How I Annoy My Husband: Paul’s Diet

Illustration by Kat Russo

Several months ago, Paul developed a red spot on the ball of his foot. He thought it was a basketball injury, but when it began to swell and throb painfully we went to Urgent Care. We thought it might be fractured or broken or worse.

The doctor’s diagnosis shocked us. “It’s gout.”

         “What?” we said in unison.

. Wasn’t that what kings and rich people got from all that rich eating? And Paul wasn’t even remotely related to the Queen of England.  As for rich…? The doctor sent us off with a prescription and ten pages of instructions, which promptly landed on his desk at home, unread. He’d just joined my health plan and they weren’t taking new patients, so we couldn’t make a follow-up appointment. We decided to schedule with a doctor in a contracting group.

The name of the practice included “Integrative Health,” so we were suspicious. Would they recommend magical herbs and elixirs? But they had an opening the next day, so we took it. The office walls were covered in ads for rejuvenating supplements—not a good sign. The nurse escorted us into a large room and Paul removed his shoe and sock. When she entered, the doctor gave us each a limp handshake and sat down behind a massive wooden desk on the other side of the room.

The practice should have been called “Interrogating Health” because for the next 30 minutes the doctor asked Paul a multitude of questions related to his general health—basically everything but his shoe size since she wasn’t interested in his shoe or his foot. She didn’t even peek at his foot. She would have needed binoculars to see it from behind that huge desk.

Without looking at the paperwork we had brought, she gave us a few prescriptions for gout. When we picked up the medicine at Walgreens, we made sure the pharmacist thought the medicines were the correct ones. They were, to our surprise.

A few days later, when the ten pages of Urgent Care instructions accidentally fell off Paul’s desk and floated to the floor, I noticed the words, “Follow up with Dr. Foot, a podiatrist.” Oops. Dr. Foot confirmed Paul had gout after actually looking at his foot. I was disappointed in myself. I had been remiss in my job as an overprotective Jewish wife by not reading all of the paperwork and following up. I doubled down in my care or as Paul calls it, “pestering.”

I put Paul on a gout preventative diet and the fun began.

“Sweetie, you should limit foods with uric acid, including beer, red meat, tuna, salmon, poultry, mushrooms, asparagus, spinach and cauliflower.”

“I’m sure I’ll be fine. I like those foods.”

“Yes, but they could trigger another attack.”

“I’ll be fine.”    

“But remember how much it hurt?”

“I’ll be fine.”

You get the picture.

These conversations continued for several weeks until Paul was able to see his new doctor. Dr. Mew thought Paul had “pseudo gout” since his diet wasn’t bad enough to have caused actual gout. We were so happy! No restrictions on his diet! We celebrated until his blood work came back.

Turns out, he has pre-diabetes, high cholesterol, and high blood pressure. We were back to the diets and his complaining.

        “Let’s count your carbs each day and you need to cut down on salt, fat, and foods with potassium.”

Paul was amazingly cooperative about counting his carbs to control the pre-diabetes. He even stopped eating those salty crackers and pretzels he’d usually nosh on all day. But limiting other salty foods wasn’t as easy.

“Mustard and ketchup have a lot of salt you know,” I told him.

“What’s a vegetarian burger without mustard and ketchup?” he complained.

“We should donate those salty soups to Roadrunner Food Bank.”

“But I like those soups.”

“I know, but they’re bad for you.”

He finally let me donate the soups along with some other canned goods in a closed-up cardboard box. Not seeing them made it easier.

Then we had to limit potassium because of the ACE inhibitors. I found out every food has potassium, but we’ve cut out some of the ones with high amounts like potatoes. I also no longer buy vegetables he used to eat in his daily salad like mushrooms, avocados, spinach, and black beans.

“I want bananas. Let’s put them on the grocery list,” he announced one day.

“They have lots of potassium.”

“I like them. I’ll be fine.”

“But they’re not good for you.”

“I’ll be fine.”

You get the picture.

During dinner, I review Paul’s carbs for the day by writing them down on a small pad.

        “I had my usual breakfast. Then I had two graham crackers with cottage cheese, a container of yogurt, an apple, and a granola bar.”

“Great job!” I tell him like the retired teacher I am. I once offered him a sticker, but he refused it.

Sometimes I have to say, “Ooops, your carbs were a bit high today. I know you can do better tomorrow.”

After dinner Paul always says to me, “I’ve been so good, I deserve some chocolate.” I shut myself in my study and slowly open the closet’s sliding door to prevent any noise. From a well-hidden stash, I take out one small single-wrapped bar of a Milky Way or Twix. I present it to Paul like the treasure it is.

“Is that all?”

“Yes, this is about ten carbs. Enjoy!”

         I’m surprised he’s still married to me.