Sorry for the lack of bloggery. I have a note from my doctor.

Gout.

Gout?!? That's something out of a Charles Dickens novel, right? No one gets that in the 21st Century, right?

Right? Right? Right?!?

Right. Well, I got it.

I already knew of one other guy who has it... but to my surprise, I discovered in conversation that a couple of the guys on my street have it, too. I'm just a year or so over 40, so I guess I shouldn't be too surprised that my body is beginning to show signs of wear, but these guys are as much as 10 years younger than me.

Now, I've talked in the past about pain. Back pain of the kind I occasionally experience - due to a herniated disc - can be debilitating because of the widespread effects it can cause. When I have an "incident," I feel it from my back all the way down the legs. The slightest movement is painful, as are standing or even sitting still. But I can lie down and the pain subsides. Bed rest is good.

Gout, though... this is different. Different bad, not or different unusual.

Last Monday morning I woke up feeling some discomfort in my foot. Not pain, just a sense that there was something wrong. During the day, the discomfort turned to an ache, and then to distracting pain in the ball of the foot. Monday being a telecommute day for me, I was able to elevate it and keep ice on it. No luck. Aspirin wasn't helping much, if at all. The whole day sucked, but a good night's sleep would take care of it, I hoped.

Not quite.

Tuesday dawned, and the pain was still there. And I had a meeting to be at. A three-hour meeting. No telecommute for Russ. It was bearable, but getting worse. As soon as the meeting was over, I went home to ice my foot down. On the way, I called my doctor for an appointment - but nothing was available until late Wednesday afternoon. Dang. More ice, more aspirin. I didn't get much work done at all. Come bedtime, Unisom was needed. It didn't help much.

Wednesday... I said then:

given the opportunity, I'd have cheerfully removed my own foot with a hacksaw.

My foot had swollen and started to bruise, and the pain was pounding, almost pulsing up my leg. I knew I hadn't broken anything - I'd have remembered that. I was more concerned than ever.

The previous statement, by the way, is my official submission for The Understatement Of The Year competition.

I'd have done almost anything to be rid of the pain. And, unlike a back injury, there was no "comfortable position" I could get into that would make the pain stop. Elevating the foot seemed to take some of the pressure off, but the difference was inconsequential.

I called my doctor, to try to get an earlier appointment. "Hahahahahaha! Get lost," the receptionist said.

"Bite me. I'm in serious agony here," I replied, nonplussed.

"Suffer, foolish mortal," she quipped gleefully.

"Get bent. Need I remind you of my gold-plated insurance?" quoth I.

"Uh... OK, we can bump you up to 1:30," she relented.

After exchanging cheerful expletives, I rang off and got ready to go to work.

I had a little difficulty putting on a shoe. A lot of difficulty, actually. A lot of gasping-in-pain eye-watering cursing-out-loud difficulty. But I managed it, mainly because I can wear sneakers to work, and laces are un-laceable. And because going to the office barefoot is frowned upon.

I had a 10:00 a.m. meeting - a big important meeting with my manager. To miss it would be a severe CLM. And another meeting immediately thereafter. No telecommuting for this guy that day. So, I made it to my manager's office.

My manager, on the other hand, didn't. Dang.

Praying for sweet, sweet unconsciousness, I hobbled to the next meeting. I don't remember a minute of it. My foot was on fire. After 40 minutes, I could take no more, made my manners, and left for home and an icepack. I implied earlier that getting a shoe on was tough. It was nothing compared to getting it off a couple hours later.

Nothing, but nothing, relieved the pain. I considered using some of my leftover Vicodin, but I was thinking clearly enough to know I didn't want to do that. Knowing that my appointment was soon helped me avoid the painkillers, I think.

• 1:30 p.m. - I hobble into the doctor's office.

• 1:31 p.m. - Doctor: "That's gout."

• 1:40 p.m. - I finally believe he's serious.

The doc's injection (a kind of steroid, I think - I wasn't paying particular attention at the time) and the Colchicine had their effects moderately quickly - the swelling began to subside and the pain eased that afternoon.

A word about Colchicine, or more specifically about the side effects: ouch. The nausea knocked me onto my butt for three or four days, which was a convenient place to have been knocked onto, since the other side effect had me in the littlest room in the house most of Wednesday night, Thursday, Friday, and Saturday. All things considered, though, I'll take the side effects over the gout symptoms, any day.

It's Monday - and I can walk almost normally for the first time in a week. And I have a meeting I have to be in the office for later this afternoon.

Normality is resuming... but I'll have to keep an eye on my foot for the rest of my life. I hate getting older... but it beats the alternative.

OK, I said I was sorry for the lack of blogging. I guess this post makes up for it.

UPDATE: Aspirin and ice are exactly the wrong things to use for a gouty foot. It just figures, doesn't it?

Posted by Russ at 11:39 AM, November 3, 2003 in Personal Stuff