Bubbling In Chest When Lying Down No Pain Novels & Stories

He forced himself up, his hand reaching out to the inhaler by his bedside. He took one puff, his eyes now watering but he could feel tons lift from his chest. He took another puff and could finally breathe. His headache though, had only tripled making sitting upright, unbearably painful. Lying down wasn’t an option though, seeing as how he still couldn’t breathe properly. So now he was in this state of incredulous pain, with no way to treat it yet for some unthinkable reason, his mind flashed the image of Xavier asking if he was alright.

I can't breathe properly. A lump is stuck in my chest. Holding onto my chest, I fall to the ground, whimpering until it turns into a wail, uncaring of who is watching or listening. I thought I had cried enough. Where the tears are coming from is something I have no idea about.

“Babe, what’s wrong?” I can’t answer. My mouth opens but no sound comes out. My throat is closing. My chest is clamping in on itself, squeezing, squeezing, squeezing.. I feel Luxe lower both of us to the floor. The cold tiles hit my knees but I barely feel it. My hands shake uncontrollably as I clutch at my chest, nails digging into my skin. I can’t breathe. Goodness, I can’t…

I got myself all nice and cozy, curled up, and the next thing I knew, the world fell away as my eyes closed. I suddenly woke up, and I was back in my old bedroom, curled in the fetal position on the floor, clutching my chest in agony, crying and heaving at the burning sensation I felt spreading through my chest and, more importantly, my heart. It feels like someone is stabbing my heart. What’s causing this? The moment I feel the pain subside, I cry from relief, only for it to start again within 10 minutes, and this routine carries on for the next seven hours.

Venessa’s POV: The silence of the mansion at midnight felt suffocating, the kind of silence that presses down on your chest, making each breath heavier than the last. I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, trying to ignore the way my heart seemed to be pounding in my chest. The pressure was building, that familiar ache spreading from my chest to my arms, making them feel numb. My pulse throbbed in my ears, and no matter how many times I shifted positions or tried to find a comfortable angle, the pain wouldn’t subside.

"Will the chest injury cause pain?" "Yes. Once the adrenaline wears off and the muscles relax, the patient will experience pain in the chest area. It will subside over a week. You don’t need a cast, but try to limit movement as much as possible." A nurse hurried in and handed a report to the doctor. "Doctor Jones, this is the blood test report for the patient. The doctors in the lab wanted you to take a look." The older doctor took it and carefully examined the data. Then he furrowed his brows and asked me, "Have you ever experienced dizziness, fatigue, sudden palpitations, shortness of breath, or restlessness?"

The surface of my stomach hardened until it felt like pressing against a wall. It tightened further. The squeeze deepened and a hot, sharp pain lanced upward from my pelvis to a point just below my ribs. My back arched away from the headboard and my fingers dug into my belly, pressing hard, trying to find some way to push back against it. I couldn’t breathe properly. My mouth opened but my lungs wouldn’t expand. I sat there with my mouth open and my chest locked, unable to pull in air, until a short ragged gasp finally broke through and I sucked in half a breath.

If the hospital called him at night, he made sure Marcus was on standby for me. One afternoon, I experienced more shortness of breath than usual. I stopped walking, leaned against the wall. Liam, who had just returned home, saw and immediately guided me to the sofa. He checked oxygen saturation, pulse, and blood pressure. All within limits. It was likely because the baby’s position pressed the diaphragm. He taught sitting slightly forward, arms supported by a pillow, inhale through the nose, exhale slowly through the mouth. After a few minutes, the shortness eased.

He got out of that shitty situation. He glanced around again. A few cars sped by. Not one driver paused to take a look at him. Maybe they all thought he was just a regular jogger in the area. He looked ahead and kept up his brisk steps. He could taste his own blood from his cut lip, and he could smell his own sweat, but he wasn't coughing up blood yet. Good sign. The consistent, annoying pain in his lower chest area whenever he breathed in was a symptom of something serious, though. The slight swelling and tenderness around his lower ribs, coupled with a little pinkish bruising on his abdomen, were also telltale signs.

I’m busying myself with dinner, salivating as I breathe in the delicious aroma of my chicken stir fry, when a sudden kick from within my belly has me clutching the countertop and gasping for air. I manage to keep myself upright while I focus on taking slow breaths. Each inhale seems to compound the pressure in my belly, so I do my best to keep my breaths shallow. I lift my shirt and examine the familiar, prominent veins and bruises that have begun forming across my belly once again. I sigh, lowering my shirt, then rub soothing circles across my belly.