June 10, 2026
Gout is not a food confession. It is a uric acid conversation. In this op‑ed, GSGA co‑founder Gary Ho shows how flare only care and stigma harm patients, and why gout and uric acid must be treated as a chronic disease.

For 16 years, I was not just fighting gout. I was fighting the way gout was misunderstood.
That is what I carried with me when I walked into the congressional briefing room on Capitol Hill. I was there as the Co-founder and Executive Director of the Gout Support Group of America, but I was also there as a gout patient. More than anything, I was there for people living with gout who have been dismissed, blamed, misunderstood, or made to feel like their pain was their fault.
I was there for people who know what it feels like to lose time, mobility, confidence, and peace of mind, yet still get asked the same question over and over again.
“What did you eat?”
That question has followed people living with gout for years. It points to the bigger problem with how gout is understood. People hear the word gout and immediately think of steak, beer, rich foods, or poor choices. They think of the old stories about the “disease of kings,” tied to indulgence, excess, and a lack of self-control.
But those outdated stories have caused real harm. They have turned a chronic medical condition into something that feels like a personal failure.
That is the wrong starting point.
At the briefing, I shared the message I want people to remember:
That line matters because it gets to the heart of the problem. People living with gout are tired of defending themselves. They are tired of being blamed. They are tired of being told to just change their diet when many have never been properly diagnosed, properly educated, or given timely access to the care they need.
Food can be part of the conversation, but food cannot own the conversation. The conversation has to start with uric acid. It has to start with diagnosis. It has to start with whether a patient knows their number, whether they have a treatment plan, whether they can access the medication their clinician recommends, and whether someone has taken the time to explain that gout is a serious chronic condition that can be managed.
If you don’t know your uric acid number yet, our guide on gout and uric acid levels explains what the numbers mean, why they matter, and how to talk with your clinician about them.
This is not about character. This is about biology.
I had my first symptoms when I was 24 years old. The pain started in my right ankle and foot. At first, I did not fully understand what was happening. I just knew the pain was severe, and I knew something was not right.
So I talked with my father. That conversation changed how I understood what I might be dealing with. I found out my father had gout, and his father had gout too. Once I learned that family history, gout became a real possibility in my mind.
So I went to my primary care doctor and brought it up. I thought that family history, along with the pain I was describing, would at least lead to testing or a deeper conversation. Instead, I was told I was too young to have gout.
That answer shaped the next 16 years of my life.
Looking back, those years felt like Groundhog Day. A flare would come. I would try to push through it and manage it on my own for as long as I could. Then the pain would become too much, and I would go back to the doctor hoping this time would be different. But it rarely was.
Treat the pain. Treat the swelling. Get through the flare. Move on. Then wait for the next one.
No one was asking why this kept happening. No one was looking at the bigger picture. No one was helping me understand what was going on inside my body. It was the same cycle over and over again. Same pain. Same questions. Same lack of answers. And each time, it took a little more from me.
Those should have been prime years of my life. Years to chase dreams, build my career, and be fully present as a young father. Instead, I learned how to cope. I learned how to calculate how far the parking lot was from the front door. I learned to think through whether I could make it through a full workday. I learned to wonder whether I would have enough strength left to be there for my son.
Unmanaged gout became the dictator of my life.
I did my best to push through. I limped to work. When I could no longer walk, I used crutches. Then a wheelchair. I did what I had to do to cope, to live, and to provide.
I smiled when I was embarrassed. I acted normal when nothing about my life felt normal. But behind the smile, gout was taking pieces of me: my confidence, my independence, and my self-esteem.
One of the hardest parts was being a father through all of it. At my lowest, the question was not clinical. It was simple: how do I find the energy to be present?
That is what gout can take from you when it is not properly diagnosed and managed. It is not just joint pain. It affects your work, your family, your mental health, your confidence, and the way you see yourself.
In 2010, after 16 years of dealing with this cycle, my insurance changed and I was finally able to see a rheumatologist without needing a referral. That appointment changed my life.
My uric acid level was over 10 mg/dL. After all those years of treating the pain, the swelling, and the flare, I finally had an answer: my gout and uric acid disease had been left unmanaged for more than a decade. But I also had to face what those years had cost me. I had developed chronic gout. My body was riddled with urate crystals. I had joint damage. I had lost nearly 20 percent of my kidney function.
That is what happens when gout is not taken seriously.
But gaining access to a gout specialist opened the path for me to access therapies that targeted the cause. I was no longer just treating pain. I was finally treating gout. That access allowed me to trade a life of fear for a life of freedom.
And that is why this conversation matters so much to me.

One of the most frustrating things about gout is how quickly the conversation turns into blame.
Someone says, “I have gout,” and almost immediately someone asks, “What did you eat?” To some people, that may sound like a normal question. To the person living with gout, it can feel like an accusation. It puts them on defense before they even have a chance to explain what is really going on. It makes people feel like they need to confess before they can be cared for.
That is why this phrase matters.
A food confession puts the person on defense. A uric acid conversation gives them a path forward. That path includes testing. It includes knowing your uric acid number. It includes understanding that gout is a chronic condition. It includes talking to the right healthcare provider. It includes access to treatment. It includes knowing that managing flares is not the same thing as managing gout.
I am not saying food does not matter. Food matters. Lifestyle matters. Overall health matters. But gout cannot be reduced to food.
The real conversation has to be about uric acid. When uric acid stays too high, urate crystals can build up in the body. Those crystals are what cause gout flares and can lead to long-term damage.
That is the part too many people miss. They focus on the meal instead of the mechanism. They focus on what someone ate instead of asking whether their uric acid has been tested, whether they know their number, and whether they have a plan to manage gout at the source.
Gout is the most common type of inflammatory arthritis. A gout and uric acid disease driven by genetics and the body’s ability to process and eliminate uric acid. Kidney function matters. Other health factors matter.
This is not about willpower.
People living with gout should not have to carry the blame for a disease they did not choose. Food is part of life. Food is culture. Food is family. Food is celebration. Food is connection. As someone who considers himself a foodie at heart, I understand how personal this part of the conversation can be.
People should be educated, not shamed. They should be supported, not blamed. They should be given tools, not guilt.

