How to Tackle Pain Like a Superhero

The Superheroic Silver Linings of Chronic Pain--and the eccentric lighter side of hurtin’ like a sonnamabitch

You know who has painful origin stories? Motherfucking superheroes, that’s who. Photo by Yulia Matvienko on Unsplash

Chronic pain can turn you into a motherfucking superhero. I suppose it can also turn you into Mr. Glass, a supervillain played by the motherfucker himself, Samuel L Jackson. But let’s focus on the superhero part. Chronic pain can give you superhero-like abilities.

I can only speak to my experience though of course. So, I likely have what I affectionately refer to as Gumby Disease (also known as Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome). It makes me a stretchy summabitch, but also causes widespread chronic pain. Everything hurts but ma butthole (unless I’ve had 7 Taco Bell Gordita Crunch’s).

Pain is a funny thing though, it can be hard to put into words. That’s why emergency rooms have such specific pain-scale questions. The funniest one I’ve heard yet was from an ER nurse who asked on a scale of 1 to 10 what the pain feels like — with 1 being mild discomfort and 10 being mauled by a bear.

Pain can be hard to quantify though. I recently read a very apt description of Gumby (EDS) pain in particular:

I was asked recently to describe what my body feels with EDS. I described the feeling of being tenderized with a mallet all over my body. Not enough to break bones, but hard enough to leave bruises.

Yup, that sounds about right. Well, partially anyway. Some days it feels like I’m on one of those medieval stretching racks. Then some days are lighter and just my hip, knee, or shoulder hurts.

There’s the first silver lining — you appreciate the good days so much more.

You know who also has painful origin stories? Super villains…and their pleb-like minions. Photo by Daniel Cheung on Unsplash

Another silver lining of (physical) pain, is that you learn what you’re truly capable of.

A number of years ago I was in Semuc Champey, Guatemala, doing a tour of the river, mountain and caves. There was this giant 20-ft swing that you can use to launch yourself into the river. I did, because, of course I did. The water felt more like concrete than a liquid and I ended up cracking a rib hitting the water. But I still had the vertical hike up the mountain (which was 1km high). I did it. It hurt, but I wouldn’t have missed that view for the world.

That was my first lesson in not letting pain stop me.

Ok, so, technically that example was acute pain, not chronic. But in my head when you join consistent acute pain together it’s Snoop Dogg, chronic. Like my shoulder that pops out of place on the reg, it’s both acute and chronic.

There’s the next silver lining, you can assign things levels and names to deal with it. Here’s the ones I’ve come up with so far:

• You’ve got your ‘Snoop Dogg chronic’, that’s chronic pain that’s about as constant as Snoop’s high.

• Then there’s your ‘Sid Vicious (stabbing) pain’, which is apt because that pain can be vicious, and the Sex Pistols band member stabbed people (including allegedly stabbing his girlfriend Nancy Spungen to death), was stabbed by others, and stabbed himself.

• There’s ‘porn pain’…because it’s throbbing.

• Next is ‘junk drawer pain’, this is aching pain as it’s random, a mixed bag of crap and everybody has it.

• Ok, you get the idea.

For me at least, being able to categorize pains offers perspective. There’s solace in categorization. It’s like Marie Kondo-ing your pain, you classify, assign meaning, and declutter it.

Sequential-image-caption plotline twist? Photo by Daniel Cheung on Unsplash

Newfound Invincibility

When you have varying types and levels of pain (because in my experience, chronic pain is a helluva spectrum) — it allows you to reset your pain bar entirely. The bar gets higher than Willie Nelson. Things that used to hurt don’t bug you. In that sense, you have a new sense of invincibility.

For example, I got my first tattoo last year. That probably would have hurt before. But now, it was negligible. Actually, I’d pinched a nerve in my back the day before as it caught between deteriorating discs, and getting the tat alleviated that pain. It was a nice distraction. Like drinking a diet Coke when you’re hungry.

I don’t even notice mosquitos biting me anymore. I sat on a wasp a month ago, the little bastard stung me five times, but it didn’t even bother me much. It definitely bothered the wasp, Captain Zap-A-Lot, more. And if that’s not a superpower, I don’t know what is.

Mad Street Cred

Sometimes, people can look at you like a badass. When you can shrug off pain that would bring others to their knees — you get mad street cred, like Machine Gun Kelly (who if you’re young is a rapper, and if you’re old is a prohibition-era gangster). Is it worth it? Nah, but there are a lot of shitty silver linings out there.

For example, my sister treats me like a badass now. I was always the weak one between us. It’s not my fault my sister is a god-damned She-Hulk; I’m pretty sure she stole all the strength in the womb. But she knows now that while I couldn’t arm wrestle a kitten (and I definitely can’t arm wrestle her) — I can take pain like I run on beast mode.

Sometimes pain does weird things to a person, like this merc with a mouth. Photo by George Diama on Unsplash

Silver Linings

‘Robin, you’re making light of pain, it’s not funny!’ You’re right. It blows goats. But seeing as it’s also non-optional, silver linings are the best-case scenario. Chronic pain is shitty — but even if you’re a shitty superhero…you’re still a superhero.

Pain can drive people to be the worst versions of themselves, or the best. This is your super arc. I say “your” since I’m assuming a lot of people who clicked on this title have chronic pain.

Each pain journey will be unique. It’s your arc, in a choose-your-own-adventure experience. You can become Mr. Glass or Mr. Incredible. Perspectives and silver linings matter.

I think I made the choice to become the merc with a mouth, Mr. Deadpool.

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