Hi. My name is Ndumiso and I am an algophobe. (Altogether now - "Hi Ndumiso!"). Don't reach for the dictionary. Until last week I also didn't know that the abnormal fear of pain is called algophobia. And I have Paul Kagame levels of certainty (i.e. 98.79% sure) that most of our professional pain relief practitioners in white dustcoats don't know that either. So there's no need to feel inadequate.
According to the International Association for the Study of Pain, pain is "An unpleasant sensory and/or emotional experience associated with actual or potential tissue damage, or described in terms of such damage".
That's just scientific balderdash for "the brain telling you that you're hurt". It's just evolution saying to us: "I know you're idiots and without pain you lot would probably walk around with your intestines trailing along the floor without a care in the world."And evolution is spot-on about pain the same way that it's spot-on about our breathing being involuntary. There'd be a lot of "Forgot to breathe" as a cause of death on death certificates if it was any other way.But back to my algophobia. I have not located the exact source of my aversion to pain. It is well possible that my hectically Catholic mother is to blame. From when I leaped out of the womb she would look at me and, with a stern voice, say: "Every time you pray, make sure that you pray for a painless death, my child! Invoke St Raphael the Archangel who is the patron saint of healing."
Because she is a professional nurse, she would describe to us in detail the excruciating pain that cancer sufferers go through. She's such a great describer of detail that I would end up almost feeling the pain in my bones.
As a result, when I would miss the ball during street games and split my big toe, I would wail like a guest on Oprah while chanting St Raphael's name under my breath.
I think I have passed on this affliction to my nine-year-old. The other day I'm woken up by Mrs N. The little bugger had managed to get his pee-pee caught in the teeth of his onesie zipper. It wasn't as bad a Ben Stiller's moment in There's Something About Mary - but it was his very first experience with the dreaded zipper zap.The little man was wailing from the deep recesses of his soul. I did not know whether to pack up laughing or to cry with him. After we rescued his member from the onesie jail, I gave him a tutorial on how to avoid a similar incident in future and then told him about St Raphael.
MEN VS WOMEN
A kick to the testicles. A signal is sent to the brain at 265 miles an hour. The balls then brew a batch of neurotransmitters called Substance P. What is insidious about getting kicked in the balls is that the balls, using Morse Code, send a signal back to the brain that robs it of most of its oxygen, which causes a ginormous headache and the uncontrollable urge to dispose of one's most recent meal through the mouth.I have it on good authority that women feel pain more intensely than men because they are endowed with more pain nerve receptors. This begs the question: does this mean women have a higher or lower pain tolerance than men? Scientific studies are all over the place like holes on a dartboard in a Brakpan pub after a Klippies and Coke binge on this one.
I'm inclined to believe that because women clearly feel pain more intensely regularly, their tolerance is higher. But also because of Charmaine, my classmate from Grade 7 in 1983. That whole year can best be described as a festival of beatings.
After receiving two blows with a bamboo cane on my palm, I would stick my pulsating, puny lil' hand into my armpit, writhe in pain and whimper like a puppy that's been separated from its mother with a mingsel of tears and snot flowing down my cheeks.
Charmaine would take her beating and walk back to her desk nonchalantly. In five degrees Celsius.And so when Mrs N went into labour for 15 hours some 20-odd years later and I heard the anguish in her voice, I knew that this was some serious pain. I'm surprised that the staff at St Augustine's in Durban didn't get security to throw me out. I was running around the maternity ward cussing and berating the nurses for not giving her drugs. But I also realised that I could never bear that much pain.
And there isn't a man that I think could. But even at the apex of her labour pain, I never saw the missus roll around with palms covering her face while yelling the way Cristiano Ronaldo does when someone has sent him to the floor with the slightest of shoves.
This is why I believe governments all over the world would have banned natural childbirth by now. And paternity leave would probably be two years long. Men would sit around discussing their labour pains like, "Dude! That's nothing! My contractions were coming 0.03 seconds apart!"It is fascinating to hear what people reckon is the worst pain they have ever experienced. Most women I've talked to about this surprisingly don't count childbirth as the worst pain. It's usually headaches, tummy aches or back pain.The worst pain I've experienced is when I was severely ill about four years ago. It's a long story. All you need to know is that my illness was self-inflicted and my weight was 17kgs north of where it is now. My feet swelled up until the capillaries at the tip of my toes burst.
I had not had tears streaming down my face from physical pain since a chap called Gomma-gomma walloped me in the nuts with his football boots during my varsity days. But the waterworks that ensued put the Victoria Falls to shame.
This is why I believe people who are in chronic pain should be allowed to take anything that can alleviate pain, even if it's "da chronic". Yes, dagga.
If I should, Lord forbid, get cancer, I'll prescribe the herb for myself personally. And no, I don't mean that R1,000 a pop cannabis. I mean that I'll walk into a Netcare facility for my chemotherapy wearing a Bob Marley T-shirt, blazing a big fat blunt in broad daylight.
• Follow the author of this article, Ndumiso Ngcobo, on Twitter: @NdumisoNgcobo..