What hit me in that briefing room was simple. People were listening. Not politely listening. Really listening.
And for a condition like gout, that matters. Most of the time, gout is not treated like something serious. It is treated like a joke, or like something we caused ourselves. For once, gout was being talked about in a serious room, with serious people, as a serious condition.
That should not feel rare, but it does.
We talked about delayed diagnosis. We talked about access to care. We talked about the barriers patients face when trying to get the right treatment. We talked about the burden on patients, families, employers, and communities. Most importantly, we talked about the human cost.
I could feel the room connect with that. People stayed engaged. They took notes. They were not just hearing about gout as a medical condition. They were hearing what it feels like to live through years of pain, stigma, and delayed care.
That matters because change starts when people stop seeing gout as a punchline and start seeing the person behind the pain.
That was the power of that moment for me. It was not just that we were on Capitol Hill. It was that the message connected. When we change the words, people begin to understand gout differently.
When people talk about things like prior authorization, step therapy, or affordability issues, it can sound like paperwork. But for people living with gout, that paperwork can turn into pain.
It can mean another flare, another missed day of work, another trip to urgent care, another night where someone cannot sleep because the pain is too much, or another moment where a parent cannot show up the way they want to for their family.
When someone is living with uncontrolled gout, every delay matters. A delayed diagnosis matters. A delayed referral matters. A denied medication matters. A step therapy requirement matters. A prior authorization delay matters. A cost barrier matters.
These things may sound technical in a policy conversation, but they are personal when you are the one living through them.
Gout is not an inconvenience. It is not mild discomfort. It can be all encompassing. It can affect your body and your spirit. It can affect your ability to walk, sleep, work, care for your family, and live your life with confidence.
And when gout and uric acid are not managed, the impact can go beyond pain. It can erode joints. It can affect kidney function. It can impact heart health. It can affect mental health.
For people living with gout, delay can mean damage.
That is why timely access matters. And for too many people, these delays keep them stuck in their own version of Groundhog Day. Flare, pain medication, temporary relief, another flare, another appointment, and another missed opportunity to talk about uric acid and long-term management.
We have to break that cycle.

During the briefing, I talked about rheumatoid arthritis and how the conversation around RA changed over time. There was a time when RA was looked at mostly through symptom control. Treat the pain. Manage the flare. Help the person get through the day.
But over time, the conversation changed. People began to understand that if RA is not properly managed, it can cause long-term damage. That changed how people talked about it. It changed how people treated it. It changed how people advocated around it.
Gout needs that same kind of shift.
We cannot keep treating gout like something people should just endure until the flare passes. We cannot keep focusing only on symptoms while ignoring the underlying cause. We cannot keep allowing shame to stop people from getting help.
The goal should not be surviving flare to flare. The goal should be earlier diagnosis, better education, access to effective treatment, and a better quality of life.
That will not happen unless the conversation changes.

Part of the reason the Gout Support Group of America exists is because I remember what it felt like to go through this alone. I remember searching for answers and not finding them. I remember being dismissed. I remember wondering if this was just going to be my life.
GSGA was created to give people living with gout a place to find support, education, and hope. What started as a small effort eventually moved online, and today our community has grown into thousands of patients and caregivers who are trying to better understand this disease and advocate for themselves.
Every day, we see the same questions.
What can I eat? Why does this keep happening? Should I see a rheumatologist? What should my uric acid level be? Why did my doctor only treat the pain? Is this my fault?
That last question is the one that stays with me.
Because too many people living with gout have been made to feel responsible for their suffering before they ever had a chance to understand their condition.
At GSGA, we want to change that. We want people to know their uric acid number. We want them to understand that gout is manageable with the right care. We want them to ask better questions. We want them to feel confident speaking with their healthcare providers. We want them to know they are not alone.
For people who are ready to take the next step, our gout roadmap walks through a simple, patient friendly path: from getting diagnosed, to understanding uric acid, to finding the right specialist, treatment options, and community support.
And we want the healthcare system, policymakers, and the public to understand that gout deserves serious attention.
The congressional briefing was important, but it was not the finish line. It was a starting point. For me, it confirmed what many of us already know: people are ready for a different conversation about gout. They are ready to move beyond stigma, beyond jokes, and beyond the idea that gout is simply about food or personal choices.
Now the work is to keep repeating the message until it breaks through.
At GSGA, we are going to continue educating, advocating, and sharing patient stories. We are going to continue challenging outdated myths. We are going to continue working with partners who believe this community deserves better.
And we are going to continue saying this clearly:
Gout is not a food confession. It is a uric acid conversation.
Because when we change the conversation, we create room for better care. We create room for earlier diagnosis. We create room for people to speak without shame. We create room for families to better understand what their loved ones are going through. We create room for policymakers to see the real barriers people face. And we create room for hope.
For every person living with gout who has been blamed, dismissed, or told to just change their diet, I want you to know this: your pain is real, your story matters, you deserve answers, you deserve care, and you do not have to walk this journey alone.
Gout and uric acid are treatable, but only if people can get diagnosed, get educated, and get timely access to the chronic disease care their clinician recommends.
This is not about character. This is about biology.
And it is time we start treating gout that way.
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