Pin Prick

Leaning down, using the arm of the couch as a base and something tiny pricks my hand – the pain disproportionate to the almost invisible wound. Not being dramatic here, just descriptive. Not meaning I felt I had had a limb amputated just that it I could see a tiny dot but feel a pulsing  ache. 

I look on the sad, sagging leather couch for the culprit of this minuscule wound and find nothing. No evidence of sharp edges or thorny bushes or needles. Yet from that point onwards I have a reminder of this moment. 

Thirty-six hours later I decide there must be something still in there because after spending 7 euros on tea tree oil there is still the disproportionate ache. So I attack with travel kit sewing needle.

Digging into your own flesh there is a pain but also a certain pleasure at taking things into your own hands, having permission to breach your own boundaries.

I dig around making the ever so tiny wound larger, not sure what I’m seeking but trying to dislodge something so small yet so effective. Somewhere in this digging there is a shift. I only just notice something flick out of flesh onto tissue. So tiny, barely visible but already my body says, “Yes it’s gone, we may resume as normal. No more messages calling for attention.” 

I wrap the minuscule fragment — maybe glass from an incident on couch many years ago, maybe a tiny thorn carried in on clothes — a mystery that will never be revealed. I wrap it tightly in a tissue, an oversized protection, and throw it out. 

Two things strike me. The first is the power of the body to make things known, to respond to its breaching. The power of tiny things, if they are shaped correctly — if they have intention to breach large things — have power over larger things. 

The second I should research again, but I recall reading or hearing that the initial nerve signal that tell us we are in pain is the same for a tiny breach as it is for a catastrophic amputation. The difference is that there is another signal, in a kind of feedback loop, that after the initial burst of pain assesses the damage. If it is something minor, then our brain sends a dampening signal to bring the pain back into proportion. A signal that says stop the panic – stop the fuss – stop being such a baby about it.

Little things, big effects.