worst pain possible.

The other day, Angela and I visited Angela’s dad in the hospital. Hanging on the wall of his hospital room, right above the fire-truck red plastic bin where they deposited the used-up needles and other medical waste, was the following “Pain Rating Scale”:



Now, it’s a good thing I’m not a nurse. The way I figure it, people love sympathy and they don’t mind lying to get it. You see at the far end of the number scale there on the upper right-hand corner of the picture where it says “worst pain possible”—see it? If I was a nurse and my patient told me that their kidney or ankle or chest discomfort was causing them to experience a “10” on the pain scale, I don’t think I could avoid calling them out on it.

“Worst pain possible huh?”

“Yeah, it’s definitely a ‘10.’”

Bam. (That’s the sound of me punching the patient right in the face.) My patient would grab at his nose, see the smattering of blood dotting his palm, wince in new, more immediate pain, and maybe even start crying.

Then I'd look him square in the eyes. “Liar.”