The searing pain returned, a phantom echo of a bullet she’d already survived. Mia Tretta, a college junior studying for finals, felt it bloom in her stomach – a chilling reminder of the day, years earlier, when a .45-caliber handgun shattered her freshman year of high school.
In 2019, at Saugus High School in California, Mia became a statistic. She was shot, her best friend was killed, and two others were wounded. She considered herself fortunate, a survivor in a landscape of unimaginable loss. But fate, it seemed, wasn’t finished with her.
Years later, at Brown University, news of another active shooter sent a wave of terror through campus. This time, she wasn’t directly in harm’s way, yet the old wound flared, manifesting as what she calls “phantom bullet syndrome” – a ghostly sensation mirroring phantom limb pain. Stress, she discovered, was the trigger.
“It’s crazy to say it,” Mia reflects, “but the first time, I was the lucky one. I got shot, but I lived. And the second time, I was lucky again, just a few blocks away.” Her experience is becoming increasingly common, a grim reality for a growing number of young people marked by gun violence.
Mia’s story isn’t isolated. A recent study published in BMC Public Health reveals a stark connection between exposure to gun violence – direct or indirect – and the prevalence of chronic pain among American adults. The research underscores a hidden consequence of a national crisis.
Researchers at Rutgers University examined six distinct types of exposure, from being shot or threatened to witnessing violence or knowing someone affected by firearm suicide. Their analysis of over 8,000 people revealed that nearly 24% experienced pain most days, and over 18% reported significant pain levels.
The study’s lead author, Daniel Semenza, emphasizes the profound link between mental and physical health in the wake of gun violence. “Your body remembers,” he explains. “Through post-traumatic stress, it relives the experience, over and over again.”
Mia underwent multiple surgeries to remove the bullet, and later received nerve blocks to manage the persistent pain. Yet, fragments remain lodged within her, a constant physical presence. She was also diagnosed with psoriatic arthritis, a chronic condition that amplifies her suffering.
“Every fever feels different now,” Mia shares, describing how her body reacts in ways she never knew before the shooting. “I shake uncontrollably, and even a gentle touch causes excruciating pain.” Her experience highlights the long-term, often invisible, toll of gun violence on physical well-being.
This Rutgers study is part of a growing body of research focused on the physical health consequences of gun violence exposure. It reveals that the impact extends far beyond those directly injured or killed, reaching into the lives of families and communities.
Efrat Eichenbaum, a psychologist treating survivors at a Level 1 trauma center, confirms these findings in her clinical practice. “The trauma doesn’t just affect survivors,” she says. “It impacts families, entire communities. It’s a ripple effect.”
David Patterson, a pain specialist, points to the immense societal cost of chronic pain stemming from gun violence. “Chronic pain is a major health problem, costing billions of dollars annually,” he explains. “It’s a condition that requires ongoing management, not a cure.”
Back at Brown, Mia acknowledges that healing is a lifelong process. “Your body is never the same,” she says, tracing the seven or eight inches of scar tissue across her abdomen. “It’s a constant physical reminder, because you can’t escape your own body.” Her story is a testament to the enduring impact of trauma and the urgent need for comprehensive support for survivors.
