My Hospital visit Retold...

So as you read before I had a stint in the hospital, now I would like to give you my account of how I saw it….
So I drove myself to the Emergency Room. That’s a nice relaxing drive. *whistling a tune* Noooo, after you. Merge, everybody merge. I’m only imploding.
So I pull up at the entrance to the Emergency Room. No valet parking. I mean, if that’s not the biggest oversight in our solar system… if there’s ever a time when you want to go, “can you park this because I need to collapse immediately?” But no, I’m circling around the parking lot trying to find a spot. “Can I park there, I think I’m gonna die?” “I’m dying too.” “OK, go ahead. I’ll go up a couple levels.” Unbelievable. I don’t care if you’re driving yourself or someone else to the Emergency Room, you still want to get out and run in with them. Are you supposed to drop somebody off and go park the car? “OK, you go in! Tell them you’re SHOT! Ask them if they validate!” Unbelievable.
So I finally park, you know. I go in to check in. They ask the most insulting question when you check into a hospital. “What seems to be the problem?” “What seems… ? Well it seems… it seems like everything in all my inside wants to be on my outside. But I’m no doctor.” What kind of condescending question…
So they check me in to my luxurious half room. There’s a curtain down the middle with a mystery patient on the other side. And he’s moaning over there. I’m thinking, “man, they’re never going to help me with him moaning like that.” So I gotta out-moan him, you know? “Quit moaning! We’re all hurting!”
So I’m killing time writhing. The nurse finally comes in. “How are you doing tonight?” “I’m on a gurney. Do you have a pain-killer or something? This is killing me.” So she goes, “how would you describe your pain?” *pause* “It’s killing me. I don’t know if you remember that part. Ouch.” What, are we playing that pyramid game? “Um. Excruciating… Horrific… Would rather have shards of glass in my eye…. How do I convey this to you?”
So she asks, “how would you rate your pain?” “Four stars! Two enthusiastic thumbs up!” She goes, “how would you rate it on a scale of one to ten with ten being the worst?” Well, you know saying a low number isn’t going to help you. “Oh, I’m a two… maybe the high one’s. If you could get me a baby aspirin and cut it in half, maybe a Flinstone vitamin and I’ll be out of your hair. You can go tend to all the threes and fours and such, if anyone’s saying such ridiculous numbers.”
So I said, “I guess I’m an eight.” She goes, “OK, I’ll be back.” I’m like, “aw, I blew it. I ain’t getting nothing with eight.” But she surprised me, she comes in, she told me, “the doctor told me to give you morphine immediately.” So then I’m like, “morphine?? That’s the stuff they gave the guy in Saving Private Ryan just before he died… OK, I’m a four… I’m a zero, I’m a negative eleventeen.” So they gave me morphine. Wow, all I know is about fifteen minutes later, just for the heck of it, I was like, “I’m an eight again! Guess who’s an eight?”