Gout: The curse has returned...

Yes, once again, this week, I have mainly been suffering from gout.

And yes, I've heard all the 'jokes' about it being a 'rich man's' condition and 'drinking too much port', blah, blah, blah - oh how I laughed - but Im afraid I have had something of a sense of humour failure about this attack, coming as it has in the middle of an exceptionally busy period of work; and before you think it, no, going off sick simply isn't an option for me, so I'll limp through it feeling, probably looking and certainly behaving, like a bear with a sore head (or paw, as the case may be).

But it's not just the timing of this attack, it's a little bit more than that. For instance, when the attack began, I didn't have any medication left, having given my last few tablets to a fellow sufferer who was in agony a few months ago. And yes, I know that was my own fault, but bear with me.

As someone who has suffered from the condition on and very much off for the last twenty years, I know when I'm having an attack: believe me, only first-timers don't know*, so rather than book an appointment with my GP, I thought the more sensible course was to free up his time and order a repeat prescription on-line instead.

So, yesterday morning, I emailed my request to the surgery, expecting the prescription to be ready at 3 o'clock this afternoon, after which treatment could commence immediately, or sooner, if possible. Imagine my agonised rage disappointment then, when the receptionist told me, "Sorry, it won't be ready until this time tomorrow, because the doctor hasn't seen it," before watching me hop out of the premises with pain etched across my face.

Just remind me why I didn't book an appointment and waste five minutes of GP surgery time writing out that prescription...

But there's more: this is an excerpt from the website I linked to at the top of this post, offering advice as to how to reduce you chances of suffering further attacks:

'Lifestyle factors may reduce the risk of having gout attacks. These include losing weight (if overweight), eating a healthy diet, not drinking too much alcohol or sugar sweetened soft drinks. If gout attacks recur, then taking vitamin C supplements and/or allopurinol each day can prevent attacks.'

Dealing with them in order: I am not overweight, even according to the ridiculous BMI 'standard'; perhaps not surprisingly, given the fact that I am not overweight, I eat a healthy diet, I never drink sugar-laden soft drinks and I take 500mg of vitamin C every day. Regular readers will know that I do like a drink every now and then, but to put that into context, I have not had a drop since last Friday evening and then I only had four bottles of Magners' cider; so I hardly qualify as a sot. Lastly, and for the uninitiated, allopurinol is a medication given to gout sufferers to reduce their production of uric acid, which is the root cause of the problem. However, it is only given to those who have regular attacks (i.e. every couple of months or so),which thankfully, I have not had to endure and my GP has never recommended it to me.

So why me? I'm fit, strong, relatively athletically built, eat sensibly, supplement appropriately and don't drink to excess.

Probably because my father had it and I'm told that there is a very strong familial link to the condition; for instance, my elder brother is also a sufferer and he is on allopurinol. As (bad) luck would have it, my brother-in-law is another victim and as my son wrily observed earlier on tonight, given that combination, he is firmly in the cross hairs, too.

Rant over. Time for me to hop back over to my easy chair and put my foot up.

(* The first time I suffered an attack, I went to casualty, because I was convinced I had broken my foot, the pain was that bad).

Agony. Pure, unadulterated agony...

This week, I have been mostly suffering from…

Gout.

Yes, that’s right, gout; that disorder suffered by blimpish, port drinking retired colonels and a certain much-married homicidal Tudor monarch.

Yes, that’s right, your eyes didn’t deceive you; gout. G.O.U.T.

And now that you’ve been able to stifle your giggles for long enough to wipe the tears of laughter from your eyes, let me tell the uninitiated amongst you (you lucky, lucky people) something about it.

It is, without doubt, quite the most painful thing I have ever experienced in my life and whilst modesty and a desire to allow you to hold on to your last meal prevent me from going into any further detail, allow me to say, I am no stranger to extreme discomfort including, amongst others:

1. Toothache – a mere bagatelle
2. Severe cramp in the muscles of the small of my back rendering movement impossible – a trifling inconvenience
3. Post operative infection – bit of a nuisance

Unfortunately, I am also no stranger to its predations. I suffered my first episode before the age of thirty and between that age and thirty-seven or eight, it struck me a further four or five times. In the intervening ten years, I’ve only been struck a further three times, possibly because I started eating more sensibly and got myself fit.

But it still came, nonetheless.

It always begins the same way. I wake up in the morning to a vague, tingling stiffness in the large joint of my left big toe. If caught quickly at that stage with the appropriate medication (thank the Lord for NSAIDs!), a couple of days later and I’m as right as rain. Left untreated, by the second day, the toe is too stiff and painful to move and even putting a sock on is a procedure, carried out through gritted teeth.

By the early hours of the third morning, the agony – there is no other word to describe it – is so intense that the weight of the bed sheets on it is enough to wake me up creased in pain and the mere thought of putting a sock on is too much to contemplate, let alone a shoe.

The first time it struck me, I honestly thought I had broken my foot in some way, possibly by having it run over by a lorry when alcoholically inconvenienced; that is how much it hurts. Indeed, I have often mused as to whether it would be less agonising to take a blunt, rusty old knife and cut off the offending toe without anaesthetic.

Apparently, the condition is more common amongst the more intellectually gifted. I couldn’t possibly comment about that, but what I am sure of is that I inherited the gene which makes me susceptible to it (it is essentially caused by an inability to rid the body of uric acid) from my late father, who was also struck for the first time in his early thirties. Just for good measure, my pencil slim elder brother is also a sufferer. Unfortunately for my son, one of my brothers-in-law is also prone to the condition, so if, as is widely believed, it is inherited, the chances are that he can also look forward to becoming a sufferer in about fifteen or twenty years’ time.

What then of Mrs RtoK when I am in the midst of an attack, unable to walk at more than a hobble, my face a twisted mask of pain?

I don't suppose anyone would be surprised tolearn that she generally laughs at me, tells me not to be such a wimp and to try giving birth if I want to know what pain really feels like!

No change there, then.

Now where did I put those pills…