Shoulder Blade Hurts When I Cough Novels & Stories

Briggs’s stomach, making him feel light-headed and nauseous, and he soon start coughing, which only got aggressive by the second. “Drink a glass of water if your saliva choked you, Damion!” Jason said, his voice filled with concern. “I-I-It’s... not... M-My spit...” Mr. Briggs forced between coughs. Gasping for air, he tried to calm himself down, his hand clutching his chest as his vision started to get blurred. But that didn't work, and when he clapped his hand over his mouth, he aggressively coughed into it, and blood spilled on his palm.

And it stinks. I gіvе it a рuѕh and shuffle it ѕіdеwауѕ. Mу аrmѕ аrе kіllіng mе wіth the еffоrt, especially where they’ve mаdе a hаbіt оf іnjесtіng me. It асhеѕ with еvеrу movement, аnd mу ѕhоuldеrѕ аrе ѕоrе frоm bеіng lосkеd uр.

"Haven't heard anything for a minute." "Target?" "Take your fucking pick. Could be you, Sierra, or Ricardo. You're all hot depending on who's shooting." The pain in my shoulder isn't lessening. Flint is half-turned toward the wall. He's not touching the part that's burning, so the sensation is not from any pressure he's putting on it. "Can I get up?" I take a deep breath, willing the sting to leave. "No," Jay's and Flint's voices ring out in unison.

As if that isn’t satiating enough, I feel like I spent the last decades of my life on a rollercoaster of agony. My voice comes out as a croak when I call her. “Melissa.” “Kaya, are you okay?” My throat hurts from not having taken water since I woke up today, and judging from the absence of light behind the closed curtains, I know it’s night already. “I...” My voice caught up in my throat, wincing at a pain in my shoulders. I almost forgot that. “My shoulder...” It’s fixated with plaster, but I can still feel numb there, more like I can barely move it.

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.

“Scarlett.” “What?” “We’re hockey players.” He lifted one shoulder. “We’re always injured.” I laughed quietly. “I guess that’s true.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “My shoulders usually take the worst of it.” I froze. He continued speaking without noticing. “My left shoulder especially.” He rotated it slightly. “It acts up sometimes after long matches.” The moment the words left his mouth, I wished I had never asked. My heart dropped. I didn’t want to know.

The sudden release of tension was physical, almost violent. His chest was heaving, the thin black training vest damp and clinging to the sharp lines of his ribs. His breath came in rapid, ragged plumes of white mist that swirled around his face before vanishing into the freezing gloom. Beneath the fabric, his left shoulder was screaming—a deep, hot, throbbing ache that radiated from the fractured collarbone straight down to his chest. The black athletic tape had held, but the sheer force of the triple Lutz’s landing impact had stretched the adhesive to its absolute limit, pulling the raw skin beneath it taut.

CIARA The pain in my shoulder woke me up. It was a sharp, deep ache that made it hard to even drag air into my lungs, and every time I tried to shift my weight, my limbs felt completely pinned down against the mattress. Right next to my head, a heart monitor was beeping too fast, the loud rhythm making my skull throb.

I cough again, and I watch her physically jolt, raising her hands to shield herself from the airborne germs. "Ooh, babe, you look..." she says through gritted teeth, unable to finish the sentence. I try to force myself to sit up, but the weight in my chest sends me collapsing right back down into the cushions; a sharp, violent pain pierces behind my eyes. "Ow," I wince, pulling a hand out from under the blankets to massage my pounding temples. "I shouldn't have sat up that fast." I close my eyes as another ragged cough tears out of my throat.

“Guessing I lost that round.” The doctor watched me struggling to sit up, shook his head, “Try not to move. Your ribs are bruised, likely a hairline fracture, but nothing too extreme. You also have a pretty serious bruise running along your collarbone and side. Whiplash too, judging by the neck stiffness.” I tried to shift a little again, feeling the deep soreness running from my shoulders down to my hips, bruises hidden beneath my skin like dark secrets, “Lovely. Anything else I should know?”