I’ll do anything to avoid pain. If the dentist offered me a general anesthetic for a regular check-up, I’d take it. If my eyebrows could be numbed-up before a plucking appointment I’d be wiping them with Voltarol two hours prior. I’m simply a wuss. 

Needless to say, both my daughters were born by Cesarean. The first one genuinely wasn’t optional. I’d really psyched myself up for a proper birth with gas and air. OK, I knew I’d be after an epidural at some point, but even the midwives were surprised when I screamed for the needle at one centimetre dilated.  

When a possible c-section was on offer for daughter number two, I made a big show of pretending to consider it, convincing nobody that I was ever in any lifetime going to go for the push when a relatively twinge-free birth could be planned. I thought it was all for nothing though when I demanded my husband take me to A&E at 29 weeks, thinking I was in labour. It was Braxton hicks. 

I used to play a game with my friend Jill when we were at primary school called What Would You Rather Do? Well, to be honest, we still play it but the subject matter has moved on. When the options involved agony on any level i.e. ‘would you rather have stitch for the rest of your life or a poo stripe on the outside of your knickers for eternity?’ the poo stripe always won.  

When people say they’d do anything to take the pain away from a loved one and suffer it themselves instead, I’m just relieved that could never actually happen. I feel sympathy and all that but inside I’m thinking rather you than me. You can keep your jellyfish sting or twisted wrist. 

I can’t understand why any woman would willingly plough through period pain without having at least the recommended dosage of paracetamol. What’s the point in ruining your whole day with a headache if an Anadin extra will sort you out? Not one single atom in my body feels the need to soldier on and listen to what nature is trying to tell me.  

This aversion to discomfort of any kind shaped my sporting and fashion choices from an early age too. I was never going to break through a pain barrier to run 100 metres for Bingley Grammar. GCSE aerobics was much more my pump bag. I tried wearing heels as a teenager but the blisters lead me to a student life of Doc Martens. 

At work, I sometimes need to listen to people’s stories about their pain, but I’m never in danger of being punched or stung myself. The most harm I could come to would be a nasty paper cut. In fact, I wish I was at work now because I’m writing this in the dentist’s waiting room, dreading a filling. And frankly, I'd rather have a poo stripe on the outside of my knickers for eternity.