Six-and-a-half.

When my patients answer the question:
"So I can best evaluate the effectiveness of the pain medication I am about to administer: how would you rate your pain, from a zero to a ten -
zero being no pain,
and ten being the worst pain ever ever"
-with-
"Ten."
I think: you haven't met my father.  You have no idea what a "Ten" is.
He eats pain for breakfast, and smiles back.
Talk to me after you've fractured a femur.
Let alone both.
At least, talk to me after you've experienced true bone pain.
Talk to me after you've had that baby,  (but also after you've given it up to someone else so as to also have to have given up the wonderfully healing effects of oxytocin...)
Come to me after you have buried a child,
After you have watched a good man die.
Or left your dignity in the dust for naught but Love,
and while, in the meantime, I won't withhold medication or treat you any different on the surface...
Talk to me then,
And I won't judge you.
I am thankful every day that I don't know what "Ten." feels like.
But the days I see what it looks like,
I am thankful for you.
For your ignorance,
For my forgiveness.
For our shared understanding that you're afraid and so am I,
But that neither of us
Really know.