Editor’s note: "War Stories" is a semi-regular feature in which Art Shulman, president of Shulman Research, Van Nuys, Calif, presents humorous stories of life in the research trenches.
Measuring opinions is so prevalent these days. You never know where you might be interviewed - including the emergency room of a hospital I recently was admitted to. I was having severe abdominal pain and couldn’t help but constantly moan loudly while awaiting the clerk to complete the paperwork. I apologetically explained to other patients and their families, in between moans, that this was not really a ploy for attention.
Finally, I was taken to an examining room where I saw something comforting hanging on the wall, just next to me: a colorful smiley-face scale! The scale was on a plastic chart, with the headline, "Universal Pain Assessment Tool."
Along with the 0-10 numbers across the top, six smiley faces illustrated the even numbers on the scale. For example, the "0" smiley had a large curvy smile and bright, wide-open eyes. The face was dark green, but I disregarded that.
On the "10" end of the scale a crimson face wore a severe frown. He was crying, poor guy, and small lines near the nose and lips suggested he was quivering. His eyelashes were formed into some Chinese word-like characters.
Then the interviewer - er, nurse - directed my attention to the chart and asked, "Using this 0-to-10 scale, where 0 represents no pain and a 10 represents the worst possible pain, how would you rate your pain?"
"Ten," I blurted, even though my face wasn’t crimson (it was no doubt rather pale, actually), I didn’t have an inverted smile, and my eyelashes weren’t displaced across my brow.
Having gathered this important information, the medical staff proceeded with other, more conventional evaluations, such as blood analysis, EKG, etc. They also listened to my explanation that I probably had pancreatitis, since I’d had this ailment 15 years ago, with similar symptoms.
Soon I was wheeled up to a room, and treatment began both for the pain and the ailment. To my amazement, hanging on the wall was the identical Universal Pain Assessment Tool chart, still bright with green, blue, purple, orange, and crimson faces. The chart sure was universal: It seemed to be hang-ing in every room I went into.
As I glanced at the lower end of the scale I was especially intrigued by the light geen face, number 2 on the scale, which signified mild pain. He still wore a smile - What a trouper! - though not as broad a smile as the dark green "no pain" smiley. The light green guy having a smile was a bit odd, I thought, but perhaps understandable, given the day-to-day hospital experience, where mere mild pain seems to be wounds for a smile.
One morning a few days later, my wife brought in several get-well cards, each of which was bright, colorful, and cheery. I decided to hang them on the wall.
The get-well cards reminded me to, well, get well, to feel appreciated and liked. One of my favorite cards was signed by a friend. It said, "Hi, Art! A BIG HUG to make you feel better." This was followed by the writer’s name (which happens to be Joy), and a hand-drawn smiley face.
In contrast to that wonderful smiley face, the ones on the Universal PainAssessment Tool hanging next to the cards reminded me only of misery. So I ripped the chart from its Velcro moorings and decided not to return it to the hospital. Let the next person in my room ponder positive thoughts of wellness rather than indicators of pain.
So there it is, my written confession: I’m a crook. But I’m not totally to blame. A smiley scale made me do it.