Post-traumatic intercostal hernia . When the intercostal muscles split and pressure in the chest cavity pushes part of the lung through. He wouldn't say it was pain, no, he would say it was pain. Some pains become background sensations when you've suffered so long though. Like if you live in or near a city. The silence you get has an underlying and habitually ignored dull hum. To become aware is to hear every layer of sound. To feel every wave of pain. He hasn't been able to take a full breath in a long time. Partially suffocated for most of his life. "Lack of oxygen in the blood can cause anxiety" the doctor told him. "None of us can breathe, doctor, we're all anxious." "I'm talking about your health." "I'm talking about our lives, doctor." Trapped, bound in breathlessness, adrenalin surging, fight or flight, the beast is on your chest, you're paralysed, a 200 bpm tribal drum pumps through your body and echoes in your head as you're pushed and pulled in and out of reality. The doctors have a name for it. A name they learned while studying in their youths. A name they've said thousands of times before. A background diagnosis. He doesn't even listen to them anymore. It reminds him of being born, when it happens. Afterwards you just remember being reminded. The therapists have words they learned too. He doesn't listen to them anymore either. It reminds him of death, when he looks back. Then he wonders how he can remember death. He sits in a rippling rain puddle of life-noise. Fear and anxiety, phobias and deficiencies. All he hears is silence, and the ignored hum. Learned words cross his vision and continue with their lives. The drums start...

He stands up, takes the deepest, longest breath he's ever wanted to take... Pop!
"Well isn't that something?"