One of my writer friends, a former nurse, has been helping me brainstorm my work-in-progress, a series of stories about a young resident doctor training at an inner-city hospital. My friend has been telling me I have to watch Code Black, a new show about an ER.
So I taped Code Black. Thirty seconds ago I turned it on, and 25 seconds ago I started crying. It was horrible! A guy had a HUGE knife sticking out of his chest, and he's telling the ER staff he begged the ambulance to take his wife and son first! Mom and teen son come off separate ambulances, yelling for each other and for Dad! Big, bloody, gaping wounds, a dislocated hip, and much grossness reminding me why I never seriously considered med school. Icky stuff all over!
My stories are funny. Or, at least, they're supposed to be.
If Code Black is real life than I am going back to making stuff up. I'll happily write fiction if that show depicts reality. Doctors and nurses can send me letters complaining that I'm not being realistic. I'll thank them for doing the stuff no one else wants to go and then retreat to my fantasy world--and hope that I never, never have to deal with their reality.