Jesus tap-dancing Christ it's hot in here. The windows here only open so far and the air isn't conditioned, it's filtered so it isn't being cooled, so it's hot as fuck in here. Jesus.
Hospitals are boring. It's nothing like the hospitals in Scrubs or Holby City or Doctors, there's no drama, illicit sex, conflict, or even a flatline (at least not since I got here). I'm just sat in my really fucking hot room watching daytime TV and perusing the internet on this decade old laptop I've been given, waiting for a nurse to come in to fill me up with antibiotics through an I.V. line in my left arm. Either that or waiting for a different nurse to take another gallon of my blood by stabbing at any raised vein with a needle like a frightened criminal. Mind you, it's not all bad. Despite what they all say about hospital food, it's actually not that bad. I also get offered a cup of coffee every now and again.
If someone tells you they're not squeamish, they're lying. They can watch all the gory horror movies, genuine gore pictures from the darkest corners of the internet, surgical videos, whatever, as soon as someone puts a 50cm wire into their arm to guide the plastic tube that's about to follow it, they'll show you just how strong-stomached they really are. When I was nine, I was admitted into the Children's Hospital in central Birmingham for I.V. antibiotics for the second time. At the time I thought I could handle anything, that was of course until I saw blood erupting from my arm like it had been holding in a piss for four hours. That still disturbs me when I think about it.
Seeing my consultant tomorrow to find out if I'm being filled with the right drugs because, worryingly, nobody's quite sure. Oh well, early days.