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I have had gout for the last week. It has left me immobilised for most of the time. The pain in my left foot is second only to the tophi on my right. I think it’s time for a change in my life. In the past I gave up drugs, I gave up the theatre, I gave up smoking. Now it is time to give up drinking. Nothing, nada, no alcohol.
Alcohol is the worst thing for gout. Or the best thing if you think about it from the gout’s perspective. In the past, from my first attack back in around 2006, I have figured that the brief bit of pain and inconvenience was enough to endure in order to maintain my drinking. But no more. Now the attacks come more often. Now I’m getting too old to put up with it.
The pain and the inability to walk have both contributed to a very unhappy Gary. I feel like I’m stuck in a box, waiting for things to return to some sort of normal. This morning I even ordered a delivery from ICA because of the parlous state of the fridge and pantry. In fact, today, Mirinda had to get something to eat for dinner after uni rather than come home to a proper meal. That isn’t good.
Anyway, I realise this isn’t an easy time of the year to give up alcohol but, then again, it’s an invitation to gout to return in double short time. I don’t want that any more. I know it will be difficult but only for a short while. My memory is so bad that I’ll forget that I enjoyed it, before too long.
Nicktor and I used to wear our gout like badges of honour. Other people thought it was incredibly funny. Most people think gout was something that happened to grumpy old men in the distant past following a big meal of venison and port. Okay, it still happens to grumpy old men but in the here and now.
Mostly, though, I’m just sick of the pain. And I want my, admittedly limited anyway, mobility back.
