The Gout Toe Chronicles

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The Gout Toe Chronicles

I have gout. I’m not telling you this for sympathy. I bring it up as a possible reason for my nightmares. The lightest touch or slightest rubbing on my swollen great toe, even that of 1000 thread Egyptian cotton sheets, sends a bolt of pain through my spine and into my dreams. That is, if I happen to be sleeping.

One morning before awakening, I was dreaming about being eviscerated by rabid pirates using fire-heated pokers. For me, a typical gout-induced dream. Mercifully, my eyes began to burn me into awareness. Morning sunlight, stabbing into the darkness like parallel blades from between my Venetian blinds, cut into me as surely as would have the pirates’ hot iron cutlasses. The surrealistic world of slumber swirled and waned as I shook off the sleepiness and tugged myself into awareness. I rubbed my eyes. Why was it so bright already?

The answer came to me almost instantly. I panicked with the realization that I had slept through my cell phone’s alarm feature. It sent me into a top-speed frenzy of “late for work” activity. The accompanying surge in blood pressure, pulse and panting thrust me into an entirely new level of awake. Frantic washing, brushing and dressing had me hopping from bathroom to dresser to closet, over an obstacle course of incredibly important stuff that I had mounded up here and there on the floor, instead of actually putting away. Piled in strategically placed groups were boxes, clothes, a stack of Road and Track magazines, a Playstation 3, and lots of books. There was even a Louisville Slugger baseball bat leaning against the TV stand.

The Slugger was a new addition, and in my hasty flailing, I smashed my gout toe directly into the unforgiving wooden bat. This was not a mere stub of the toe. All time and activity slowed into Matrix-like crispness, as that excruciating second played out. The top of the bat crashed through the TV tube sending shards of the Today Show splintering across the room. The Road and Track with the Nissan GTR on the cover slipped out from under my other foot as I fell backwards, launching myself into mid-air. Even falling, I was enveloped by the anticipation of what I knew was to come from my gout toe. Even as my head crashed down on a pre-Internet stack of Encyclopedia Britannica, I knew the real pain was about to hit. My gout toe was, no doubt, about to show me just how much it hated me.

Motion stopped. I looked down at my toe, knowing how hard I hit it. Maybe I would get away easy, maybe… And then it broadsided me. The searing pain was beyond intense. I screamed so hard that I’m not sure any sound came out. More than seeing stars, I saw entire galaxies. My heart pounded, and in time with the rhythmic heaving, jolts of lightning strafed the inside of my head. Waves of pain and retching gave way to dark clouds and then black fog, and then unconsciousness.

I woke up because my toe hurt. Go figure. But this was different. It hurt worse than usual, and I was on the floor, covered in television glass. I pulled myself up and plucked glass needles from my skin, leaving brilliant red, oozing dots. I tested the toe with a little weight, and concluded it was probably broken. Then, hobbling around, I proceeded to clean up and get dressed. I still had to get to work, even though I would be two hours late.

My daily drive included 45 minutes on the Interstate. As I accelerated onto the highway I saw a clear road with few cars. I took a large breath in relief, and quickly got up to speed. For three miles. Then everything stopped.

An accident up ahead had brought the Interstate to a standstill. Traffic was being led carefully around obstacles, and from lane to lane, by bored men wearing orange vests over checkered flannel shirts, holding red signs that said SLOW on one side and STOP on the other. The men spun the signs like tops, getting twisted enjoyment out of making the traverse as difficult as possible. As I inched my car passed the accident, I couldn’t help but notice the utter carnage of the wreck. I could see red-stained victims in disturbing detail. A woman, a man, a child. A hard knot gripped my stomach as I tried to keep my attention on the road and my driving. I wanted to shake the traumatic image. That could have been me, had I been running on time. The thought scared me. I idled forward until the roadway finally opened, and then sped to make up for lost time.

My heart beat fast, my pulse pounded in my head, and I think I was panting. Or maybe I was gasping. And after a short, panic-induced reprieve from the pain, my gout toe resumed its torment and began to hurt more than ever. But even in the midst of such an unusually bad day, a day where everything had gone wrong, somehow I felt a little… what was it? Happy? Or perhaps it was intense relief. I couldn’t stop thinking about the accident and how I could have been a victim. A series of events that morning, however painful, may have kept me from being killed. I was a lucky guy. Things had turned around, and were going my way at last.

The parking lot, which was usually fairly full, was virtually empty. As I drove in, I knew I would get a premier spot, right by the front entryway. Yes indeed, I was a very lucky guy. Then a realization hit me with a force that, yet again, took away my breath. I stopped the car and shook my head in disbelief. It was one more stab wound into a day that was already the worst of my life. What finally dawned on me almost made me scream out loud. It also explained why the parking lot was so empty. It was Saturday.

My gout toe throbbed. And I think it laughed.




1025 words