The Girl Who Cried Bullshit

Over the weekend I finally caught The Girl Who Cries Blood on my new favorite channel/boyfriend/what?/it's questionable, NatGeo. Regarding it's abrupt and anti-climactic ending, I only have this to say: BULLSHIT! It was BULLSHIT! And it's BULLSHIT! has lit a fire deep within, the likes not seen since Suzy Soro kicked me square in the metaphorical balls.

First a disclaimer: this rant obviously divulges the end of TGWCB, so if you're about to curl up on the couch with a big bowl of Kashi and watch it, I highly recommend you don't read this first. EXCEPT I DO, because the ending was BULLSHIT! and this rant will prepare you for the inevitable pain and anguish of which nobody prepared me. And you're welcome.

Now, in case you haven't seen the 5,000 commercials NatGeo hyped up the show with, TGWCB is about a 13-year-old Indian girl named Twinkle who spontaneously bleeds from her eyes, scalp, hands and "other body parts." There's no physical injury and she feels no pain. She just spontaneously starts bleeding.

A quick little recap: the first part of the documentary follows Twinkle and her mother, Nandani, as they trek around India trying to find answers from various holy men and holistic healers. When that doesn't help, they decide to meet with top American pediatric hematologist Dr. George Buchanan, who has traveled to India take their case.

Dr. George meets her, examines her, does lots of tests, beakers beakers beakers, coagulate coagulate coagulate until he reaches his final diagnosis: a bad case of Liar, Liar, Pants on Fire. The bleeding isn't coming from an injury, the blood from her eyes isn't even coming from the tear ducts, her platelets are fine, she's otherwise perfectly healthy and most importantly, nobody besides her or her mother have seen the bleeding start. She's always conveniently on the john or having super-secret-happy-alone-playtime when she starts a-bleedin'. Therefore Dr. George says, "I've seen the movie Heartbreakers, I know what mother/daughter teams are capable of and I say good day to the both of you." But then Twinkle starts to cry and he feels badly for her, so he tells them that the only way anyone will know for sure if they're telling the truth is if they see the bleeding start, so they'll need to set her up in a sleep study situation and monitor her on a 24-hour basis. Twinkle and her mother not only agree, but are relieved that this will finally prove the truth and get Twinkle the help she needs.

THE END.

What happens? FUCK IF I KNOW! Oh wait, was there a second part on after that you missed? NOPE! World's Smallest Girl was on next. Oh, well was she at least adorable? Nope, wanted to punt her across a football field and celebrate with wings and a beer.

MOST UNSATISFYING END OF ANYTHING EVER! And the thing is, I could handle it if the answer to the mystery was, "Welp! She's a liar!" Because that wouldn't be so bad, it was still an interesting documentary. I could even handle it if the doctor was like, "Fuck if I know! Guess she's a Medical Marvel! GLAVEN!" Because it's not the not knowing that's so frustrating, it's the fact that a simple test is all that lies between knowing and not knowing, and yet it never gets done. And not because Twinkle or her mom don't want it to happen, but just because. Just because it never gets done. Like when you go get a physical and half-mention to your doctor that you've been tired recently, so he or she tells you that you should really get your iron level tested and you're like, "yea...that'll totally happen..." but never do and your doctor never follows up because who really gives a shit and everything is fine in the end because you just needed to stop staying up to watch reruns of South Park and go to bed on time. That's how everyone handles the situation. Except Twinkle hasn't been feeling more tired than usual—she's been bleeding out of her fucking face holes. And this isn't just a physical—a doctor traveled to India with a camera crew for the sole purpose of figuring out why this is happening. Don't you think everyone involved, including the documentary crew, has a vested interest in finding out what's up?? I mean, I'm the Queen of not following through with things, so I guess I get it, but this seems like one thing that even I might want to put in the time and energy into actually getting done. You know, what with the stigmata and all.

You may be tempted to point out that if this is just a hoax, than of course Twinkle and her mom would be hesitant to go get the test done. But that's just it! They were the ones who were actually the most psyched about doing it in the first place! Her mom literally says, "This test is exactly what we want to happen. Sooooooo...how do we contact you about doing this...?" But Dr. George is all, "Yyyyeaaahh...I've got a game of squash next Tuesday that I've already rescheduled twice and really can't move again...umm...yiiiiiikes...let me wait to get back to the States and take a look at the old google calendar and then you look at yours and I'll chat ya and we'll work it out. Mmk? Kay. BYE NOW!" and high-tails it out of the country.

And the most infuriating part is that it really isn't even a test that needs to be done! They just need to film her for 24-hours or until she starts bleeding, whichever happens first! And then they'll know for sure whether or not she's lying! AND THEY BLATANTLY ALREADY HAVE A GIANT CAMERA CREW WITH THEM. The hard part's already done! What? Are you trying to tell me there isn't one single tripod in the entire country of India? Not one motherfucker willing to sit in a chair, drink coffee and make sure the little REC light is blinking? And not one single person in India has insomnia and can poke that guy with a stick if he starts to nod off? I mean, I'm not a medical doctor, but that sounds like a pretty fail-proof system to me.

So now we're in our first fight, NatGeo. Good job. How dare you flood the TV with intriguing and provocative commercials for The Girl Who Cires Blood and then have it fail so monumentally? Tonight I will only watch you on the couch, not in my bed. Suffer.