I checked into the Gleneagles hospital at 6:30am on Saturday, and was taken to a room with 4 beds. I couldn't see any of the other patients due to the swishy curtains, but was building up a mental picture from their hushed conversations and the sounds of sickness.
A middle-aged Singaporean guy (I think) with teenage kids opposite me had the loudest, longest, most frequent flatulence I have ever heard. At first, I giggled. It soon became tiring. Eventually I pitied him.
An old okka Australian fella in the far corner was too proud to call the nurses for help following a stroke. All he had to do was press a red button and they would come to his aid. He didn't want to impose. He kept pissing the bed and knocking over his stockpile of re-cycled Fosters. I had to call the nurses, discretely on his behalf, to mop up the puddles.
The other person? Absolutely no idea. Visitors came and went, but I couldn't deduce a thing.