There. I said it.
You have to understand; I hate "Grey's Anatomy" with the burning of a thousand white-hot suns. I don't care about Meredith Grey's anatomy, her love life, or anything else. I don't care who's sleeping with whom, or who doesn't wear rings, or who watches pay-per-view in Vegas, or who's named Iphigenia. Although "Calliope Iphigenia" is the single best classics-themed name I've ever heard. Ever.
But tonight, when Meredith's mother had this sudden, never-before-documented return from amnesia? That brought me to tears. Not the bit where Meredith goes in to talk to her, only to realize that Mom has slipped back into Nowheresville; the bit before--where Mom learns that she's actually cukoo, and nothing will help.
Because I do occasionally see that at work. And then I go eat, like, six bags of Jack & Jill bar-b-Q potato chips. And some lichee nut jello. And a cheeseburger. And then I sit in the breakroom and burp and stare into space.
And frankly? If I had a patient so toxic that opening them up would knock out half the surgical staff? I have a list of people to go first. Bring 'em on.