<span style="font-weight: bold"><span style="font-style: italic"><span style="text-decoration: underline">I'm in a lot of pain....</span></span></span>I confessed. Hating this everything about it, being defenceless like this. I started to lick my chest and clean the stiches. My head was spinning and I was so thirsty. I hated everything about this and the elevator was just making things worse.<span style="font-weight: bold"><span style="font-style: italic"><span style="text-decoration: underline">Please do the shot quickly you know how much they scare me and I will let you take care of my properly even look at the head wound I didn’t tell you about Just let me walk on my own </span></span></span>I sat up trying not to put much weight on my broken ankle, I cocked my head a little and tried t make myself look all cute and puppy like, because that made her call me puppy and I loved it when she called me puppy. It made me feel loved. I licked her cheek and wagged my tail.<br/><br/>I smiled at her  and tried to move back from her I may have asked for the shot but it doesn’t mean I had to be go along with it. I hated shots completely and utterly. They scared me half to death they always had done. In fact it was only Jo I allowed to give me them, anyone else and I would have ripped their hand off the moment they got a shot out in front of me. Lets just say, when you’ve been around as long as I have, from a time when hospitals weren’t regulated it leaves marks on your mind, I’m just glad I had my pack to protect me back then or things could have been a lot lot worse. I could smell the morphine and it made me cringe with bad memories. I shook them away and looked up at her trying to comfort myself more than anything<br/><br/>Occ: don’t worry you’ll find out what that comment means when the time comes ;)