mad.
For years, medicos have pushed the stereotype that booze and rich foods enable gout to attack. Recently, they have begun to wonder if metabolism can be a contributing factor.
I will stipulate that decades of hard drinking never hurt as much as ten days of gout. That’s about how long my attacks persist. Ten days.
This time, something strange is going on. The doc gave me steroids, which calmed the left foot – only to have symptoms show up in the right foot a few days later. That defies logic.
The Mystery Woman says one foot likely caught it from the other because they were sleeping together.