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Why Does Pain Make You Nauseous

by Clara Wynn
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Why Does Pain Make You Nauseous

Why Does Pain Make You Nauseous

Why Does Pain Make You Nauseous? When I was about two years old my mother took me with her to the local department store. My father worked for Sears as an appliance salesman so we were there quite often. On this particular trip, my mom had decided that she wanted to buy us matching Christmas dresses. I remember being very excited because I always got new clothes at Christmas. She chose one bright red dress for herself and another almost identical pink dress for me.  

I have no idea why they made them look exactly alike but they did! We put up our tree and then went around looking at all the decorations. I don’t think I could’ve been more than 2 or 3 years old but I already knew how good Santa really felt when he came down through the chimney.  We walked over to the toy section and

I immediately became fascinated by a big box-shaped object covered with shiny black paint. It looked kind of like a shoe box only bigger. The lid lifted up and revealed a little plastic figure inside. I reached out and touched it and instantly felt something wet come out of its mouth. It was slimy and sticky and smelled funny. I also noticed that it was moving around. I pulled my hand away quickly and watched the tiny thing crawl across the floor toward me. Fortunately, I didn’t touch it. When it got close enough, I backed into my mother and clung onto her leg. She picked me up, hurriedly told everyone at the checkout counter what happened and took me outside where she explained everything to me.

I asked her if it hurt and she said “no.” Later that night, when I couldn’t sleep, I kept seeing those horrible crawling images. I must not have gotten any real explanation because I can still see them now.  The next day I saw my doctor who gave me some pills that helped a lot. Apparently I’d eaten something that had caused poison ivy and a rash developed under my skin.  My mom says that my dad, who was usually pretty calm and collected, suddenly began yelling at her, accusing her of poisoning me. He called her every name in the book, including lying and evil and devilish and crazy. Needless to say, the family split up after that incident.

A few months ago, during the middle of winter, I was driving along a country road near my house, headed home from work. There was ice on the roads and snow covering most of the trees. As I drove past a group of homes, I heard someone yell, “Get off of my property!” I looked to my left and saw a man standing in his driveway holding a shotgun. At first, I thought he might be having problems with his plumbing (we had a bad leak) but as I approached him I realized he wasn’t talking to anybody. His face was flushed and he looked extremely angry. “What do you want?” I yelled back at him. “Are you deaf? Get off my property right now!” He pointed the gun directly at me. “No,” he replied.

“You’re trespassing.” Suddenly I remembered the terrible experience I had when I was 2 years old. I started shaking and sweating profusely. I could feel my heart beating harder and faster in my chest. I tried to pull over to the side of the road but he wouldn’t let me go. Finally, I managed to get my car turned around halfway on the gravel shoulder before I stopped. I opened my door and stepped out. “Do you know what you’re doing?” I demanded. “Yes,” he shouted back. “Then leave.” He raised the gun again. This time I grabbed the barrel and twisted it hard. He dropped the weapon and punched me in the stomach. Without thinking,

I swung my arm upward and hit him below the belt. He doubled over and fell to his knees. Before he could recover, I kicked him in the head twice. Then I ran back to my car and sped away.  As I continued on my way home, I kept wondering how a grown man would act in such a desperate situation. Why didn’t he try to shoot me? Couldn’t he tell that I was afraid? Wasn’t he aware that he was frightening a small woman half his age? Did he believe that I posed a threat to his safety? How long had he lived alone in that house, never interacting with anyone? Had his life become unbearable? If he had answered these questions honestly, maybe I wouldn’t have reacted the way I did.  

In the days following the incident, I found myself watching people closely, especially elderly men and women. I noticed that many of them carried guns or knives. Some of them seemed agitated. Others appeared frightened and confused. A few times I even caught myself staring at strangers and imagining them as violent attackers. But what if I’m wrong and they aren’t dangerous? What if they’re lonely and simply need help? I guess I’ll never know unless I ask them. I hope you never find yourself in a similar situation. If you do, however, please keep in mind that your worst enemy may turn out to be yourself.

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