22 years ago, 02:00 onwards, today, I was talking to a confused* fellow patient on the male surgical ward. He thought that the nurses were trying to kill him. Drips simply pulled from his arms, so strong was his belief.
Whilst talking to him, the nurses kept a regular flow of tea to us, I found out that he'd a number tattooed on his lower arm. Slowly it became clear, what was partly the problem for him.
It was also the day in which one nurse managed to scare the hell out of me by whispering at the foot of the bed at change over. The only time this has happened. I left with fewer parts that afternoon than I'd arrived with the day before.
*Told it was partly medication and old age. It wasn't only those, as I'd found out.