My meds make it hard to count down from ten, I administer them solely to keep you from pain. I keep watch over vitals while ensuring you sleep, usually by the head, not near your smelly feet. What is this job you hate me for having to spell, that reduces your pain while others cut and more?

A man was asked to pick a number The man said no What number did he choose?

First: incubator for an animal. Second: grows in soil. Together: a vegetable.

I am what all men fear. Rearrenge me and I am what all men do. Rearrange me again and I become The thin fabric hiding the truth. One final shuffle and I am The most wretched word of all. Yet made of the exact same parts. Four letters, four faces. One answer imparts.

I can be kept, I can be broken, I am mightier than any sword, and yet, add one letter to me, and a sword is exactly what you’ll find. Now, then, what am I?