Pain is a living organism, and don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. It has the emotions of a rebellious teenager. I have been dealing with it almost daily for over two years now. Therefore, I believe I know what I am talking about.
When you go to the doctor’s office they give you that little chart with the unsmiling faces and ask you which one represents the level of pain you are having at that moment. That should be your first clue. Heck, all they need to do is look at MY face to answer that question.
Levels one through four are the pouting teenager. It’s annoying but you can deal with it. Levels five through eight are the raging teenager. The one you want to send back to the alien planet it escaped from. The one that makes you wish you had never had children in the first place.
Levels nine and ten are all eight levels rolled into a manic-depressive, schizophrenic, hormonal teenager with each of its personalities yelling at you at the same time. At these levels, you beg for someone to shoot you and take you out of this misery.
To be perfectly clear, levels one through four require Tylenol or Aspirin, levels five through eight require a narcotic or several good stiff drinks, and levels nine and ten put you in the hospital for days under heavy sedation. Got it? Good.
The thing about pain that gets me though is how sneaky it can be. You go to the doctor and it mysteriously disappears. Yet, as soon as you leave it’s back and laughing at you. Or, even worse, while at the doctor the levels jump all around like one of those never-ending bouncy balls. This causes the doctor to raise an eyebrow and prescribe a placebo so that you will leave.
Having a high pain tolerance all of my life coupled now with partial paralysis puts a whole different dimension to pain. So much of it, I’ve had for so long that it has become background noise. It isn’t until the area is touched by someone else that it ratches up to remind me it’s still there.
Pain is no laughing matter. But, I hope that I’ve given you a moment to at least smile.