The Foggy Memories

I don't really remember much from my time in recovery. It waffles between darkness and shiny, bright, noisy images. I remember someone telling me they were going to take me to my room. I remember the ride to my room being incredibly uncomfortable - I don't remember anything specific, but I remember a general feeling of upset and discomfort and crying.
I remember that they'd barely gotten me parked in my room when I struggled to tell them that I was going to be sick. No one understood me, so my memory is of a small group of people (the man to the far left was tallish) looking entirely nonplussed by the fact that I am vomiting like crazy and obviously beside myself. After this, everything is dark for a while, but as I drift in and out, I notice my mom is in the room now.
My first remotely vivid memory isn't a great one either. A very kind nurse was in my room (I don't know if I called her or if she was just in doing rounds, which they did often). I told her that I needed to pee and she was going to take me to the washroom. She also offered me pain meds. I told her I'd like that, but balked immediately when she came back around the corner with a hefty needle. I asked if there is any other option and she figured out pretty quickly that it was the needle that was freaking me out. In the end, she and my mom talked me into the morphine (the contents of the hefty needle) because I was definitely feeling something and was concerned that, once the grogginess passes, it would turn out that that something was pain and I was unprepared.
The needle itself didn't hurt, to my surprise, but I felt every.single.drop. of the medication as it was pushed into my vein. Once medicated, the nurse was going to take me to the washroom. This didn't quite work out as planned. I tried to put my weight on my own legs, but ended up falling into the nurse. Just as she was trying to steady me, I got an overwhelming wave of nausea and was tearfully begging her and my mom to get me lying down again and get the bed pan in my hands. This operation was completed *just* in time. Despite my having consumed nothing for a total of twenty-four hours at this point, I threw up again and with gusto. To further add to my humiliation, I ended up using a bedpan for the remainder of the night because I couldn't get to the bathroom. I blamed the morphine and refused to take anymore - my theory was supported by the fact that by morning, I was able to shuffle, well-supported, to the bathroom and the nausea ceased entirely.
By the next morning, I was significantly less groggy and the healing process began.