I sent an email to announce my newest disease and received this reply from a dear friend near London:
"Ouch ! Gout is painful. My Dad used to have it, and a good friend of mine - our age - has it too. I think it can be treated easily enough with the right medication. As you mention: your pills worked fast enough. I don’t think it’s necessary to wear tweeds, shoot grouse and consume only roasted fowls by the brace washed down with decanters of Port and fine Burgundy to get it. As you point out, your diet is relatively modest, so God knows why it has crept up to afflict you.
Still, perhaps now you can be pushed around casinos seated in an ancient Bath chair with your leg extended in front of you. Then you can wave your walking stick about, your face scarlet with apoplexy, as you turn the air blue with profanities shouted at the crowds of blithering idiots blocking your way.
Or did I just see that in a British movie from the 1930’s starring Will Hay?
Cheer up. Stick to celery and you’ll be fine."
I loved his imagery and just had to share!
Also, yesterday it rained here in Las Vegas for about, oh, 2 and a half minutes. I went to my boss and said, “Oh dear, damp and cooler! I think I have to go home - gout you know…”
It didn’t work.
Many people have written me, admitting they (or a close friend/family member) also have gout. Seems I have started a new “coming out with gout!” movement.
I am thinking perhaps we should have a Gout Pride Festival!
Granted, the Grout Pride Parade would, by definition, have to be a rather short route, and my guess is it would move rather slowly down the street. But still, maybe it is time to wear that t-shirt: Gout And Proud!
We’ll meet at the local Gout Bar next Friday to discuss details. Let me know if you are in.