Ziven of Nine and the Chest Pains of Doom.

I posted this in the Chatty thread, but maybe some of you can get an amused chuckle from spending all last night thinking I was probably dying.

So what happened is as follows.

Tuesday: 5:30 AM.

Woke up on the couch. The Princess needs the bed to herself on worknights between my apnea and the whole get-up-at-5:30-AM thing. Another morning in lower middle class paradise. Except this time... This time, something was... different.

I got up, folded her blanket, slid her laptop table back in front of the couch, headed into the kitchen to put the kettle on.

All the while feeling dizzy. "No matter", I thought, or something rather like it approximating the mental noise of a cavewoman grunt and the stubborn streak all Ukrainians inherit from their Mongol progenitors.

Ice cold lemonade does wonders for the short journey up the stairs to void my waters in the pre-dawn stillness. Except, the shock of the cold liquid spread a sharp discomfort through my ribs. The thunder of a team of horses echoed through my aorta and into my sinus cavity. I could feel them racing through my pulse, up the neck, into my brain.

They were demonic beasts, with hooves of fire. I summoned the Engine Wind of my trusty stand fan, invoked the rain gods to send me moisture through my vaporizer, and activated the propeller of the vehicle of dreams before pulling the chain on said ceiling fan.

It was dark. I was hot. I hurt.

For the next two hours, I was pushed off a cliff over and over. But the fall started in my chest and impacted a foot above my head. It woke me up every few minutes. My temples had been taken over by minions of the machine god, their hammers and bellows sending pounding burning pain throughout my consciousness.

I could not feel my limbs.

I fought loose of the clinging, sweatsheen soaked wrappings and voided my waters, accompanied with a thunder of my own making. Emulating my idol Red Sonja, I banished the demons in a foul small of rotten eggs and darker things.

I do not remember going back to bed. But I awoke having slept.

I assumed, as is rational, that I perhaps suffered for my supper. an undigested bit of beef, a blot of mustard, a crumb of cheese, a fragment of underdone potato. Perhaps There was more of gravy than of grave about the vexing spectral tormentors that had lodged within my person, seeking to spread misery and malaise.

Oh, how wrong I would be.

The wet sheen returned as I threw off the covers the following morning to ascend the stairs. The quiet of the grave assured me that whatever unholy force had so infested my fevered sleep seemed gone.

And then Saturday. Oh, Saturday.

I awoke in the mood of one who is to be avoided at all costs. My temper hovered bladelike within my aura, ready to strike any who took its attention. I conquered that beast and restored harmony with my beloved partner through a shared breaking of the fast.

Let us pause for a moment, that it be shown for the ages and all whom come across this chronicle that my heart and soulmate of this past quarter century is unparalleled in the preparation of a Ham, Egg, and Cheese sandwich. Athena weeps in spite of its beauty, and, indeed, as any whom have had the great privilege of glimpsing her magnificent countenance, in spite of hers as well.

The day progressed, and indeed, I felt an illness unspecified gnawing at my heels as I went about my daily endeavours. "Perhaps", I assumed, "the spirits seeking my downfall have been tamed.. and in penance I shall sacrifice many tissues and drink of the elixir of NyQuil this eve."

I went to my slumber before my angelic partner, expecting her shortly after I rested with the promise of consummation of our affection in the quiet still hours when lovers make small soft sighs in the embracing darkness.

I was to be denied the carnal ecstasy of shared mammalian lust however.

Nary half an hour later, the demons returned. They were consumed with vengeance. My vision swam before me, my body akin to ice in the touching, my limbs leaden when they rested from fearsome quaking. I plead aloud to the gods of technology for my noble healer's words. She returned my call forthwith and sent me hence to the nearby temple of Asclepius.

Within, many priests and vestal virgins (virginity assumed, I had no recourse to test) did connect me to arcane machines that beeped and whirred and chittered and hummed in the secret languages that only those who wear the staff of snakes can know.

A great canon of light looked deep into my heart, and found me worthy.

They took my humors, and visited upon me the tender mercies of the hero Prince Valium. He showed me sights and wonders my own frail eyes cannot ever view when I am at my halest and heartiest.

At last, the dawn had come, birds frolicked beyond the mighty chamber in which they had placed me to the concern and fear of my beloved (for it was indeed the room wherein it would be easiest to allow women to put forth children in dire distress, or to perform miracles of bringing the dying to some measure of health) and my valiant knights in white and blue returned.

The Valkyrie informed me she had not chosen me to be numbered among the slain. Valhalla was to be denied me some little while yet.

I was released.. the mystery solved. I was in danger, yea sooth. But not mortal and immediate. Instead, the Demons had sabotaged the mechanism deep within my being that informs my person of the proper response to ambient air.

Home, then, after a victory sup at the tavern and mead hall of Denny. While not so glorious a repast as such my own adored Goodwife blesses us with, the aptly named Moons Over My Hammy was a warrior's feast in its own right.

And thus here I sit, knowing the demons will come. But knowing that my Shaman will soon prepare a poultice to end their siege for once and all.

--Z9 tl;dr: I thought I was having a heart attack or stroke, turns out my thyroid went wild. Valium is interesting, and somehow counteracted my greyblindness and astigmatism to let me see more (real life) colours than I knew existed and in 3D with no help from special lenses.