Life is subjective…


I was informed, the other day, that I wasn’t old enough to know what pain is. First, thank you for the back-handed compliment, second, What? Okay, so I know the guy was trying to make a joke, but it wasn’t very funny.  In fact it was a bit crappy. Because the joke didn’t go over well (can we say lead balloon?), he then proceeded to tell me that I am not as sick or in as much pain as he is. Okay, in regard to the pain, he may have a leg up, pardon the pun, on me because he’s dealing with a broken hip repair gone wrong, but that still doesn’t give him the right, or authority, to tell me I don’t know pain. I don’t know his pain, he doesn’t know mine, but I do know when I’m in pain.

Pain is subjective, I admit that. What is a level 10 pain to me might only be a 7 or 8 to somebody else. the Doctors and Nurses can put out all the charts and all the scales they want and they will never convince me that the pain I feel in my knees and hips and back is only a level 6 pain when to me, it’s a 9 or, God forbid, 10 level of pain. If I hurt bad enough to cry, or not move, it’s a level 10.

You know, there really is no way for someone else to “walk a mile in your shoes”. My life can sometimes feel out of control and insane and wrong and difficult, but even if my best friend tried to walked in my shoes, her experiences up to that particular point in her life, would be entirely different than mine were that lead up to the particular point in time so that her interpretation would be entirely different from mine…

Okay, I’m getting a bit off track. My point is, as with pain, Life itself, is subjective. We can all agree on certain experiences, but never on all of them. And no two people react to things the same way. No matter how close they are…


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