Then, it became a bit of a happy blur... Through blood tests, x-rays, vitals, repetitive questions*, and history checks, there was no explanation of why I had such severe pain in my chest. Whilst waiting to see the doctor in hospital, though, when the morphine was quite clearly working, I was already thankful that I could finally take deep breaths properly, and could enjoy decent, pain-free rest (yes, even on a temporary hospital bed with my jacket as a pillow).
* "No, I'm not pregnant" - "No, there's no tingling in my fingers" - "Yes, I'm allergic to cats" - "I would love a prescription for morphine, please"
Today is the first day this week I have woken up without pain. I have my suspicions of what it was, and despite grey hairs at 28, I do know that it was not a heart attack.
My trip to the hospital yesterday also meant I got to bring home souvenirs... I love souvenirs. They're like mini-presents to yourself. Sadly, I did not bring home an answer to what was happening with my body.
They were also pretty great through the whole ordeal. They brought me drinks, buckets, wrote me "get well soon" cards, and generally looked after themselves when they knew I couldn't get out of bed.