The psychology of pain

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This morning I pulled a muscle in my back. I don't have cute story - I didn't run a marathon, or wrestle with an alligator or save a puppy from a burning building. I wasn't even shoveling snow at the time. I was getting dressed, turned the wrong way, and saw stars.

My first instinct was to crawl back into bed and stay there until . . .well, I wasn't sure when. But I'm not wasting a prescious PTO day on something as stupid as a pulled muscle.

My two best friends today are "Aleve" and "Icy Hot".

By the time I got to work this morning, I felt almost human.

Now here is the thing that intrigues me.

I've given birth to two children, I had major surgery and serious illnesses, hospitalizations where morphine was my best friend. A pulled muscle is nothing compared to that stuff.

But at the moment I injured myself, it felt catastrophic . You know, like the worst pain I had ever felt in my life. Like, "I can't believe I'm actually crying about a stupid pulled muscle".

 I don't get it.  

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