I still think my story might pip these.
I had a 24hr traumatic birth, thankfully dd came through it fine. I got wheeled into a two bed room, so small the curtain was actually jammed between the beds rather than hanging. The young lass in the other bed was in for observation, had some worrying pains and looked to be only just in 3rd trimester. She had her boyfriend with her.
They shagged loudly all night, bumping my bed and dd’s cradle thingo. I’d call the nurse, they’d stop, nurse would shrug and leave, they’d laugh at me and start up again. Barely 3 feet from my head.
This only stopped when at about 5am her moans of pleasure took on a different note, one I had become very familiar with very recently. I called the nurse again and told her lass was in labour. Nurse & boyfriend laughed, lass didn’t. Cue medical emergency- room stuffed with doctors arguing. Dd & I snuggled up in a tiny corner, me apologising to her and explaining that the outside world wasn’t usually so loud and crazy.
Finally they all left/got wheeled out. I had to get up to turn off their tv, lights and reorder the room and throw away their stinky food scraps. With a million fresh stitches causing me agony.
They were back all too soon. Not the baby, who was very unwell in NICU. Lass didn’t seem concerned, spent all that day on the phone loudly to various mates and relatives describing the baby’s race. Apparently this was important. I’m surprised she could discern it, given how the baby’s main colour was blue.
I begged to be sent home before the visitors began... I truly believe that first night (together with the birth) plunged me into the next months of mental anguish. If I’d just been able to sleep, I suspect my body and mind might have had a chance. It was like being carried wounded from a battlefield...to another battlefield.
Sweet dreams, OP. And good on Mumsnet!