With No Preamble

I was planning on hanging out with a combination of Steve, Chance, Jeremy, and Nathan last night. I called them, asked what they were doing. We made plans.
Then I felt like hanging out with Tom. Just Tom and I. So I called the others, begged off, and called Tom. Like I was meant to.
Tom was free and eager to hang out; he had something he wanted to get off his chest, and I was the one from whom he'd get nothing but encouragement. I support anyone who is thinking about quitting Mat Master.
So we got together, and he vented a bit, and then we got together with Steve who told him about the job opening at his work. It would be great for Tom. Steady, virtually the same job minus the heavy lifting, which is the main reason Tom's looking to leave Mat Master, decent wage, etc.
I was meant to call Tom yesterday so he could vent to me, get something off his chest about which he'd been stressing quite heavily, and so that I could serve as a go-between for him and Steve talking about a new job opportunity for him.
Good work, kid!
Then over to Tom's place, where, once again, I felt compelled to help out in his kitchen. Abysmal is not an understatement. (Tom, if/when you read this, I feel fairly confident that you'll agree, and that even it you don't, no offense is intended.) I made supper and washed a shit-tonne of dishes. It felt good to be hanging out one-on-one with Tom, and to be helping him out like this. Again, I was meant to be there right then, helping out a friend.
One gigantic serving of perogies with bacon and onions later, Tom and I were full, contented, Nathan and Heather came over and we watched a movie...
It was a good night. Very good.
And then, DISASTER.
Being woken up at 4am with a violent, paralysing agony in your chest really fucks with one's sense of reality. I was fairly confident that a baby alien was going to burst forth from my chest cavity. Or that a seething bolus of acid was eating its way through my organs. Seriously considered calling Graeme, seriously considered going to the hospital/calling an ambulance. Tried to sleep on the bathroom floor, froze. Stayed there for an hour, half delirious.
Was it the food? Was Tom experiencing the same crippling, torturous affliction? Was it something medical, like a burst appendix? Would I live, but Tom die? All thoughts that ran through my anguish-raddled brain.
Was finally able to drag myself back to bed, and thank God sleep took me.
Feel better this morning, but I don't think I'm out of the woods yet.
What happened to me? I spend the first part of the evening literally as a conduit through which God can work to help Tom, and I pay for it by experiencing agonizing pain?
Hm, somehow I don't think the two are necessarily related.