I am intrigued to know where I am.
When I've been in hospital before I have been in a busy ward, with around five other patients in the same room as me at once. Now though, I have a room completely to myself. It feels a lot better - to have my own space.
I want to take in every small detail of my personal room. The first thing that hits me is the whiteness of the walls, too clean and sanitary - nothing like my own bedroom. Then I notice the greeny-blue curtains pulled back across some double doors; obviously Elle had closed them but through a little gap I can see people walking past my room.
Some of the people are doctors, or nurses. They look busy, rushing around with note boards and pieces of important paper. The majority are patients, looking pained or quiet content.
Some people are visitors, and they interest me the most. Most of them are with patients, talking to them or questioning doctors. Some are obviously trying to be happy with their loved ones, but are hurting inside; wondering how many days they can carry on like this.
I know from past experiences, how traumatic it can be to have a person you love in hospital - but I also know how awful it is to have visitors for your self.
I watch the people by for a little longer, trying to pass the time by. Suddenly, somebody catches my eye. A boy - around fifteen, my age - walks in front of the gap in my curtains. He pauses and for a just a mille-second, he looks into my room, smiles, and carries on walking.
In that split second, I am completely mesmerised. I don't want to lose sight of him, and as soon as he walks on, I slide out of bed and run to the door. Unplugging myself from the unnecessary machines and tubes I shove some comfy shoes on and slip out the room.