DENIS KILCOMMONS OUCH! A

FUNNY thing happened on my way to write this column.

I collapsed at the top of our stairs, lost consciousness and was attended by a paramedic.

The cause was gout. I have suffered mild bouts before in my big toes and have slept with my foot out of bed.

On a previous occasion, my doctor put me on medication that, whilst bringing my toes back to normal, viciously upset my stomach. For a time I didn’t feel safe unless I was within two minutes of a loo.

Then I was put on tablets that are supposed to stop gout happening. On this occasion, they didn’t.

The ache in my foot gave me a limp. The following day the pain was worse and the foot swollen. A big toe had been bad enough, but a whole foot? The pain was nagging and non-stop, like bad toothache at the other end of your body, and it increased to crescendo levels if I tried to stand up. So I stopped trying to stand up.

A night without sleep, with only an Elvis Cole thriller as a diversion, and no covers to irritate the gremlins that were eating their way out from the inside.

I made a valiant attempt to get to the loo but the pain had gone off the Richter scale when I put pressure on my foot. My wife Maria brought me a plastic jug instead.

Next morning, I thought it must surely be on the wane and decided to see if I could make it from my bedroom, down the corridor to my office. Maria thought I was mad but the show must go on. Or something like that.

I had reckoned without the pain and got stuck at the top of our stairs, feeling sick and faint. I passed out and was next aware of lying on the floor being held by my son-in-law Andrew while Maria was on the phone. Who had rung?

My wife had called 999 and, by the time I had been helped back to bed, a paramedic had arrived. Peter checked me out so thoroughly I half expected an oil change. I said I wrote for the Examiner.

“I thought I knew the name,” he said. “I thought you might be an MP.”

He gave me the choice to go to hospital by ambulance for a more thorough check but I declined. I didn’t want to waste anybody else’s time.

“You’ve been very reassuring,” I said.

“Another one fooled,” he said, with a grin. And then told my wife: “If you have any doubts, call us again.”

I continue to be in awe of all parts of our National Health Service.

Peter was another great example of a caring professional. As is often the case, for someone who can be at the sharp end of emergencies, he had the inevitable sense of humour that helps us all cope. Even with gout.

Now it’s back to the doctor.