Pain Below Left Shoulder Blade After Eating Novels & Stories

My shoulders tense, my focus narrowing as I search for something, anything, that explains it. There is nothing. And that is what makes it worse. Because my wolf does not react like this without reason. Something is off. Something I cannot see. Then pain slices through my side. Sharp. Sudden. It knocks the breath out of me for a second, my body reacting instantly as my hand flies to the spot. There is nothing there. No wound. No blood. Just skin. But the pain lingers, deep and real, like something just tore through me. A phantom pain.

Then it strikes. For just a split second, there's a dull stabbing pain on the left side of my ribcage, right under my scars. The scars I got that day. I fumble for just a moment, but I find the right cords, and I continue singing, praying my voice doesn't waver. In a moment the pain is gone, dwindling into nothingness like an echo. I scan the crowd to see if anyone noticed, but there's no reaction. They're just sitting there, spellbound, oblivious to my momentary freak-out.

I tried to take the knife in my hand, but it was far from my reach, and I was unable to move my hand. I can feel the pain building up in my shoulder and ribs, but I can't see the person in front of me as my vision is blurry because of tears.

🫶 LEXI 🫶 A sharp, burning pain exploded through my left shoulder. "Ahhh!" I cried out and collapsed onto my knees, clutching the spot as though something had pierced straight through me. It hurt. It hurt so much. My breathing became ragged as wave after wave of agony shot through my body. "W-Why...?" My fingers dug into my shoulder. There was no wound. No blood either. Then why did it feel like I'd been struck? My eyes lifted to look at him.

She had the notebook open on her knee. "The fatigue and appetite changes are consistent with post-surgical adjustment," Dr. Sable said. "I would not, on their own, find those alarming at this stage." A pause. "The pressure is different." "I know." "The pressure as described — sternum, brief duration, self-resolving — is consistent with two things. Post-surgical musculoskeletal adjustment, which is common and not concerning. Or early signs of residual obstruction, which would mean the myectomy did not fully address the blockage." Another pause. "I cannot tell you which of those it is without imaging."

I suspected that the Chinese food I ate at lunch was just giving me problem since I have been having indigestion for the last couple of day. It wasn’t until I started feeling a great pain in my right shoulder and my arm, followed with the pain in front of my neck and then up to my jaw, I knew something was really wrong. I leaned over the wall because I felt a sudden punch, more like a sledgehammer to my chest that was giving me a hard time from standing.

Something in my chest tightened with something that wasn't fear. Then the pain hit. Sharp. Low. On the left side of my abdomen, deep enough that it pulled my breath out of me in a sound I didn't intend to make. Petra's eyes moved to me immediately. "Where?" "Left side," I said. "Low." "Scale." "Seven." I pressed my hand flat against my stomach. "It's not cramping. It's sharp. Like a…." Another one hit before I finished the sentence and I bit down on the sound this time and kept my voice even. "Like a spike."

I say over my shoulder. Hazel doesn't buy it yet. She rounded the counter, pulls the pizza box out and put it in my hands asking. “How have you been feeling?” We settle around the dining table, and I peeked up at her. “You just won't let this go, would you?” Her expression answers for her. “Fine,” I say, setting the box down with a heavy sigh. “I hardly have an appetite, I get tired quickly and I feel sore around my chest area,”

“Or I’ll—oomph.” Sharp, sudden pain lanced my left shoulder and spiked its way down my arm until it exploded out the tips of my fingers before abruptly going numb. Nicolette screamed. No longer in the mood to flirt or do anything but curl into a ball and howl in agony, I tried to inspect the paralyzing intrusion that had punctured me, but when I looked down, my vision darkened at the corners. Dizziness ensued. My conscious brain flickered. “Ah, fuck,” I muttered when I finally caught sight of the long, thin shaft with a feathered end sticking out of my shoulder, right in the front tender, meaty area under my clavicle, in that empty space the rib cage didn’t cover.

The cool water soothes the dryness, and I take a few greedy sips, feeling it trickle down my throat, grounding me. “Thank you,” I murmur, my voice hoarse, and Camden swallows, his gaze never leaving mine. “Are you all right?” he asks, and I blink, struggling to focus, to assess the strange numbness in my arm. I try to flex the fingers of my left hand, but there’s a sharp, throbbing pain, like something’s caught. My heart sinks as I realize something’s wrong. “My shoulder—” I whisper, fear creeping back in.