I got my wisdom teeth pulled without anesthesia or laughing gas. When the dental surgeon sent me home with a packet of prescription-strength Advil, I didn’t take it. Instead, I drove to the community center and taught my weekly guitar class, my cheeks swelling into grapefruits as my students practiced their D-G-A chord progressions.
Ego-wise, calling out wasn’t an option (I was only lovable because I was reliable, I told myself) and this didn’t warrant a sick day, anyway. I barely felt a thing.
I also don’t remember feeling discomfort when my knee popped out in gym class, or when I fainted during a sweltering marching band parade, or when my appendix almost exploded.
My high pain tolerance didn’t just apply to physical wounds, either; it also dulled the emotional ones. Fear, guilt, awkwardness, jealousy, grief, heartache — I could numb it all.
I learned this skill when I was 7 years old.
