About ten days ago I went to the doctor because my gouty ankle was hurting so bad. The doctor asked me if the ankle was swollen at all, and I said no. So he told me to sit up on the examination table and take off my shoe and sock. He stepped back to take a look and said in a kind of shocked voice, "Oh! That's very swollen." Apparently, from the angle of looking down at my foot, I couldn't see that it was swollen. The doctor put me on a prednisone pack for six days and told me to come back when I finished that pack. He told me that by the fourth day everything would be just fine. He was wrong. By the fourth day I could barely walk. This is something that my dogs do not understand, this not walking. So I dutifully took Bette and Chandler for their walks despite the pain. The trouble is that halfway around the block I couldn't walk any more. Yesterday morning it hurt so badly that I seriously didn't think I would make it home. When I got to the big house on the corner, the halfway point, I plopped down in the grass next to a big tree and begged Chandler to please drag me the rest of the way home. Instead of helping me, Chandler peed on the tree and then ate some grass. After a few odd stares from passing cars, and the fact that it was about to rain, I pulled myself back up, limped home, and called the doctor's office.
We're trying another type of pill now. It's basically Aleve with some kind of extra ingredient that will keep the Aleve from eating through my stomach wall. So far, so good. I walked Chandler twice now and it only felt like a very fat person was stomping on my ankle, instead of an elephant. Seeing as I am the fat person stomping on my ankle, it's not so bad.