I have never broken into tears in the course of a television show. Never. But I was forced to tonight.
Damn you, O Great Writers of House.
Someone was apparently listening to at least a minor amount of hospital dialogue. They got it right. It's crazy, but they really got it right. I sat for an hour, sruggishly recalling all of the moments in the hospital that I spent personally, a bald nine-year-old who, still, has yet to be kissed (Damn that lucky Andie: the girl snagged herself an Aussie).
But that's not my point- I've had doctors like Leonard's Wilson. I've had the occasional "bald-headed midget parade" out the doors of the hospital. I know what it feels like to have a central line, sit through MRI and CT Scan as I'm asked relentlessly what kind of music I'd like to listen to. Hell, I know what it feels like to be told I was going to die. Been there. Done that.
I guess Leonard was the one who tore the biggest hole in my stoicism. I haven't seen Dr. Rossbach in at least five years. I would love to sit down and thank him. I daresay I never necessarily encountered Hugh Laurie in his hospital persona, but I don't really mind that.
Jeez. I don't normally dwell on this kind of thing. I don't like to talk about it. I haven't talked about it in...a really long time. I don't really even like to think about it. Stupid television show...
...that I love.
It's odd to have such a large portion of your life that you've completely ignored for such a long time. Not ignored, I guess; I just haven't dwelled upon it. It hasn't ruled my life, beyond the given dictations of my physicality. (Don't ask, just nod your head in agreement.) It's probably something I need to genuinely sit down and work myself through, but I've just never had the urge to do so. Or the means. Etcetera.
I want to find someone I'd feel comfortable talking to about my past experiences. I've yet to discover one of those, ironically enough.
Alright. I need to focus on something else for a while.
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