Posted: Saturday, February 9, 2013 12:52:13 AM
It has become a given in my household that at approximately ten at night on Thursdays, you will undoubtedly find me sprawled across the couch, silently weeping to myself. To anyone outside of my immediate family, this pitiful spectacle might ignite genuine concern over my mental health. To my family, however, this is just a standard, run-of-the-mill, post Grey’s Anatomy occurrence. During these wonderfully humiliating several minutes of my Thursday night, I am typically rehashing a slew of events that materialized several minutes earlier and questioning the motives of the show runners. Whether my favorite couple had simply called it quits for the umpteenth time on their on-again, off-again relationship or I had just watched a villainous ex-patient gun down my beloved fictional hospital, I’m always a complete wreck. Each week, I promise myself that it will be the last time I put myself through this vicious circle of events; yet, somehow, I always end up back on that couch, wondering how once again I had let myself become consumed in this delirium where my fictional and real worlds collided. But this collision, I have realized, is what keeps me coming back. As much as I like to think that I don’t, I genuinely like the feeling of being so engrossed in something that I lose the world around me for forty minutes a week. Being a realist, it is rare to find a show that has that affect on me. In fact, at times, Grey’s has even brought out the completely unrealistic in me- especially when it had me convinced that I could not only be a world class orthopedic surgeon, but I could do it all with perfectly quaffed hair, looking tan and beautiful with attractive colleagues begging to take me home.
I wish I could say that I watch Grey’s because I want to be a medical student, or because the rare cases interest me immensely. The truth is, as much as I like to think that, I watch for the characters that are so beautifully cultivated that, sometimes, I like to think of them as people I know personally. I watch for the patient cases that somehow, unquestionably, coincide seamlessly with character’s personal lives and end up forcing me to reevaluate all my life decisions. The reason why, nine seasons later, I have not given up on Grey’s despite the fact that most everyone else has, is that these characters are very human to me. Sure, they do have the quaffed hair and the crazily attractive significant others, but I have watched them grow up, and have grown along with them. I have seen them make mistakes, lose each other, find each other, and discover their talents as surgeons. Somehow, their very honest, authentic love and loss throughout the years makes me believe that even us people who don’t have someone write our lives for us will end up just fine.