I happen to have a pain specialist in my family: my darling 6-year old granddaughter Everly Rose, who studies her assorted owies very seriously. She updates me at each visit on how every scratch, scar or scab is coming along, rating the pain that each injury caused her on the playground, at summer day camp, or while playing with Homie, her cat.
I, on the other hand, am apparently keen on NOT making a fuss, no matter what – yes, even the chest and left arm pain that continued during my own misdiagnosed heart attack.
One of my Toronto readers told me recently about the time that she too could not bring herself to describe her pain as pain. As part of my occasional “Dear Carolyn” series of reader narratives, I’m sharing her story here. Notice how many times she avoids revealing her true pain: . . Continue reading “Dear Carolyn: “I couldn’t tell if my pain was ‘normal’.””