Briones: That familiar feeling

I woke up with a painful reminder that I was not getting any younger. Although I shouldn’t have been surprised. Not at my age.

I have been complacent I have to admit. And why shouldn’t I? I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve had an attack in the past decade. In fact, the last one was maybe five years ago.

Back when I was morbidly obese, smoked two packs a day and drank like there was no tomorrow, I would have one every two months, three if I was lucky.

So forgive me for believing I had gotten rid of it for good.

But boy was I wrong.

Last Friday morning, I felt a familiar throb in my left big toe joint. The affected area didn’t feel very hot and tender and it could still bear touching so I knew it wasn’t a full onset. I still had time to stop a full inflammation from occurring, but I had to act quickly.

I vowed I wouldn’t let gout get in the way, not when I had so many things planned that day since it was my day-off.

I was going to pay my bills, buy maintenance medicines, do some grocery shopping, jog in the afternoon and maybe binge-watch the first season of House of the Dragon in the evening.

But first I had to purchase Voltaren Emulgen and Colchicine. I normally would have them in stock but, as I said, it had been so long and I never bothered to replenish my supply when it last ran out.

Then I realized the pharmacy near me was still closed for another 45 minutes. I steeled myself for the agony that awaited me.

To those who suffer from gout know that time is of the essence.

I could feel the pain intensify exponentially with every minute passing.

When I put my left foot on the floor, I winced and instinctively hopped on my right foot. I instantly regretted giving away my cane a long time ago.

By the time I got all ready to go out, I could barely fit my left foot in the slipper. And it had to be a slipper because you didn’t want anything touching the inflamed area.

As my luck would have it, it was pouring outside. So I grabbed an umbrella and hobbled to the pharmacy across the street knowing there was only one thing that could remedy my situation.

As soon as I got inside — mask on, hair disheveled — I asked for Arcoxia.

“Pila ka (How many) milligrams, Sir?”

“120,” I replied.