I was going to say “waking up after a night of passion, in bed next to my sister” but a) Yunki beat me to it and b) I don’t have a sister.
I have two ‘really ill’ moments that spring to mind.
The first was when I was a kid, so memory is hazy. I had tonsillitis and an NHS five-year (or something) waiting list. I was so bad I couldn’t eat solids, could barely swallow liquids, and I’d gone deaf. When I started going yellow, my mum paid for me to be admitted privately. Apparently the doctor’s opening gambit was “why on Earth hasn’t he been brought in sooner?”
On the night of the surgery, my mum stayed in hospital in the bed next to me. At the time I was really concerned as I didn’t understand why and thought she was sick too. Years later, my mum confessed that it was because they were concerned that I might not survive till morning. (From tonsillitis, WTF).
The second was a few years ago, diagnosed with glandular fever. Absolutely kicked seven shades out of me. I remember walking to the doctors a block away from home, and by the time I got there I was too weak to get the door open. I sat on the doorstep for a few minutes to get sufficient strength back to get in.
That was a fun-filled couple of weeks of constant explosions from both ends; sitting on the bog with the wash basin in front of me, trying to work out which was going to go next and whether rocking forwards to the sink or staying put for a minute was the best course of action. I lost two stone in just over a week, and I’m only little to start with.