'I don't feel pain. My world is dangerous' Read more:
I was in my early twenties, living in a little apartment two miles from my college campus in Colorado. It was a typical Wednesday night of studies, music and gossip, and it was my turn to be the chef for my roommates. I was making macaroni and cheese.appreciated her art appreciation class in the same way I did, I looked down at my lap. I was ferociously stirring the unyielding cheese-like powder into the bay of milk and butter when I gasped. The hot pot was sitting on my lap.
But my brain hadn't told me about the pot being hot. So for minutes I sat, stirring the macaroni and cheese in the boiling hot pot, right on top of my flaccid legs. In those minutes that I stirred, I was none the wiser—laughing and joking about my day with equally oblivious roommates. Unfortunately for me, I couldn't ignore the injury in the same manner I was able to ignore the pain.
Another careless moment in college left me with a bone infection in my unsuspecting pinky toe. That bone became so infected that it infected my entire body and needed to come out. As it was, I ended up with more than luck on my side with both of my childbirths. Each of my two children were born when a medical professional recognized my contractionsI was hooked up to contraction monitors while in active labor, where I watched the thin line dance up and down, displaying what I always knew to be true: I still cannot feel pain.