In NHS hospitals you are typically on a ward with four beds. I was in with Sue, a lovely blonde policewoman with a poorly ovary and Dorys, a mad old bat with lymphatic cancer. I think it's a statutory requirement that all British hospital wards have one Mad Old Bat. When I was in with my appendix the MOB had an infected foot, but thought she had been kidnapped for nefarious purposes, and spent the night shouting for help.
Poor old Dorys - and I do mean that with sincere sympathy - had been in the ward on her own, and was infuriated that her kingdom had been invaded by Sue and me. In the hours after we came round from anaesthetic the nurses had to keep coming onto the ward to check our pulse etc. and this drove Dorys wild with rage. She kept us awake all night, shouting abuse at us, until the morning when the nurses could empty a single-bed ward and wheeled her into it. To our credit Sue and I - though at that point we hadn't exchanged a word - were polite and respectful to the MOB all through the night and bid her goodbye with courtesy as she was wheeled away, triumphantly to her solitary splendour. Afterwards we laughed about it. It was quite an experience.
Other interesting things that happened. I was recruited by the dashing and gypsy-looking Dr Palmer (female) to take part in a study of post-operative sexual function. (Not sure if dreams count). H was in the room when she asked me if I'd let her study our sexual behaviour, and I said 'What, right now?' and laughed so much I almost popped a stitch. She smiled weakly. Probably never heard that before.
The night after Dorys left I couldn't sleep for it hurting so I put on the little telly they give you with earphones. 3am on Channel 5 there was a 30 minute mini film, starring Adam Baldwin! I must be the only person in the country who was awake and watching it. So - kalypso_v - your card came true!