Pooflake’s ‘Out with Gout’ adventure continues…

Thanks to all for reading my previous post and for your kind words of sympathy…

*wags finger @ BGB*

*sends evil stares to Captain Placid*

hangableautobulb asked for me to let you know what happens.

Well, beloved b3tans, I’m afraid the situation has not improved…

Not one little bifter-tickling jot in fact

What I neglected to tell you before is that this was not my first happy tussle with the ‘gout fairy’…oh no, it has happened before.

The first time was almost a year ago; and I thought I had broken my foot, pulled a tendon or something similar. I suffered the horror for a full week before my own dad couldn’t stand my incessant whinging any longer and dragged me (on an August Bank holiday no less) to the local A&E.

What a ‘knockabout of pure fun’ that was. 6 hours of excruciating waiting, made even more joyous by the sniggering, patronising young medic saying about how I ‘shouldn’t really have gout’ at my age; and that I should ‘perhaps make some lifestyle choices’.

Harrumph. Anyhoo, Dougie Howser chucks me one tiny tablet of something called ‘Colchicine’. He then told me to buy a bottle of the fuckers the next day and everything would be alright.

It was horrible but I think I was already over the worst of it. The whole sorry affair was cleared up within 2 days and once my foot was better I kicked myself for not going to the doctors sooner.

Since then, my attitude to gout has been like one of those old ladies who can ‘feel something in me water’. I can pretty much sense an attack before it happens and chow a tablet or 2. Job done.

This one is different though. As soon as I realised what was going on I reached for the tablets as usual…but it’s like the gout has evolved…and this time the tablets have done fuck-diddly-all for me.

Well I say that…In my panic and discomfort I’ve been doubling my dosage and I’ve started to notice a ‘bit of a side effect’, which led me to check the NHS website regarding the medication. This is what it says:

“Colchicine is available in tablet form and is usually taken every two to six hours. However, it is not widely used because it frequently causes nausea, vomiting, and diarrhoea.”

“Oh...Fucking...Hell” I think to myself as I peer into the empty bottle.

Now I’ve already been feeling sick for a while now but I just put that down to the pain.

Vomiting is not exactly a ‘delish’ experience but I can deal with it…..

Diarrhoea, on the other hand…

Let me tell you friends, me and ‘the shits’ are anything but the best of buddies.

Early last night the liquidised turd equivalent of mount Vesuvius erupted on Planet Pooflake’s already-ragged ringpiece; and has been blasting regularly-repeated ‘aftershocks’ ever since.

Only this time with the added ‘Brucie bonus’ of a searing agony shooting through my body every time my legs shook with the sheer power of the thermo-nuclear runny dump from hell.

This of course, goes in tandem with the happy necessity of having to fling my body round every time so I can stick my head deep into the splattered lavvy and hurl sweet dry yack so thick it looks like Alien’s second mouth thing snapping out.

In the last 12 hours I have spent so long on the throne that I’m surprised I haven’t been crowned king of somewhere.

But STILL I go into work. Thanks to the teacher’s strike, the long-suffering Mrs Pooflake was able to drive me in to work this morning, and I hobbled into the office on crutches with puke down my tie and a face like a smacked arse…confident of being sent straight home when I informed them of my predicament.

I mean, as Davros’ Granddad replied in my previous post:

“Seriously though, if an inability to use your foot properly doesn't constitute a day's sick leave I don't know what does. I took a day off a short time ago on the basis of feeling a bit *meh*.”

DG mate, you’d fit right in where I work. Only today, one of my team didn’t turn up until 10 because he ‘didn’t feel like it’; another is ‘working from home’ because his dog is poorly and he might have to take it to the vet. Everybody else just turns up and leaves when it suits them and the boss never bats an eyelid.

Yet I am a hobbling, screaming, growling, shaking, sweating, squitting, gurning, chunk-blowing prime example of a physical wreck in its purest form and what happens?

I’m given extra work to do and told to get on with it.

My rotting innards feel like they would give the putrid bubbling swamps of Georgia a run for their money...I’m sure my crap factory alone is creating enough methane to power half of Dunstable. And all the time my Left foot feels like any minute it’s going to burst and give birth to a 7ft round hedgehog…on fire.

So that thing I said in my previous post about God smiling on me?.....Forget it.
( Pooflake braces for an onslaught..., Wed 16 Jul 2008, 11:25, 12 replies)

Oh dear!
*kisses Pooflakes poorly foot*

Although it should be your mother doing it. Not sure if it works when someone who is most definitley not your mother does it.
( girlinthehole, Wed 16 Jul 2008, 11:31, closed)

Oh, Christ...
You poor man. *sniggers*

You've got through probation? Then go home, and take your work with you! That way, they get to get their stuff done and you get to make a deposit to the porcelain bank in the comfort of your own home!
( Devil_In_Tights the *real* DiT!, Wed 16 Jul 2008, 11:32, closed)

I live in Guildford.
Guildford used to be the gout capital of England. I didn't get it. I think I'm immune.

I hope this makes you feel better.
( Kroney, Wed 16 Jul 2008, 11:34, closed)

Lordy...
Pooflake mate, for fuck's sake GO HOME! You're in no condition to be at work... Throw your guts up in front of the boss's office to hammer the point home that you shouldn't be there if need be. And if you don't go home today, don't go in tomorrow.
( Davros' Granddad a voice of calm reason in a world of spastics., Wed 16 Jul 2008, 11:36, closed)

My dad had gout recently
and was in serious agony with it.

At least he's retired. But you, Mr Pooflake, are not, therefore you can take a day off. Especially if you're in danger of shitting yourself.

Actually, if you did follow through at your desk, maybe your boss would send you home to get rid of the pong...
( K2k6 has a proper job these days, Wed 16 Jul 2008, 11:46, closed)

goot
not gout, goot!

say it in a french accent, you will be smiling (and grimacing) for hours

or hoors

depending.
(Halfy By light alone, Wed 16 Jul 2008, 12:45, closed)

Eeep
Get thee to a hopsickle at once! If the smarmy medic tries to recommend "lifestyle changes" again, boik at him, hard.
(Puddle of Sugar was still wallpapering on, Wed 16 Jul 2008, 13:09, closed)

When i was doing work experience 2 years ago in the aftermath of the world cup
I was the place i was
plus i broke the vacuum cworking in a hunting and fishing shop and one of the blokes there who shall be named dave because that was his name had gout
hobbling all over the place he were
laughing all over leaner 20 minutes into the first day in my hungover state from a large party the day before
eeeep :)
(Freddles, Wed 16 Jul 2008, 14:47, closed)

I have a doctor's appointment at 4:30 today...

Where I fully intend to explain my general discomfort by debagging and squitting all over his desk before inserting the now useless bottle of tablets up his anal cavity.

And all being well I will be working from home tomorrow - yay!

*rushes to bog again*

*bokes*
( Pooflake braces for an onslaught..., Wed 16 Jul 2008, 15:02, closed)

Err, Freddles?
I understood every word of your reply there... but in that particular order I can't quite understand the sentences O_o
(Professor Kenny Martin Hmm? What?, Wed 16 Jul 2008, 16:56, closed)

I think you need one of these.
I mean, look at the things it claims to cure!


( The Resident Loon Not a demographic. Do not measure., Wed 16 Jul 2008, 17:18, closed)

There there Flakey
*passes immodium*

*sends sympathy & cyber-snogs*

xxx
( Tourette's ( . )( . ) has a monkey hair in her fried egg, Wed 16 Jul 2008, 23:33, closed)