An Adult's Growing Relationship with Pain

 As I am sure any introspective adult has observed, we become more tolerant of pain as our experiences compile. I have been consciously aware and contemplative on the subject of pain management since I began working in labor seven years ago, although I'm sure a more primitive area of my brain has known and congratulated me on my callousness for years before that. It seems outwardly very natural that humans should come to accept pain on any level as a regular consequence of living. But as so much pain could be avoided and other pains are a sign of an issue that requires immediate attention, I can't help but be fascinated by the process of building resistance to bodily pain; we build endurance (largely subconsciously?) so we may withstand greater discomfort as we expand our knowledge and experience. 

I suppose I will start with an observation made at work (since in theory this is meant to be a blog that reflects upon my time as an apprentice). One afternoon, nestled in the back of a dark mechanical room, I was stripping a small piece of wire using my pocket knife. My boss came upon me suddenly and the surprise caused me to nick my finger. I didn't think much of the injury, pausing my work to walk out of the corner and speak with him. It wasn't until I heard the sound of liquid dripping that I looked down to see splatters of my own blood trailing across the floor from my work nook to the door where we stood. Knowing my carelessness would only evoke my boss's ire, I just pressed the wound to my shirt and waited for him to finish. For the following two hours, I had to change the dressing twice to staunch the blood flow as it stubbornly continued to soak through. The sore fingertip was uncomfortable to work with but I continued to do so. Over a month later, I can still see the line of a scar where I cut myself. 

I am not complaining of a worksite injury oversight. I am not suggesting I should have done anything differently. I am observing that all of my initial actions and thoughts on the matter were entirely dismissive of the reality that I was bleeding and in pain because that event was secondary to my responsibilities. It wasn't until I was cleaning the drops of blood from the floor that I put any thought to the incident and found it profoundly fascinating on one hand (ba dum chh?) and on the other hand a comical example of the adult human experience. 

I intend to return to this train of thought again.