When you're sitting in a hospital lounge waiting for a doctor to come and tell you whether your loved one had a successful surgery, the last thing you are thinking is, "my goodness, this is certainly riveting and I bet a home audience would love to share this experience!" What are you are actually thinking is, "dear God, please don't let me my Mom/Dad/spouse/friend die."
Unfortunately, I found myself in the situation of spending a few days in the hospital last week as a family member had surgery. It wasn't life-threatening, but it was necessary and as you know, all surgery comes with some inherent risk.
I think maybe I have seen too many medical dramas (and also am no stranger to anxiety) so all I saw in my head were visions of my loved one flat-lining on the table, or having some dramatic response to a certain drug, or having the doctor come find me in the waiting room to deliver bad news and me breaking down and wailing or something.
Like I said, too many medical dramas.
Obviously, none of that happened or I wouldn't be sitting here writing a blog post. But it made me think about how television warps our expectations. There's not a plane crash or huge fire or other catastrophe in my life every May. I don't trade sexually charged banter with a love interest before he shows up on my doorstep (in the rain) after 10 years at our series finale.* And I have not yet been one of the sole survivors of an apocalypse forced to survive on my wits and negotiate between groups warring over scant remaining resources. Actually, most of the time it's all I can do to work a full day, workout, cook dinner, and manage to do the dishes (sometimes I don't get to the dishes).
I HATE DISHES IN THE SINK WAAAAAAH!
It's hard to remember that television is supposed to be escapism and not a manual for real life. But in the case of my most recent visit to the hospital all I can say is, THANK GOD. I'll keep my drama in fake hospital, thank you very much.
*though you could argue my relationship with Monkey Sri is simply fraught with UST.