I managed to make it a full week at work. Which is surprising because, about four weeks ago, I was in the hospital with severe pneumonia and in the ICU. Five days in a grubby hospital gown hooked up to countless tubes, getting poked in the arm at 2 a.m.

I got used to the hospital staff rotating, never seeing a familiar face, but always a rotating tribe of orderlies, doctors, and nurses. Beeps and alarms interrupted the static sound from the speaker that was supposed to be playing the television show.

A cacophony in prime-time.

My lungs were fire, each inhale striating a line of pain throughout my body starting in my chest. Not to mention the hospital bed began to cramp my back and I had to shuffle shuffle awkwardly to relieve the pressure. My ass still hurts from it.

And the pressure cuffs hooked around my calves pumping and deflating every 45 seconds.

Time became moments of pain and pressure interrupted by the most exciting moments of medication—a Percocet, my regular psych meds, antibiotics—and ordering disgusting hospital food.