After my procedure was completed, the nurse asked, “What is your level of pain, on a scale of one to 10, if 10 is severe?”
I contemplated my gently throbbing toe. “Three.”
She popped me a pill. “That’s too much,” she said.
I was grateful for the medication, because I knew the pain was going to start in, big time, at any minute. But three as a tipping point? That was nothing for a veteran of impacted wisdom teeth, migraine headaches and carpal tunnel like me.
I’d had foot surgery back in September. Part of that procedure involved an implant that was placed in the bone of my second right toe, to straighten it out. The implant broke, so I had to have it removed in January. The podiatrist inserted a pin as a replacement for the implant. Although my recovery time was not going to be as long as for the first operation, I anticipated being in pain for several days. I certainly wasn’t looking forward to this, but I didn’t fear it. I seem to have a high threshold for pain.
My first recognition of this came when I was around eight. I was playing in the schoolyard at recess. A group of us were going to race. I stuck my foot out behind me in preparation—right into the curved tip of a chain-link fence. My ankle twinged, but I ran anyway. Then my friends noticed that my Brownie Scout anklet (it was meeting day, and I was in full uniform), was soaked with blood. My mother had to come to whisk me away to the doctor’s.
Later, as a teenager, I had to undergo treatments for acne that were sometimes painful. I endured them so stoically the dermatologist commented on my “bravery.” The truth was that I was so shy, I did not dare to even squeal.
My dental hygienist makes similar remarks to this day. She is very gentle, yet every once in a while I do feel some discomfort. But she’s just doing her job. I wonder if other people swear at her? Try to hit her?
As a young adult, I had four impacted wisdom teeth. I was more afraid of the anesthesia than the procedure. The dental surgeon wasn’t happy, but he removed the teeth using only Novocain. The pain was unbelievable. But I didn’t cry. I hung onto the arms of the chair for dear life and tried to transport my mind to a happier place.
The thought that my father had promised me a milk shake at a soda fountain also helped me through.
It wouldn’t be true to say I made it through the experience without a meltdown. Two friends came to see me later and I refused to come out of the house, because my cheeks were as fat as those of a chipmunk who had uncovered a stash of nuts and was trying to make off with it.
Later in life, I developed into a migraineur. That’s a fancy way of describing a person who has headaches so severe that she can’t abide light or keep food down. When I had migraines, I wanted to find a way to tear my head off my body and fling it out the window. My pain level would easily reach 10 out 10 most of the time.
And yet, I knew I didn’t have it as bad as some people. Their migraines lasted for days. Mine did not. Five or six hours and they usually were over. I would be as wrung out as a wet dishcloth, but I had survived once again.
During the migraines, however, I was like a fiend. There was nothing I could do but stay in a dark room, alone, so I could pace, then try to get my head into a semi-comfortable position, then pace again. A simple conversation was out of the question. Beseeching God was not.
Sometimes I would just get an aura, not a migraine. These would come on suddenly, often after a bright light had flashed into my eyes. My peripheral vision would be filled with colorful, zigzagging lines. These typically lasted 15 minutes. I would take ibuprofen at the first sign of an aura, and usually avoided the headache. Auras hurt nothing but my nerves. All I could think was that I was never going to recover, and would be plagued by zigzags for the rest of my life.
I’d had carpal tunnel issues for quite a few years, but they really progressed about 15 years ago. Given that I am a writer, librarian and knitter, it wasn’t surprising that my hands would get numb from time to time, and start to tingle. My doctor suggested wrist braces, icing, my old friend ibuprofen…and I managed to keep the worst effects at bay for several years.
Then I started waking up in the middle of the night with totally numb hands. They were a painful eight. I had to ice them before I could fall back to sleep.
One memorable morning, I woke up and fell out of bed because my hands were so inflamed. I had to ask my husband, Paul, to get ice so I could try to get them back to normal. I did cry at that point. I was, after all, at 10 on the pain barometer.
Soon after, I had surgery on my right hand, and then, about sixth months later, on my left. The recovery was painful for one or two days, but it was nothing as bad as my worst day with CTS.
After a lifetime of pain adventures, the twinges in my toe were nothing much. But they did get worse. The pain actually began to shoot up from my toe into my leg. Now, that was something different. Still, I’d just call it a five. It never reached the point where I wanted to cut off my foot and throw it out the window. That’s my benchmark, and I’m sticking to it.
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