That was the week that was...

OK, so I worked in a hospital my entire career and loved most of it. As a patient, not so much love. While I was really not feeling so well, and the morphine pretty much kept my mouth restrained, I was fine. Last night, at 10:47pm, time was up. I needed to get out of there and could hardly stand it until I was discharged today. All of this has nothing to do with the care I received. I loved the resident I was assigned to ( I thought maybe he must be the son of a nurse). During the hours building up to my need to leave, every little sound on the unit seemed to magnify into my room. At one time, as I awoke from a pixel of a snooze, I thought I was laying in a barnyard somewhere-I heard beeping, and grunting and groaning and doors, endless doors opening and closing. I know that 70% of patients with pancreatitis are drinkers, but I did get a little tired stating "I don't drink, I am not constitpated." On a higher note....I am back home, feeling much better and grateful that I can say so.