Phoenix almost killed me

I was leaving Arizona. I had enjoyed a breakfast of a muffin and a cup of coffee while I plotted my drive back to California with the help of a road atlas. I made my way out of starbucks, and into a nearby swanky hotel's bathroom. Upon leaving the bathroom, something me felt horribly wrong. I attempted to stumble to my rental car, but decided against it. The closest refuge was the Wyndham Hotel's restaurant. I stumbled into the restaurant and sat down on the first chair I saw. I then found myself picking myself up off of the floor, and walking around the hotel lobby in a daze, and tried to figure out where I was, and who I was. At this point, hotel staff had called the paramedics, and they arrived quickly to accuse me of being on drugs, before taking me to the hospital. At the hospital, I was given fluids and diagnosed a victim of apparent dehydration, though I had been drinking water steadily upon my arrival in Phoenix. I have no idea what really caused me to collapse, but curiously one of the doctors mentioned to me, completely out of the blue, that he didn't think it was a tumor for a variety of reasons. Oh good. After being in the hospital for a few hours, and against the wishes of the attending physicians, I left. Partially because Phoenix sucks, partially because my doctor was wearing a bollo tie, and most importantly, I fear that hospitals may charge by the hour.