On
a typical Thursday morning just a little over a month ago, I awoke to the buzz
of my alarm clock. I lay there for a moment contemplating my day and my morning
workout. Nothing special just an easy Thursday heading towards the weekend. I
sat up in bed and turned to place my feet on the floor. As my feet hit the
hardwood, I felt something shoot up my left foot. Now, I’ve never gotten the holy ghost or spoken in tongues but the sound that emanated from
me came from deep within my gut and can only be described as tribal. I screamed
a piercing high pitched melodious Phantom
of the Opera, Three Tenors, Minnie Ripperton glass shattering note,
and I cried. I cried hard. I cried for
the all the injustices in the world, I cried for the suffering children of Africa
you know, the ones with the flies all over their faces, and I cried for myself…this
was some unprecedented painful shit people. I felt like it went on for an hour
but in reality, it was probably less than 30 seconds.
At
some point I regained my composure and I don’t know what the hell I was thinking,
or I guess I wasn’t because I put my foot down again. Now, I thought what I had
experienced the first time was pain but folks, this was some other level shit. I
didn’t know what to do to stop the ever-increasing painful agony. So, I just
lifted my foot in the air and it worked, momentarily. But as soon as the pain
realized where I had placed my foot it reacted like “so that’s where you went” and immediately shot the red-hot fire
right back into it. So now I’m sitting with my foot in the air and screaming in
excruciating pain because I have no idea what the hell is going on. So, I
lowered my foot slowly, but didn’t let it hit the floor…now what?
I
got up and hopped on one foot to turn the light on. I looked down (mistake) and
this time I covered my mouth because what I saw made me want to scream not in
pain but in terror. At the bottom of my ankle was this big red swollen mass of
flesh with toes peeking out. Seriously, it looked like a scene from some
comical horror film. My foot was the size of a small round black bomb like from
a Looney Tunes cartoon and it was
throbbing like it was about to explode. I looked like the spawn of big foot. It
was so puffed up I’m surprised it didn’t just float away. It was so big that…ok,
I’m all out of metaphors but you get the point, sucka was big.
So,
what you may ask, was wrong with my enormous pontoon? Gout. Yep, I’ve officially
become an old man with gout. All I need now is a walker, orthopedic slippers and
some adult diapers. Now to be clear I diagnosed myself before ever heading to
the doctor. I googled…which was a mistake. Although my self-diagnosis was
correct I also found a lot of misinformation. A lot! One website insisted I should
immediately stop eating all types of meat, fish and most fruit & vegetables.
WTF. What was I expected to eat, humans? But the one that struck me like a bolt
of lightning was when I googled again, and it said no more alcohol…ever. None.
Nada. Zippo. To be clear this website said that I was to spend the remainder of
my life in a constant state of sobriety which is bad enough in a normal world
but in this current Trump era? Blasphemy! Shoot me! Seriously, just kill me now.
Most people who know me know that I’ve been known to occasionally indulge in the
spirits. You know every now and then… (ominous music plays in the background)…ok,
I’m a drunk. But at least I admit it and the thought of going through life
without the use of alcohol as a crutch to help me get through the good and bad
was just unnerving.
Fortunately,
I’m blessed with a great medical plan which allowed me to immediately hobble in
my flip flops for a chat with my personal White
Coat. He explained to me that yes most of the things I read were true but
the foods I read about could be eaten in moderation. Nobody was asking me to
become a cannibal. So, I asked him in what I thought was a calm voice but in reality,
was me speaking through tears brought on by the thought of the aforementioned
sobriety, “what about liquor?”. He paused,
I think intentionally. It was like a cliff hanger from a soap opera. I sat there
waiting for his answer as the music pumped slowly to a crescendo and the camera
alternated between close ups of my face and his. Finally, he said, “yes…in moderation”. When I came to (because
surely, I had passed out from sheer joy) I found myself thanking him profusely.
I was shaking his hand and damn near doing back flips…uh, maybe I should consider sobriety.
Anyway,
the foot swelling and pain lasted a good two weeks and since then I’ve been
eating just chicken, select vegetables, fruit and a lot of milk and dairy. Lactose
intolerance be damned (lets loose silent fart). No red meat, pork or shellfish.
And the liquor? Frankly I’m scared to death. The idea of my foot swelling to
the size of an elephant’s hoof again is terrifying. I’ve
had a total of three shots over a three-week period…yes, I counted and
measured. Maybe I should share my story at an AA meeting. Could prove to be a great cautionary tale.
