I saw a new patient today at my clinical. Her referral listed a simple diagnosis, but it was apparent from the moment she walked in that she’d be anything but simple.

She was near to my age, lived near me and well, the more I read on her chart, the more I found that we had in common. This girl who was so much like me on paper, was also obviously in a lot of pain. She later told me that on a scale of 0 to 10, her pain was a 30. And you know what? I believed her. There are many people who say their pain is a 12 out of 10, and it’s not that I don’t believe them, but I often wonder if I could tolerate their pain. You know? I wonder if their 10 is the same as my 10.

Not this girl.

I looked this girl in the eye and I saw bits of myself. I saw sadness and defeat. I saw hope that was dwindling, but still present. But I also saw pain that if I’m lucky, I will never understand. I saw hardship that she doesn’t deserve, that I’m not sure she can handle, that I’m not sure anyone can handle.

I wanted to take her hand and tell her all about the chronic pain resources I know, about all the wonderful people on the internet, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t for a number of reasons, but mostly because I was so completely beside myself that I couldn’t hardly utter any words besides the ones I have rehearsed in my head hundreds of times for patient interviews.

I looked this girl in the eye, I heard about her pain and I wanted to cry. I wanted to cry for her. Because I saw the fear in her eyes, and I just sat there, feeling impotent. Feeling helpless. I can’t help this girl. It’s entirely possible that no one can, but I’m going to have to be one of the first to break that reality to her.

The more I’ve thought about this girl, the more I’ve considered what happened today, what she told me, what I heard and saw, the more I understand some of the reactions I get from people, from doctors, from my own family. I saw someone suffer today. I had someone tell me that she’d do anything to make her pain stop, I had someone say to me sentences that I’ve said to others, that I’ve written here in my most desperate hours.

I understand things now.

I understand why people walk away from those in pain. It’s terrifying to watch someone shrink from pain. And it’s soul crushing to not be able to do anything for it.

I understand why doctors fire patients, why some respond to chronic pain patients the way they do. It’s horrible to see something you don’t know much about, that you can’t fix. That no book or lecture can ever help you understand the realities of.

I understand why family and friends cry for those who are suffering. It’s because sometimes it’s all you can do.

I am not saying that I understand this girl’s pain, because if I put my pain on the same scale as hers, even tonight when it’s relentless and gnawing, I don’t think that it would hold a candle to hers. But I understand a lot of what she’s feeling right now, and some of what she’s gone through and will soon face.

And for the first time, I understand how it feels to watch someone suffer. I understand how helpless you feel when you stare pain in the eye and have no answer, no help.

I understand now.

I almost wish that I didn’t.

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