Laying in a hospital bed with an IV hovering over my head, a needle in my arm, and a trigger happy beep machine testing my patience from a distance, positivity isn't exactly coursing through my veins.

No—I think the correct term for that would be irritation...or, Vicodin. Needless to say, there are many other ways I'd like to be spending my Wednesday night.

Hospitals in general are not the easiest places to find solace. Unless this is part of your profession, I'd say most people would be happy never stepping foot in places like this. I sure would. But, as is important in every bad situation, I'm trying to maintain the mindset that it could always be worse. (Don't tell the nurse who swabbed my tongue when I came in that— He didn't quite see me at my jolliest.)

Maybe the lessons I'm learning here aren't necessarily fun, but they have to be worth knowing. That's what I'm telling myself anyways.

The first and best thing I've concluded about all of this (besides me landing this sweet gown for the night) is the fact that I'm not in here for anything earth-shattering. I had a tonsillectomy last week; which basically means the two round things in the back of your throat that swell up when the seasons change are gone, and may I say good riddance. Unfortunately, there were some complications with the surgery and a week later, I'm back. Though returning to the medical center definitely put a damper on my day, and I'm not the biggest fan of sleeping under fluorescence, if all goes as planned I will be leaving tomorrow. I know under these circumstances I am one lucky duck to be able to say that. It doesn't take a genius to realize that many of my hospital housemates won't have the privilege of seeing their own bed tomorrow night, and I can't imagine how terrifying that thought must be. It's easy to take being in good health for granted, but being here is a constant reminder of how precious it truly is.

Another lesson I've learned is that tragedies big and small really do bring people together. I'm not trying to compare my hospitalized, tonsil-less self to Hurricane Katrina or anything, but when the going gets tough, it's nice to know that my family and friends are willing to drop everything to make sure I'm okay. Getting older and growing independent has changed my relationship with my parents in a lot of ways, but I feel so fortunate to say that when I really need my folks, they are there (with milkshake in hand).

And finally, I'm telling myself it's healthy to have some hardships. Sickness really puts in perspective the things we overlook everyday. Being able to do simple tasks like getting water or changing my clothes has turned into a five-person affair. Being in the hospital humbles you because you're there to accept help. After the pissed-off phase subsided, I was left with nothing but appreciation for the condition I am in—though not ideal, definitely not terrible—the people I have in my life to pick me up when I'm down, and the chance I have here to check my privilege.

So if you ever find yourself in a hospital pickle, call me up for a pep talk, or the best medicine of all, a milkshake. I'm all ears—or spoons.