“But are you two days in the chest and did not go to the emergency room?”
No.

Since the pain changed according to position, I thought it was muscular, and I’m not the type that easily alarms. More than anything, it was two nights that I slept badly.
But I had not considered that there could be another possibility: suspected pericarditis.
My doctor then sent me to the armed emergency room of these two little words.

At Fatebenefratelli they were fast, efficient and nice: they turned me over like a sock (nice to hear the beating of one’s heart during an ultrasound) and the cardiologist, nice gentleman who joked in Bergamo with the nurse (who was both boring arms) making me laugh a little, sent me home after a couple of hours with the strict order to stay at rest for 7 days.
It does not seem pericarditis, but a banal inflammation, perhaps posthumous of past infections; in any case if I did not improve, but I’m already improving, I should redo a running ultrasound.
The cardiologist explained to me the question well, and aside from that I should be quiet for a month, if I really had the pericarditis would be a nuisance, but nothing serious.

The really bad part of being there is seeing the bed next to which years ago I had spent three days in hell.
Luckily this time it was different, even if it concerned me directly.

Yesterday I had to go to the doctor again (he, despite having called him, looked good to do a home visit) for the certificate, then the INPS and mail to send it. Thank you very much for the useless bureaucracy, which made me lose a day of rest, and I thank heaven for making it snow just when I left.

As I wrote yesterday, I hope to have exhausted the bad luck in this first month of the year, and that the next will be wonderful. Also because today begins the difficult part: to measure oneself with boredom, that I must avoid all the activities that affatulate the heart.
Yes, even that.