“Consider this: Ten years ago there was a study of major athletes and their pain thresholds. These were individuals who consistently performed at nearly inhuman levels of physical ability and had the training regimens that went with it. Now, the primary assumption of this study was that such athletes most likely had higher thresholds of pain than mere mortals—hence their ability to push their bodies to such extremes. Much to the surprise of the researchers, however, the opposite turned out to be true. In fact, most of the athletes reported significantly higher awareness of their pain, while showing more active central nervous systems than the control group. According to the athletes themselves, they felt their acute body-pain awareness actually helped them function at the levels they did. Success wasn’t being unaware of physical limitations or injuries but acknowledging the constraints, then working with their own body to push through. Not mind over matter, per se, but a mind-body connection that enabled them to register, adjust and improve upon their functioning at all times. Does that make sense?”

D.D., frowning: “I guess.”

“That’s what I’m advocating here: Don’t ignore your pain. Register, accept, then work with your own body to push through. Naming your pain . . . It’s simply a device to help you identify and focus. If calling your pain Melvin makes you feel stupid, don’t do it. Refer to it as Pain or don’t call it anything at all. But acknowledge your pain threshold. Consider how your injury feels. Then work with your body to do what you need to do. Which, I believe, is fifteen pendulum swings.” I gestured to the open space in front of my desk. “Please. Be my guest.”

D.D. thinned her lips again. For a moment, I thought she might refuse. She hadn’t been exaggerating before. I’d seen patients end PT sessions vomiting from the intensity. It wasn’t just a matter of forcing a broken arm to try to move, but given the accompanying inflammation of the nerves surrounding it . . . An avulsion fracture was one of the most painful kinds of injuries there was. Or so I’d been told.

Now Detective Warren slowly moved to the edge of her chair. She bent at the waist and allowed her left arm to hang straight down, like an elephant’s trunk, the physical therapists would say. Even that simple motion elicited an immediate hiss of pain. She breathed in, out, sweat already beading her upper lip.

“How do you feel?” I asked.

“Is this how you get your jollies?” she retorted harshly. “Can’t feel any pain, so you feed off of others’?”

“Detective, on a scale of one to ten, please rate your pain.”

“Fourteen!”

“Curse.”

“What?”