Being pain-tolerant is pretty nice, I recommend it.
Well, I mean, up until the point where you chew your own lips off in your sleep.
I've got a teensy little scar after an altercation with a table during my youth... I was bouncing and chasing after a rubbery little ball (a skill I'd learned from the dog) shaped like a meteorite, and it had a tendency to be rather unpredictable in its ricochets. When it suddenly changed directions and flung itself under the table, I followed, only to be stopped by the sharp corner jamming itself into my hairline. I was about 9 at the time.
Not really feeling anything other than a slightly injured ego, I went back to my room to participate in the much safer activity of playing computer games. I noticed that I seemed to be sweating quite a bit, and had to keep stopping my forehead off while playing. Eventually I looked down at the white plastic lawn chair I was using as an office chair, and noticed that it was covered in blood, as was my hand.
I went to tell my mom, and (according to her), the first words out of my mouth were "boy, I've really done it this time...".
The doctor's office also apparently didn't quite trust the incident report of "chased after bouncing meteorite until he collided with the table", so some extra questioning was had.
My life is punctuated by alternating events of casually shaking off something that by all rights should have been quite painful, and getting incapacitated by minor injuries. My pain tolerance appears to be somewhat... unreliable.