Why does It hurt?
I remember it as a bright sunny day, setting up a bird feeder in our backyard, I hit my knuckles with the hammer. It hurt like crazy. Whenever my knuckles get hurt, the pain is usually more than what it should be. “Mom, why does it hurt?”, I asked my Mom who was as usual busy with her random chores.
Few years ago, I was in the operating theatre operating on a 2 year old baby repairing his bilateral cleft lip. The Senior surgeon at the same hospital was operating in the other theatre, performing similar surgery on another child. It took me an hour to release the lip muscles and call him to check before I start suturing. Before I start to close the gap, the gap, nature left unknowingly or knowingly only to add misery to his life. He came in, checked the surgical site and got so mad at me.
“All the muscles have been released; all is perfect to go ahead with the surgery. What’s the issue with him?”, I heard my assistants talking to each other. He is probably mad because she finished before him, replied one of them.
He checked the incision site, the released muscles, hit me so hard at my knuckles that the thought of this incidence still makes me cry. He apologized by saying that he hit by chance but everyone in the theatre knew it wasn’t by chance.
It was some frustration he vented out on me. My knuckles resonated like a tuning fork for few seconds. The pain felt like a deep cut on an unanesthetized skin.
“It’s hurting her Dr. Reddy,” said, Dr. Yash, the head of anesthesia team. “It’s fine, just ignore her,” he said. I cried in pain for another half of surgery. I just wanted to leave. But I couldn’t. How could I? The baby was lying on the theatre table, somewhere trusting me that I would do my best. And not abandon him the way nature did. The nurse wiped my tears and I kept on with the surgery. The surgery went well, baby out of anesthesia now, all set for transfer to ICU. “Take a break,” said Dr. Yash. “You are one tough soul, trust me,” he said. I just laughed off. So again, I ask my Mom, why does it hurt so much?
Ignoring my question, she gave me a glass of water to hold.
“Don’t put it on the table,” she said, while going back to her kitchen chores. I will be right back. Half an hour has gone by; she hasn’t told me what to do with the glass of water. My arm has started hurting now. I went to her and said, “Mom, my arm is hurting. What do you want me to do with this glass now?” Keep it on the table, she said.
Confused, angry, I was. “What’s your point in making me hold it for so long?”
“What’s your point in holding those thoughts for so long?”, she fired back. The glass dint hurt you, it’s the time for which you held it, tired you and hurt you. The glass dint change, the water dint either, or did you. But what changed was your capacity to hold it.
It’s the same with our thoughts, our memories. The longer we keep them, heavier they feel, deeper they hurt. Let go off them, and it won’t hurt you anymore.
Photo credit: https://unsplash.com/photos/bpJ8qeyo1-w
