By now, thanks to the good doctor and his medications, I was recovering enough to realise how much I dislike anything that feels like incarceration. Smoking, except through a window in the bathroom, was forbidden. Leaving my room's floor of the hospital was also forbidden. Walking up and down the corridor wasn't, so I did, explaining to the nurses that I needed exercise. Also, every time I was injected with medicine via the canulla, the back of my hand hurt worse than the lump on my arse had. I eventually refused further injected medicine. Fortunately oral equivalents were available.
© (except the blatantly ripped-off bits) Random Bozo 2006