Why is everyone mad at Noah Wyle for focusing his own show on the main character’s storyline? Robby is the main character. That’s literally the point. He created the show and plays the lead. Bro of course the narrative is centered around him.

It feels like people are forgetting how television works. Not every character is going to get equal screen time or a storyline that matches what you personally want. That’s what fanfiction is for—not the actual show.

Also, I keep seeing criticism that the show is treating its women of color poorly, but I honestly don’t think that tracks in the way people are saying it does. If anything, Mohan has had more focus this season. I didn’t even care much for her in season one—I thought she was underdeveloped—but she’s been more present and fleshed out this time around. That coupled with Baran, Trinity, and the entire nurses staff like???

People are also mad about a Supriya leaving next season and immediately spinning it into “it’s because she’s a woman of color” and “it’s a white male agenda,” and honestly… what show are you watching? This show has so much diversity it’s insane.

They’re completely ignoring the fact that she’s being replaced in the main cast by a Black woman whose character is already established, interesting, and clearly well-loved. So the idea that this is some kind of deliberate sidelining doesn’t even line up with what’s actually happening on screen.

This show has representation for not just poc but the lgbtq+ community, people who are neurodivergent and an assortment of religious and ethical backgrounds. It’s like you all are just fucking ignoring the fact that representation like this basically didn’t exist fifteen years ago. I’m so tired of people ragging on this show and not giving it recognition for all the subtle and complex details that come with mental health and the outrageous hell that is the American healthcare system.

And while we’re at it—this season has introduced and expanded some of the most complex character work we’ve seen so far. Baran Al-Hashimi, a woman who was initially framed like a straight-up antagonist “replacement” type, instead gets a layered, emotionally complicated arc that turns her into something far more interesting than a one-note villain.

Santos, a queer woman, is also given real depth: we see her carrying visible self-harm scars, navigating a toxic workplace relationship with another woman, and dealing with the trauma of being completely dismissed and humiliated by Langdon on her very first day. That’s not shallow writing—that’s intentional character building.

Mel has remained consistently written with clear neurodivergent traits that feel deliberate, grounded, and honestly deeply relatable.

Emma, meanwhile, is on her literal first day and is already being put through hell. Girl was physically attacked, choked out, and still managing to respond with care, professionalism, and control. And the rape kit scene wasn’t just “important,” it was handled with weight, precision, and actual narrative respect.

So again—what exactly are people watching?

Because if you’re looking at all of this and still claiming the show is flattening its women or stripping away complexity, that criticism just doesn’t hold up to what’s actually on screen.

"I don't have a cat," Jack said, and it was perpetually funny to Robby, how petulant a guy the far side of fifty could sound, his lower lip jutting out ever so slightly. "I just don't like waste. Why throw away good food if I don't have to?"

"Uh huh," Robby said.

"Look," Jack said, sitting back down at the break room table. "If I had a cat, I'd be buying it cat food. Have you ever seen me buy cat food? You have not."

"I have not," Robby admitted. He waited until Jack had picked back up his own coffee mug before saying, "Of course, I've never seen you buy toilet paper, and you do have a toilet. Right?"

With his free hand, Jack flipped him the bird.

"You regularly feed the cat," Robby said. "With leftovers, that you deliberately take home for it, and sometimes you bring it chicken tenders from Sheetz."

Robby had witnessed that with his own two eyes. "I'll be right back," Jack had said a few minutes before the game started, and Robby had watched through the living room window as Jack had shredded up the tenders and left them on a dish on the porch before retreating inside. A clearly underfed tabby cat had inched its way out from beneath a nearby bush and slowly, slowly, up the steps to the food.

Jack sighed. "That was one time!"

"You built it a little hut to live in out on your porch," Robby pointed out.

"It was just some bits of wood I had left over from building the deck," Jack said with a shrug. "So I… I cobbled them together into a thing, so what? It was starting to snow, what was I supposed to? I'm not a monster."

A few weeks ago, Jack had sent Robby some photos of the thing that he'd supposedly cobbled together from scraps. It had two levels, a porthole window, and was painted to match the trim on the porch. Its walls were insulated with an old styrofoam cooler that Jack had cut up into pieces, and there was a layer of fresh straw on the floor.

Jack (15:19): And I think if I run an all-weather extension cord out there Jack (15:20): I can rig up a heating pad on the nights when the temp really drops Jack (15:20): Still need to think about how to make sure drinking water stays liquid Jack (15:26): Think he'll like it?

"You did exactly the kind of thing I'd expect," Robby said, "for someone who has a cat."

"It's not my cat," Jack insisted.

"You feed it, you give it shelter, you took it to the vet. What would it take to make it your cat?"

Jack fidgeted, stared down at the table. "If I gave it a name, I guess," he mumbled after a moment, fidgeting with a stray sugar packet.

The break room door swung open before Robby could respond. "MVC incoming, car versus bus, at least three major and ten minor," Lena said. "You boys fancy joining the rest of us?"

The work never stopped. Robby's shift was technically over but he helped out, saw the last of the patients sent up to the OR, slapped Jack on the back and headed home. He ate, he took his meds, he showered, he tumbled into bed. Robby's sleep was heavy, deep, dreamless: the kind of sleep he'd been enjoying for weeks now but that still felt oddly alien to his body after so many months before without. The sun was well up by the time he woke. Robby squinted as he stretched and rolled over and checked his phone for messages. Just one, sent about an hour ago.

It contained a three-minute long video of a tabby cat steadily eating its way through a dish of leftovers. There was no sound, beyond muted street traffic. Only the tips of Jack's shoes were visible; it looked like he was sitting in his doorway. From between the houses across the street, there was a glimpse of a brightening dawn sky.

Jack (07:27): Leonard.