I have a high tolerance for pain. This is not false bravado or manly chest-thumping.

OK, it is a little bit, but I really do, I’ve been told so by doctors as they’ve wrenched my various broken limbs back into place. This is not an invitation to walk up and punch me in the face. I may be able to weather the impact, but I’m a bleeder, so don’t hurt me.

I’m sure there was a point here somewhere. Ah yes, having this high tolerance, I often ignore injury and discomfort for far longer than I should. I’m also of the if-I-don’t-find-out-if-I’m-dying-I-won’t school of thought, so I’ve got that going for me, too. Growing up, I would never tell anyone I was in pain, until it became either patently obvious, or just too hard to resist. I never wanted to take any kind of medication (antibiotics, decongestants, Tylenol, the like) as I felt that if I did, I would develop a resistance to them (I still think that). Therefore, I needed to save up for when I was going to really need it. It never occurred to me that if I actually did have some sort of catastrophic accident that I would be willing to take a pain-killer for, it would probably be something that required a hell of a lot more oomph than Tylenol.

So, that was then, and what about now? Well, I complain more, now, but still haven’t learned to do anything about it. I’ve been milking a splitting headache for the last several hours and have done nothing constructive about it except worsen it by staring into this computer screen. OK, that’s not entirely true. A few minutes ago I swallowed my pride and took some Excedrin PM. Strangely enough, I know someone else who has an aversion to medicines, but I don’t know what her rational is. Err, any further point I had is going out the window with the sleep inducing Excedrin PM. THat’s the other thing, by the way, when I finally do take these modern witch doctor potions, they make me loopy…