The Pain Threshold

Another thought after a day on the wards.

One of our medical students asked me to see a relative of his that he had bumped into in the market. He had been complaining of painful lumps under his right arm for some months and local healing had failed to relieve it. I gladly saw him in our little room and after taking a history, using the student as a translator from the tribal language, and examining him I diagnosed a non-fatal skin condition. I did, however, want to perform a blood glucose check, to rule out diabetes, a common complaint here. We had been generously donated a bedside glucometer and I lined up to use it. Tugging the plastic cap off a small needle that I was to use to pierce his skin and get a drop of blood for the test I asked Chol, the student, to warn his relative of the soon-to-arrive ‘sharp scratch’. There is an intense exchange of words between them, of which I understood nothing and a smile spreads across Chol’s face. ‘what did he say?’ I ask. Chol chuckles, and replies ‘he said “I have been shot three times while in the bush during this war and he’s warning me about that tiny needle. As if we don’t know pain here. Please!”. What can I reply to that. I just did the test. It was normal.