I recently watched an episode of Grey’s Anatomy. I usually stay away from anything teenagers might watch, but I was feeling adventurous, so I tuned in. I have to say, I was confused. For a medical drama, it was awfully sexual. Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy sex as much as the next man, but I certainly wouldn’t want to be having it with my doctor. Although, from some of the things he said during my last prostate exam, he might feel differently.
One thing I learned was that doctors all use big words to describe different medicines and fancy new treatments. It was all a little excessive, if you ask me. In my day, there wasn’t anything a doctor couldn’t treat with cocaine and leeches. Unless you were a woman. Then they’d try opium, or put you in an insane asylum. For the woman’s own good, of course.
In the episode I watched, the doctors had to save a young man who had gotten stuck in a block of cement. I’m not sure why. When I was twelve years old, a mule kicked me in the face. Nobody felt the need to help me. The next day, I was out again, milking cows and bailing hay. Imagine that. No fancy doctors to give me cocaine or have sex with me, and I turned out just fine.
After the show was over, I watched a short preview of next week’s episode. It looks like one of the doctors is sleeping with her dead fiance. During the war, I found out a friend of mine was also sleeping with dead people. Trust me, things didn’t turn out as well for him as they probably will for that doctor. But then again, I guess they never do.