What's A Few More Grey Hairs?

W. began to complain of a pain in his chest. Those words being uttered from W.'s mouth, are ALL I need to hear, to get thrown into a tizzy. A full fledged freak out moment of concern is completely justified because of THIS and THIS. I went into panic Mommy Mode and proceeded to badger the crap out of ask him a million and one few questions.

"Where exactly does it hurt?"
"Does it hurt to breathe?"
"Is it hard to breathe?"
"Does it hurt anywhere else?"
"Do you feel dizzy?"
"Do you know where mommy's Xanax is?"

He pointed to the area above his stomach and with his finger made a circular motion.
It only hurts when he sits up or moves in a certain direction.
No.
He had a slight headache.
No.
He thought it was next to the empty bottle of wine.

Mr. Schmitty and I agreed that it was better to be safe than sorry. He grabbed his car keys and insurance card so he could take W. to the emergency room. I made sure he had money, as he might have to grab lunch and dinner a snack from the vending machine. More than likely he'd be sitting all freaking day a while in the waiting room.

The doctor did an EKG and a chest X-ray. He examined W. and assured Mr. Schmitty that it was not his heart or his lungs. He believed it was muscular from swimming and playing. W. just needs to take it easy for a few days and the pain should clear up.

Hallelujah!

Did you feel that? That rush of air? That was me, I finally stopped holding my breath.