Things you never want to hear from your culinary school graduate son who is working in a restaurant kitchen calls on the phone at 10:30 at night:
"Mom, I need to go to a doctor RIGHT NOW."
Turns out no body parts were severed, no blood was spilled and no real crisis was brewing.
He's just a hypochondriac with a ...uh ... well ... ahem ... a personal problem.
A little sitz bath, and we cleared that right up.
After I killed him.