But alas, while this is the first line of attack for most sufferers, for me this just didn’t take. To add to the slings and arrows that gout was sending my way, my dear ninety-year-old mother passed away, and while she had a peaceful death in her own home with my two brothers, it is nevertheless a very sad and significant time in one’s life.
In reflecting on my mother’s passing, I realised that one of her many outstanding attributes was an abundance of positivity and optimism that just seemed to radiate from her. I did my best to channel her positivity and optimism over the next few days.
As someone with a very visible disability and someone who is unashamedly vain, I have always been very particular about what I wear.
On the morning of my mother’s funeral, I went to put my shoes on and with horror I realised that there was no way my gout-ridden foot was going to fit into my shoe. I sat there looking at my foot which looked like a small piglet on the end of my leg.
I couldn’t believe that I was going to attend my mother’s funeral wearing slippers. Could things get any worse? Days later, there was still no respite from the continuing pain emanating from my left big toe.
Back to my GP who declared that after a course of steroids, the gout should be far more reduced than what it was and that I needed to go to the Emergency Department and get it tested for other explanations to what was happening to my toe. My wife and inwardly groaned imagining hours of waiting at Whangarei Base Hospital.
We were, however, pleasantly surprised when we were seen relatively quickly. They had to test the fluid in my toe which meant my toe had to be aspirated. This involved inserting a needle into the big joint of my big toe which was not pleasant.
I cannot keep still at the best of times, let alone when a large needle is being inserted into my toe. Thankfully they offered me gas on which I hyperventilated wretchedly, while a second nurse held onto my shin with both hands.
My medication was changed to colchicine. The gout seemed to start to settle, when I suddenly endured bouts of severe diarrhoea, reminiscent of Niagara Falls. This is apparently a common side effect of colchicine. A trade-off if you like between gout and gastro side effects. I opted for the gout as the dehydration was making me look and feel like a walnut.
Another week later I was scheduled to go down to Auckland to take part in a Mihi Whakatauki to be welcomed as a member of the newly formed Whakapuawai; a task force group to advise the New Zealand Health Group on how to implement Enabling Good Lives into their organisation.
I felt humbled and honoured to take on that role but also appalled and horrified to still be wearing SLIPPERS! However, despite my anguish of having to wear such inappropriate footwear, no one has batted an eyelid.
Not at the funeral, not at work and not at the Mihi Whakatauki. Is it because people don’t really look at what you wear; they look at the person within? Or is it that when people see a disabled person that’s all they see?
That a disabled person can either be wearing a tuxedo or a poncho and it would be all the same to them? No, I am going to take a leaf out of my mother’s book and take the positive angle – they’re looking at me, and the person within - and thank goodness for that!
Jonny Wilkinson is the CEO of Tiaho Trust - Disability A Matter of Perception, a Whangarei-based disability advocacy organisation.
