“He’s anoxic,” I cry. “Two-centimeter incision through the tracheal rings. Finger in the trachea. Bougie into the airway.” My son hears me muttering to myself in my room. “Mom, how many episodes did you watch today?” he asks. “BAG HIM,” I shout to absolutely no one.
Lately, I’ve joined the other 5.5 million Americans who are getting their medical degrees from The Pitt, HBO’s critically acclaimed and wildly popular drama set in an inner-city emergency room in Pittsburgh. The medical language is music to me, and the gore sublime. As Mike Isaac, known as “rat king” on X, wrote, “Goddammit dude every week the Pitt is like the ‘Can you stare at a degloving’ challenge while I’m eating rigatoni.” Every doctor and health-care-adjacent person I know is hooked on this show. David Lane Williams, a professor of criminology in Arkansas, was a paramedic for years before becoming a cop. “I don’t miss being a cop,” he says. “But I miss the medical emergencies, both for the adrenaline tang and the moments of victory. The Pitt has brought up emotions I don’t normally feel for television. It’s that real.”
