Climbing on to the wagon?

WHAT'S THE PROBLEM WITH ALCOHOL?

There are a lot of different answers to that question of course. The addiction, the violence, the loutish behaviour, liver damage.  All sorts of reasons why alcohol is a problem in our society, all sorts of reasons for regarding it with suspicion.

Despite which it has always played a reasonably significant role in my life. Not a major role, but I've come to enjoy a decent wine, developed a taste for real ale, have often been tempted by a wee dram in the evening.  Without alcohol I often feel I would barely function at social occasions. It's been important occasionally, even something of a crutch during a stressful period at work in '99, and has always been around, to some degree or other.

That's now changed, to the point where I almost find it hard to enjoy drinking. This change has only come about this year, and the extent to which I have altered my habits surprises me.  It began with the gout. There have been two attacks this year, both early on.

The first was by far the worst, especially as, at the time, I didn't know what the problem was, or how to treat it. Eight days housebound, a week walking with a stick, a further week with a limp that gradually faded away. Three weeks of not being myself, not having the mobility I usually take for granted. And uncertainty over the cause.

I had recovered sufficiently just in time to drive down to Southport for three nights, although pressing the clutch pedal still hurt a bit. The limp only vanished while we were down there. On the first night we ate at the house of friends, and plenty of wine was consumed. The next night we went to the gig that had brought us down there in the first place.  A couple of beers with dinner, a couple at the gig itself, and a couple with the band after the show.  It was the last occasion this year (and possibly ever?) when I felt a bit pissed.

On the final night we went a house warming party, but I was aware I had the long drive back the next day and limited myself to three beers. So I stayed reasonably sober, especially as there was plenty to eat, and was ready to come home.

The drive back was fine.  But the now recognisable symptoms returned the next day. This attack wasn't as bad as the first, but I was still housebound, forced to sit with my foot raised, for three days.

Then I got myself to the doctor for the results of my blood test, and went complete with walking stick and pronounced limp. He told me that I almost certainly had gout, explained what that involved, what can cause it, and how to treat it. I then spent a lot of time on the web reading as much as I could about the condition.

For all that it's been know about for centuries, there seems to be very little in the way of scientific knowledge about living with the ailment.  It's caused by a build up of uric acid in the body.  When that gets too much for the system to deal with it crystallises, usually in the toes and feet, which can result in a lot of pain.  And, potentially, if left untreated, a lot of damage to joints.

So what's the treatment? The one thing that science does know is that dehydration is the great enemy.  Drink water, drink water, drink water. Then pee out that intake and it's the urination which is lowering the uric acid levels in the body.  So I went on a new regime. Drink at least five pints of water per day. Doesn't sound a lot, but it certainly is when taken day after day. Since I began I've maybe only had one or two nights where I've managed to sleep through for five hours or more. Most nights I'm up between three and four am, desperate to relieve my bladder. But that seems a small price to pay compared to what could happen. I'll do whatever I can to avoid any more attacks. They're not only painful, they're bloody inconvenient when you're trying to get out and enjoy life!

So I've followed some of the anecdotal web suggestions as well. Cherry juice, nutmeg and red fruits feature more prominently in my diet (fortunately all things I like). I've cut back on red meat, tried to limit my offal intake, and generally avoid most seafood (although it's scallops which are reputed to be the worst).

And I cut back, drastically, on having the worst possible thing to take when you want to avoid dehydration - alcohol.  I have no way of proving it, but it felt like those three nights in a row spent drinking may have been at least partially responsible for that second attack.

So I take my water and I stay off the booze. I've never had a whisky since then, and even though the thought crosses my mind from time to time it never forces itself upon me to the extent that I give in and have a dram. My wife likes the odd glass of wine with some meals, so I join her in a drop.  But I have the smaller glass, I fill it less, and sip slowly.  Because I'm always drinking water as well, so there's less need to go swilling it down in the way I would have done only a few months ago.

If I do have a pint when I'm out it's now always accompanied by a pint of water. And, having already been drinking water throughout the day, that's enough to fill me up. The only time I've managed more was in a pub in London when we were drinking with friends. And there I struggled to finish off three pints - as much as anything because that meant three pints of water as well....

When Barbara is away I no longer treat myself to the occasional pint in a pub, or a gin and tonic at home. When I go to House Ggigs I no longer take any beer along. When we do have wine I find myself less and less able to drink it. On succeeding days I avoid it, which has sometimes meant a bottle lasting three days. Unheard of in the old days (of 2014....) when I doubt an opened bottle would ever last three hours.

I stop drinking it for several reasons. Obviously I want to avoid any risk that I wake up with a painful foot. But I am also finding that, because my intake has reduced so greatly, I get light headed that much quicker, and it's no longer a feeling I like. But the biggest change, one that is worrying considering how much wine remains in the rack and the number of bottles in the cupboard behind me, is that I no longer actively enjoy drinking.

It's OK with food. But as soon as the meal is over I find it hard to continue. It doesn't even taste nice. Tonight I served up the final bottle of what has been my favourite wine for several years, Petillant de Syrah. It tasted good. To start with. I didn't drink it at the rate I used to (when it almost went down like water), and once the food was gone I found I was actually having to force myself to drink it. The taste no longer pleases me.

Is this a permanent state? It's hard to imagine otherwise, because I suspect I'm going to remain on this five pints of water a day lark for the rest of my life. Unless I get a blood test result that says I'm 'cured - but I'm not sure if such a thing is actually possible.

What a peculiar outcome to an illness.