How do you keep a cancer patient from escaping?

So I recently decided to start blogging about my life. I figure this is what I know, and understand hopefully most of the time. Basically, my life revolves around cancer. I know your jealous, but contain yourself.
I have been through chemo and radiation for what feels like half my life. But part of that is because I didn't really start living or enjoying life until I got Cancer. Yes, I have cancer. Yay for me, release the hounds, do a little dance.
I am in the upkeep- kiss my ass phase (Technical term).
The idea to blog about this came last Thursday. I sat with my friend in All children's as he faced his first round of chemo. I was the veteran in all of this, which was slightly off putting. My friend is barely nineteen, and autistic at that. He had his choice between Moffitt and All Childrens, and while both are perfected in the art of killing the cancers, All Childrens is a better pick for the younger crowd. I realized that not dying has become my hobby, pastime, and art form of choice. I am a veteran, and yet still fighting the war.
So there I sat Thursday night, in the Cancer ward. I had difficulty making it there for the sure fact that the only reason I thought they could get me back there was kicking and screaming. Now, I was going by my own free will. I even made sure to dress up very nicely so that they didn't assume I was one of the patients. I always worry if I go back as a visitor in my awesomely proud and loud pajama pants attire, they would assume I’m a patient, spot me escaping, and then drag me back. It would go like this:
Them: “Where are you going little girl with the crazy awesome pajamas?”
Me: “I’m just a visitor. I’m visiting. I’m done visiting now. I’m leaving…..cause I can. Because I’m a visitor.”
Them: “You are wearing pajama pants though, and I see a meta port scar.” (Mostly all chemo patients have a meta port scar on their chest.)
Me: “No! It’s old! I swear!! It’s from umm... a boob job. Yes, that’s it! I had the puppies done!”
Them: “No you don't get back here!”
Me: “Ahhhhhh!”
That is the tame version.
I walked into the hospital room. It was the same as every other room: Hospital bed, green recliner, try to help you not die machines, bathroom, dry erase board, and somewhat hot nurse. This time however I was the one sitting in the recliner watching the one in the hospital bed and still it felt like home.
So how do you keep a cancer patient from escaping?
You hide the good drugs.