The Disease of Kings

When I was younger, I always thought of getting old as a romantic notion. I imagined myself retired and puttering about, keeping myself busy with this or that but with no responsibilities. What I didn't count on was that my body would simultaneously begin to fail me. It just hadn't occurred to me.

Yesterday I was doing a little writing and was contemplating what I wanted to write about.

It feels a little like I don’t do enough anymore. That so many of the stories I wrote before came out of my misadventures involving hobbies, family, home repair or other projects. Our kids are grown and don’t do a lot of things with us. I tend to hire people to do house repair (and I always hated it anyway), and I don’t seem to have many hobbies other than surfing and let's face it, there are really only so many things you can say about surfing. It's a wonderful activity, but after one essay, you've pretty much covered the subject. I DON'T want to write about work.

What was I going to write about now, I asked myself. Did I need to become more productive around the house if only so that I had something to write about? It's not the worst idea in the world. But then something happened last night that may have given me a glimpse into my writing future.

Last night I realized I have gout. Gout! I mean, who gets gout? Here is a short list:

Henry VIII, Charles Spurgeon, Kublai Khan, Nostradamus, John Milton, Queen Anne, Isaac Newton, Charles IV, Charles V, Alfred Lord Tennyson, George IV, John Hancock, Thomas Jefferson, Karl Marx, Alexander Hamilton, George Mason, Benjamin Franklin, Henry James, Frederick the Great, Curt Schilling, and perhaps most interestingly, the T-Rex skeleton called "Sue."

With the exception of Curt Shilling, the professional baseball player who famously helped the Boston Red Sox to win the 2004 World Series, all these other people are from another century, or two. This is not a modern affliction. It's more like a throwback. I live in a house built in 1725 and have somehow acquired an ailment from that time period.

If you're not familiar—and I certainly wasn't—gout is a kind of arthritis. It's usually associated with the swelling of a joint, usually the big toe, and is caused by a buildup of uric acid in the blood. If the uric acid levels are too high, they form crystals in the joint, causing pain and swelling. That's what I have. A painful, swollen bit toe. Bigfoot.

It has been called "the disease of kings" because it was associated with the intake of rich foods and alcohol. Swell. It doesn't sound much like the disease of kings. It's closer to something poor sailors would get, like scurvy.

There is no permanent cure. But you can lessen the impact by reducing your intake of beef, scallops, gravy, bacon, pork, lamb, asparagus, liver (I guess my beloved foie gras is out), red wine and beer (specifically draft beer). Actually alcohol consumption in general is supposed to be curtailed, which I don't see happening any time soon.

Instead you're supposed to drink a lot of water. This seems to be the answer to almost everything and I rarely drink water, let alone the 64 ounces or so they suggest. Who has the time to drink that much water? They also suggest natural cherry juice as a remedy. This I might be able to handle.

My ancient ailment is just one in a long, but new, list of afflictions I've had to endure since turning 40. I have a bad lower back, hemorrhoids, poor hearing, and I'm pretty sure I'm going to have to start getting stuff cut off my skin from years of overexposure to the sun.

Well, at least I'll have something to write about now.