Gregory Freeman: A Painful Foot, A Loving Family, A Lesson Learned. P-D 9/28/1997

Headline: A PAINFUL FOOT, A LOVING FAMILY, A LESSON LEARNED
Reporter: By Gregory Freeman

Publication: ST. LOUIS POST-DISPATCH
Last Printed: Sun., Sep. 28, 1997
Section: NEWS ANALYSIS, Page: 4B, Edition: FIVE STAR LIFT

AS I WRITE today's column, I'm sitting here with a foot the size of a brick.
I'm having an attack of gout. Gout is the painful inflammation of a joint that occurs predominantly in men. It can last for a few days or even longer. It is not, as it once was called, a "rich man's disease." My checkbook is certain proof of that. One of the most famous people to be afflicted with gout was Benjamin Franklin, and people still get it all the time. Doctors have some theories on what sets it off, but they're not 100 percent certain. Something about an increase in uric acid in the blood.
Whatever.

I seem to be improving slowly now, but for much of last week, I worked from the second floor of my house. Not because I love the second floor that much, but I had difficulty walking, especially down steps. For someone like me, it was pretty devastating.
   For my family, it was probably a relief.
   I'd better explain.
   I keep busy. I enjoy newspaper work, and I like my job. So I spend a lot of my time working on columns, writing or doing interviews.
   I also spend a lot of time speaking to groups. People seem to think that because a columnist can write, he can also speak. I don't claim to be the best speaker in the world - when I give a talk, I'm usually reading something I've written - but I often wind up talking to groups.
   In my spare time I do biweekly commentaries for KWMU radio, and host "Mosaic" on Channel 9.

When gout hit me a week ago, it knocked me for a loop and into the bed. I had to cancel a couple of speeches. I did all of my work, including interviews, from my bed.
As a result, my family and I had more conversations than we often do. We talked even more about work, about school, about work that needed to be done with the house.
Yes, my family saw a lot more of me last week. Probably too much.

No one complained. My wife was her usual patient self, and my son was as helpful as could be.
   Still, I'm sure that my pain in the foot was a pain in their backsides.
   That's because while I'm as independent as can be when I'm healthy, I turn into a baby when I'm sick.
   "Honey, could you bring me a glass of water?" I'd yell downstairs. And my wife would get it. That's dedication. I try to be as devoted, but I could easily imagine myself, if she were in a similar situation, yelling upstairs, "OK, right after `Cosby'!"
   My wife brought my meals up to the bedroom. Hot, piping and healthy.
   One morning she even brought up coffee with breakfast, only to hear me whine, "I don't really want coffee. I'm trying to cut back on caffeine."
   At that point, she could have easily poured that cup of hot coffee over my head, muttering the words "darned ingrate" under her breath.
   Instead, she headed back downstairs and brought me a glass of orange juice.
   I "needed" this and I "needed" that, or so I thought. And throughout it all, my wife was the picture of patience. She made sure I had what I needed, even taking off work to make sure I got to the doctor's office.

But my wife wasn't the only one trying to help me get back on my feet. Normally, we see our 16-year-old, Will, much less than we did when he was younger. He's usually with his friends these days, or driving somewhere in his car. But he seemed to hang around the house a little more last week. He cheered me up with jokes or with something funny he'd taped on television.
   We had more talks than usual, and he reaffirmed why I'm proud to call him my son.
   Plus, he's much less of a baby when he's sick than I am when I come down with something.
   Even the cats seemed to be in on it, choosing, for a change, not to jump on me while I was in bed.

Now, let me make it clear that we're not one of those sitcom families, where my wife brings out a pitcher of lemonade while my son and I cut the grass, or where I wear a suit at the table when we sit down for dinner each evening.
But for a while there, I thought June Cleaver - complete with a string of fashionable pearls - was going to tuck me in. I could almost hear the theme music.

I plan to be back at work this week, and my family will see a little less of me. But not that much less.
Because if I've learned a lesson from all that's happened, it's that talks, programs and the like come and go, but a family is something pretty special.

Daniel Schesch - Webweaver

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