How Would You Rate Your Pain?

"On a scale of 1 to 10. . ."

How bad is my pain?

I can't tell you that on a measured scale. Words like "achey" and "throbbing" and "burning" don't do it justice. There's no room on your intake sheet for how the pain feels like a rogue squirrel in my hip, or like an elephant pressing on my tailbone. There are no words to describe how I'll feel when the next round of injections fails again, or how one tiny area of my body robs me of joy and pleasure and security and concentration.

No number can suffice in communicating how abysmal it is to realize there is no position that's comfortable. Sitting, standing, lying down all bring no relief. There is no mathematical equation in the world to measure hopeless, to count the weight of anger I harbor against my own body.

Nonetheless, I have a really good ability to wince, smile, and say with uncertainty, "Maybe a 2?"

I've felt worse.