Several years ago, I started watching a new show at my wife's request. I had never been a big fan of medical dramas, but my wife assured me that this one portrayed the doctors as real people with real life problems. It was supposedly engaging and entertaining.
"Doctors are real people?" I asked myself. "This I have to see."
For six long seasons, I watched the lives of the characters on Grey's Anatomy with great interest. I watched as the over-worked, over-sexed, melodramatic interns turned to residents. I followed the flurry of relationship-related stress and did my best to keep track of who was dating who and which one hated the other.
Then, somewhere near the end of the sixth season, I threw my hands up and folded. "That's it," I said. "I'm done. I give."
It had broken me. The constant drama, the overwhelming strife, the ridiculousness of the challenges faced by the constant rotation of characters who seemed to enter and exit through a revolving door proved too much for me. I can't even tell you exactly which plot detail shoved me over the edge. Perhaps it was the exploding bomb technician. Maybe it was Meredith's nineteenth nervous breakdown (any Stones fans out there?). Maybe I never recovered from the grief of George's horrific, disfigured death. It could have been the constant repetition of Owen's teeth-gritting, bearded, pained expression. Or maybe it was a culmination of all those things.
Regardless of the ultimate cause, the conclusion was reached that my life has enough drama in it without Grey's Anatomy. I have enough problems dealing with my own families trials and tribulations, stress, death and children's report cards without adding the problems of a hospital which constantly seems to have crazy people running amuck in it to the mix.
I informed my wife of my resignation and wished her luck in coping with the drama that would be sure to occur during the further seasons. We had been through hell and high water together, but Grey's Anatomy was proving too much. She would have to venture forth on her own with this one.
Two seasons later, I can't say that I have ever regretted this decision. Not once have I missed the stomach turning stress that the show provides. Never has there been a single moment when I wanted to check in on my old friends and see how they were doing. I was happy to have them and their emo-pop soundtrack out of my life. Despite my wife's repeated attempts to watch the show in my presence, I have successfully managed to swear off Grey's Anatomy for good.
This decision was only reinforced when a random online advertisement for an upcoming episode of the show caught my attention as I was going to check my email today. It read, "An escaped lion puts lives and relationships in danger."
My first problem is that they needed to add a lion to the show's story line. Really? Has every other possible plot device already been tapped? Now it's an escaped zoo animal loose in the hospital that's messing things up for everyone's favorite Seattle medical team?
As if that weren't bad enough, this causes relationship problems? Yes, I guess I can see the threat of a lion tearing out one's throat causing them to reconsider what they have chosen to prioritize. "Gee, Christina, I always thought you were the one for me, but now that I face being mauled by this large African cat, I realize that I am really bothered by how little you have relied on me throughout our relationship and I suddenly can't bear to be with you any longer. But I will always l...YYYYEEEEAAARRRRRGGGGGGHHHHHHH!!!" That last part was obviously where the lion lunged at him and began tearing him to pieces.
Good riddance, Grey's Anatomy. I'm so glad you are in my rear view mirror so I can focus on less over-the-top dramatic shows, like Game of Thrones.
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