Sandwiched

I'm in pain. Out of the blue, my back under my right shoulder blade started hurting. It came on slowly and not as though from an injury. All of my experience as a Hypochondriac Doctor (i.e. diagnosing all of my injuries both real and imagined) could not logically come to terms with this. The only injury that I could dial back to was the incident In Which I Was Dragged By The Dog. Could I actually have an injury start to hurt several days after it occurred?

This was yesterday. Last night I slept sandwiched between my two daughters. Only not a comfortable sandwich with fancy bread served on a fine china plate with pickle garnish and linen napkin, no I was that grilled-cheese with Wonder Bread made with the iron. In the midst of my smash-a-thon, rolling over was a painful challenge. I was wincing and groaning with every move and believing that getting old sucks.

When I showered this morning, I noticed that I had a bruise on my boob. My boob! When I pushed on my chest, I found that the pain traveled from the front of me through to where the back pain was. I was able to finally duplicate and isolate the pain. That links the injury to the incident. I did not withhold the pain medication and met my friend Tylenol for a trot to work.

(Should I be worried that while I'm typing this my cat is hunched down next to my dishwasher like she's about to catch a critter of some sort? Picture Tom staking out Jerry's hole.)

Now I'm wondering if I should see a doctor. It doesn't seem as bad as that, but those ribs and sternum are protecting some things that I need. My heart is in there! I'll decide tomorrow. It's time for bed. The cat and I are going downstairs now.