Many people I like and respect enjoy the show Grey's Anatomy. A lot. And that's fine. But I am not one of these people, mainly because I've never forgiven the pilot for flagrant abuse of one of my least favorite plot devices: "Hey, one-night-stand! Who'd have thought that when I kicked you out of the house the morning before my first day on the job, you'd turn out to be MY BOSS?"
The show's well-written, and of course I'm happy that a female show-runner has found such success and that nuanced portrayals of women in professional fields are now hot pilot season material. I just wish that the show didn't have that stupid opening credits sequence: Cosmo glasses! IV bags! High heels! Surgical booties! They're girls! They're doctors! They're girls AND they're doctors! Scandal! This is all totally irrational and unfair to a show that I know isn't half-bad. But did I mention that her new boss at her new job was also her ONE NIGHT STAND the night before?
Anyways, because we live in a Grey's-loving world, I don't get much opportunity to enjoy criticism of the show. Thus, I turn to desperate measures. Like most rational humans, I find the obsessive need for political correctness demanded by special interest groups a little, y'know, obsessive. The 3rd Annual Golden Lamp Awards, listing the Worst Media Portrayals of Nurses/Nurse-Practitioners, is no exception, mainly because they seem to have issues with the Sexy Nurse stereotype. (What kind of world would it be without Sexy Nurses? I ask you in all honesty. Is there any better way on the planet to awkwardly combine Mother and Lover into one delightful Oedipal cocktail?)
But the nurses do wail on Grey's Anatomy pretty good, and I can't help but enjoy that. Especially because I was reminded of last June, when I hung out with Grandma in the ICU, waiting for the doctor to come remove the surgical staples and give her the okay to go home. Eight hours we sat around, healing (her), eating pudding (me), and talking with the nurses, who were friendly, competent, eager to give me pudding, quick to answer questions, and delighted to inform us of all the free medical gear we could rip off our insurance company. (Grandma got a brand new walker out of it. She doesn't use a walker, but damn right we brought it home.) The nurses there took care of Grandma, taught me how to care for her once we got her home, and overall made the day as pleasant as possible. Meanwhile, the doctor whizzed in five hours late, approved Grandma's condition, let a nurse remove the staples, and whizzed right back out.
I was asking one of the nurses if she ever hooked up with doctors. "Honey," she said in a chicken-fried Southern accent, "Can you spell ego? 'Cause they sure can."
"So you'd never date a doctor? Even a cute doctor?"
"Oh my god! Cute doctors are even worse!"
This is really just a reminder to myself that if I'm ever in a position to pitch a network drama along the lines of Grey's Anatomy, "Nurses!" will get me in like Flynn.
They're girls! They're nurses! They're girls AND they're nurses!