#261 In which our hero pushes his luck a little too far.
Had a gout attack on Wednesday night.
I haven’t had one in a while, but this one is a dozy. My big toe on my right foot is kinda messed up, I have a bunion or something going on there. Every doctor I’ve ever been to about this thing asks if I broke my toe at some point. I’m starting to think that maybe I did, and just never realized it. Like I got a hairline fracture that I mistook for a bad bashing, or something like that.
So when I half woke up at 4am, I tried to convince myself that the pain in my toe was just me sleeping on it weird. But, after 10 minutes of denial, I finally got out of bed and hobbled over to the bathroom to take my pills.
I take two kinds of medication for gout flare-ups: Indomethacin (an anti-inflammatory) and Colchicine (for pain and to reduce swelling). The Colchincine is specifically to elevate the symptoms of gout and seems to work pretty well. The drawback is that it messes up my guts to a huge degree. In fact, on the side of the bottle the instructions are, and I quote: “Take 1 tablet by mouth every two hours until loose stool.” In other words, when you start to crap your brains out, stop.
I’ve been taking these drugs for a couple years now and the pooping, which crampy and sucky, is generally a sign that the worse is over.
So I start taking my drugs every two hours, like instructed. I keep this up all day long, and the horrible bathroom dash doesn’t happen. But I know it’s coming.
The Scientist and I pick up the kids that evening and decide to go out for dinner. In the back of my head I’m thinking that this might not be the best idea. But I haven’t even had gas all day, and my fucking toe still hurt so I figure I deserved to treat myself.
My guts felt a little questionable going in, but I was hoping that it was just hunger pains. And by the end of the meal, that seemed to be the case. I had a nice steak, mashed potatoes and veggies, and felt pretty good. My toe still hurt, of course, but my belly was happy.
I was feeling so good, that I ordered a cup of coffee when The Scientist and the girls had ice cream for dessert. I even had three or four spoonfuls of Macey’s sundae when she couldn’t finish it.
As it turned out, those were two very poor decisions.
I had thought that the coffee would speed things along and, frankly, I was tired of waiting for the explosion, so I thought I’d give it a little push. As we were leaving the restaurant I felt a slight percolating in my guts, but nothing to worry about.
The Scientist took Macey in her car, and I took Lily in mine. It’s only about a 15-20 minute drive from the Applebee’s down the street; but five minutes in I realized I was in a race with the devil.
The “slight percolating” turned into something much more dire. I started to sweat. I loosened my belt. I squeaked out a little gas, before I became too afraid to roll those dice.
And the entire trip Lily wanted to chat with me. “Daddy, guess what? Guess what?” “What, honey?” I moaned. “That house had snow on the roof! Why’s there snow on the roof? But not the street? How’d you get the snow off the street? What’s that thing? What’s that thing over there?”
I’m staring straight ahead and clenching for all I’m worth, and just trying to keep a pleasant, even tone with my five-year-old. I want to say, “Holy shit, can you pipe down for 10 minutes? If I lose my concentration here neither of us is going to be happy!”
I drive at an unadvisable pace down the side streets to my neighborhood, and pull into the garage just as The Scientist is getting out of her car. “You’re going to have to get Lily out of the car! I have trouble coming!” I shout as I fumble for my door keys.
Luckily, I manage to sprint up to the bathroom in time. The results are horrible, and I’ll not burden you with any description. I had to return twice more, but by bedtime I was clean as a whistle.
And this morning? My damn toe hurts just as bad. I’ve started the drugs again. Let the race begin.