Medical staff have a way to ask patients about the level of pain. 

"Where is it from 1 to 10?"

This gives the person in the bed a chance to reflect and come up with a way to convey something that eludes words. It may impact the level of medication, or at the very least empathy. Perhaps the one hurting feels understood, but that, too, does not play nicely with calibration. 

My experiences with trains are getting better. Last week I only checked the paper schedule three times, the overhead monitors less than six, and asked at the information desk once. While it is nowhere near the nonchalance of daily commuters, for me it is progress. I am starting to trust that trains will show up when I need them. 

I'd say I am a six. 

My relationship with public transit is a partnership. I need to do my research, get out the door on time, have my rail pass with me, and be dressed for the weather. I must pay attention to stops, so that I do not sleep through mine, like I did once in college. 

It reminds me of a friend who is stepping into her trust in God. She is still dubious about whether He will show up when she needs him. I quietly listen, and share a few times when I did see evidence of Divine support. Like last week at the hospital. Ordinarily, I will never see a patient again. Not only do I see a very small fraction of the population, they are often discharged in a few days. My shifts are weekly. But the last person whose room I entered was the woman who had cried deeply the week before. She recognized me. I recognized her. 
 

"Hello! How good to see you again! I want to let you know that I am doing much better! It really helped to talk with you, and I am going home today."

Some people might dismiss that as a meaningless coincidence. But for me, it was a ten on the trust scale.