I have a gout attack today, in the left wrist. If anyone wonders how it feels, it feels like my wrist is broken. (My first attack was in my right wrist, and I actually went for X-rays thinking I’d broken it in my sleep.) I take medicine, so I only get an attack once every three years or so, and it does go away after around a week, but it’s painful. And of course I have to whine about it.

It’s funny that you don’t know how often you use a part of your body until it hurts or becomes unusable. I can’t believe all that I do with my left hand!

I mention it in this blog because I find it amusing and ironic that I’m getting a first-hand taste of a disease which is mentioned so much in my favorite Regency romances. I have all kinds of sympathy for those grouchy gentlemen with their gouty foot wrapped and propped up!