When Television Hits Home

I definitely enjoy television. Maybe too much. My evenings are dedicated to sitting around with my loved ones and watching shows together. I’m not discriminatory about the shows I watch; I appreciated anything moderately well written, entertaining, and moderately well acted. I enjoy some crime procedurals, mostly comedies, and a few assorted others. I enjoy getting lost in a good show as much as I enjoy getting lost in a movie or book. Sometimes the more mindless and questionable the humor, the more I enjoy it.

Sometimes though, you see a show and you relate to it. Most of the time something happens on a sitcom and you say to yourself “well crap, that happened to me this morning” and laugh along with the main character because you know exactly how that it. I suppose that’s why sitcoms are so relatable: the deep down core of the story is something we’ve all experienced in some form. Most of the time the characters themselves are just more attractive versions of us laughing their way through crazy families and when the daily routine goes wrong. We laugh, hoping it doesn’t happen to us or we laugh because it has.

Sometimes though, those pesky dramas we watch tug at our hearts. I’ve become a big fan of that new show “Monday Mornings”. It’s by David E. Kelley, who’s known for his colorful and eccentric characters tossed into dramatic shows. I’ve been a fan of his since I first saw Ally McBeal. I can’t stay up for the show so I usually entrust it to my beloved DVR, and watch it later with my husband. This past weekend was that later. (I’ll try not to spoil it.) There, they  had an infant about 2 months old going into surgery. They showed the little thing getting wheeled into the OR attached to tubes, and I looked at my little baby. I couldn’t take my eyes off of him.

It’s becoming more real that I have to see my son like that. I don’t think about it normally, it makes me a little sad when I do. Next month I see his surgeon for the last consult before the big day in June. I know I need to keep my calm, I know I’m known for that. I’ll probably make inappropriate jokes to mask my nervousness, though the procedure is routine enough. In the back of my head, I’ll constantly be thinking of “people die all the time during routine procedures”. A doctor has a difficult job because if they have a bad day, it can cost a person their life. I try not to think about it, and I know it seems silly since I should have nothing to worry about. The image of him being wheeled into the ER will probably stick with me until it happens, and will probably haunt me after. People say that God doesn’t give you more than you can deal with, but I wonder if that’s some lie we like to tell ourselves to gain strength. I don’t care though, something tells me I’ll need every little bit wherever I can get it.

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