I have mostly anti-ninja moments, having a serious case of hammer & thumb disease.
I've gotten to the point where I can hit a finger pretty squarely with the hammer, and just watch the blood flow around the fingernail, without reacting, and finish the job with a different pair of fingers, dripping and dribbling blood the whole time while my injured finger makes that humming kind of sensation that starts taking over my hand. The last time, I was on a ladder, so I guess that's actually a 'good' reaction to have.
I know it will hurt later. A lot. But I've already made one mess, so I may as well finish.
My real bane is soldering irons. Somehow, I always manage to pick up the wrong end when I'm engrossed in what I am doing.
Though gulping boiling hot tea in thermos mugs is a common hazard, too.
Fingertip slicing, like paper cuts, are so routine, I hardly notice unless I make a mess. I always just tear the envelope open with my finger. I hardly ever get cut.
I've even drawn my own blood with a plastic knife. Those serrated teeth really play a tune on the nerve endings as they dig in. And of course the mustard that was on it only added to the 'fun'.
Then there was that big old car door and my ankle, near the hinge, when someone shut the door on it. Right on the 'knobs' on my foot. I walked that off. I've 'walked off' all kinds of things that I probably shouldn't have. The time my knee swelled up to the size of a cantaloupe, I probably should've gone to a doctor or something. The swelling went down after a neighbor recommended I take a larger dose of asprin, and I wasn't immobilized anymore.
Bees love me. Or I should say, they love to sting me. In large groups. Ants, too. I've become more alarmingly allergic to that over time. The last time, when a hive of bees took offense to my yard work, they swarmed me and I developed really big networks of welts, like the stings were flowing together, or something. Made my skin like a strawberry in big patches.
On the plus side, I don't think I'm allergic to poison oak or poison ivy. People always pointed it out, and I never remembered which weed was which, and didn't pay any attention while running the weed whacker. A house I used to have had it 'everywhere', and I probably could have taken a bath in it and not had a reaction.
And the quadruple wisdom tooth extraction. Almost the first thing I did when I got home was absentmindedly peel and bite into an orange. I didn't finish the orange. They gave me a whole bottle of vicodin, or whatever it was, and I threw it out after one pill. I didn't like it, and it didn't touch the pain, anyway.
Then there was that time, or actually all those times I went in with a perforated appendix, before they correctly diagnosed what it was after a month in a hospital caused by it leaking poo all over the inside of me.
Oh, and I'm novocain resistant. Nobody figured that out until I was an adult. That nice dentist when I was seven telling me 'it doesn't hurt', and to 'quit bellyaching'. And that time in the air force when the dentist told me the nerves were already gone from the last visit of excruciation, so he didn't need to use any novocaine... except... they... weren't... all... gone. And he put the drill in. And we both found them.
Having 'road rash' on my face cleaned out was another one for the scrap book. The fork on the bike broke, and I did a face plant at speed. Back in the days before some clever person invented 'bicycle helmets'. Ever hit your head so hard you went blind for the afternoon? I don't recommend it.
I guess pain doesn't make much of an impression on me, or I'd learn my 'lessons' more readily.