I have low tolerance for pain. There, I've said it.
Doctors have told me just the opposite. But I don't believe them.
The subject of pain hit me the other day when my son Jeff had to get a scan for a sore sole. He stepped the wrong way but didn't know how or when. That can happen raising two boys, 6 and 2.
I suggested he might have plantar fasciitis. And right away I opened a can of wormy memories of my own affliction.
It was near the end of my teaching career. I was the envy of all teachers for the speed and vigor of ascending and descending staircases going hither and thither with my class in tow. Then one afternoon, returning from the library en route one flight up, it happened. One step for man, one giant leap for pain! I called for help, got my class covered, and limped down to the front office where the nurse gave her quick diagnosis: PLANTAR FASCIITIS. Inflammation of the band of muscles on the bottom of the foot.
She was spot on. The orthopedic doctor confirmed the diagnosis. I had to rest the foot, soak it in warm water (or was it iced?), take something for the pain, and let time heal.
You might be thinking at this point that with all the pain and suffering in the world, I should be ashamed of complaining about such a transitory and relatively trivial case. And you would be right. If I had my way I would eliminate all the pain and suffering of every human being on earth. Or at least contribute to their alleviation.
That being said, have you ever had kidney stones? Owwww, that's pain!