Sometimes that's the only way to do it -- someone has to serve as the control group. I only found out I was getting legitimate medication after I went through several roommates who kept getting sent to nice farms upstate. That's not a joke.
Nurses treat you differently when you're a coin flip away from falling over dead. That is to say, they try really hard not to make any sort of emotional connection with you whatsoever, because if some nurse formed a friendship with me, only for me to selfishly die two weeks later, that nurse would be super sad. It's perfectly understandable, but cold hard logic doesn't offer much comfort to a kid who's being treated like a captive alien. Some do take the risk, though -- I had one nurse who was incredibly supportive and is still in touch with me today. Another woman ran the playroom and loved playing with every kid who came through her door, all while knowing that some of them would never outgrow her toys.
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Being asked to wait a week to unpack doesn't exactly inspire much confidence.
That said, the emotional stress was secondary to the excruciating side effects of the medication. If you've never had a needle jammed into the back of your knee, go ahead and cross it off your bucket list, because that is an ordeal that precisely no one needs. At first it only stings a little, but it burns for hours afterwards. Luckily, they stopped using that medication after a while because they discovered it was utterly ineffective.