Will The Producers Renew 'This Is Going To Hurt' For Season Two?

The way the book hit me made it feel inevitable that the author would want to bring 'This Is Going to Hurt' to television. Reading those diary-like entries, I kept picturing scenes: the fluorescent-lit wards, the exhausted banter between doctors, the small human moments that felt cinematic the moment I read them. For anyone who's laughed and then felt gut-punched by Adam Kay's writing, adapting the memoir to TV isn't just about getting more eyes on the story — it's about translating a very particular voice into motion so the humour and heartbreak land in a new, immediate way. From my point of view, there are solid storytelling reasons for an author to take the reins on adaptation. The book's tone—sharp, self-aware, gallows humour mixed with real grief—can easily go flat if mishandled. By adapting it himself, the writer can retain those tonal flips and ensure scenes that were quick jabs on the page become fully realized set-pieces on-screen. TV also offers an episodic rhythm that mirrors the diary entries: you can spend an episode on a long shift, then the next on the fallout of a single decision, which gives space to expand side characters and deepen the emotional stakes in ways a book's footnotes can't. There’s also a bigger, almost activist impulse in the decision. The memoir was already doing work—humanizing the NHS workforce and exposing systemic pressures—but television amplifies that work exponentially. Seeing characters breathe, make mistakes, and suffer consequences in living colour helps build empathy in a wider audience. Financial incentives and legacy-building probably factor in too, but what strikes me most is the desire to honor colleagues and make their stories unforgettable. Watching the adaptation, I felt that same mix of gratitude and grief I had reading the book, and honestly, that’s worth everything; it makes the material feel alive again, not just preserved on the page.

If you're outside the UK and wondering where to watch 'this is going to hurt', I've dug through the usual corners and here's what worked for me. The show originally premiered on BBC One and is available on BBC iPlayer in the UK (which, frustratingly, is geo-restricted to UK IPs). For viewers in the United States, the primary legal spot to stream the series has been AMC+ — that was the main distribution channel when it left its initial UK window. AMC+ often bundles up British dramas in neat batches, so it’s become my go-to for this sort of thing. For everyone else across Europe, Australia, Canada and beyond, availability tends to vary by territory and changes over time. Some countries license BBC dramas to local platforms or broadcasters, so you might find 'this is going to hurt' on regional streaming services or on the streaming portals attached to national TV networks. If you prefer buying rather than subscribing, episodes or the full season sometimes pop up for purchase on platforms like Apple TV/iTunes, Amazon Prime Video (storefront), Google Play Movies, or YouTube — those storefronts are usually region-specific but are a handy fallback if streaming rights are messy where you live. A practical tip from my own hunts: use a reliable streaming-availability aggregator (I use sites like JustWatch or Reelgood) to check current legal platforms in your country. If you only see UK-only listings and you’re determined to watch, folks sometimes use VPNs to access BBC iPlayer, but be mindful of terms of service and local laws. Libraries of BBC shows also get physical releases, so a DVD/Blu-ray release or a digital purchase window might appear later if streaming rights are fragmented. Personally, I loved watching the series through AMC+ when it was available here — the writing and performances stuck with me long after the credits rolled, so it’s worth tracking down legally however you can.

The realism in 'This Is Going to Hurt' lands in a way that made me wince and nod at the same time. Watching it, I felt the grind of clinical life — the never-quite-right sleep, the pager that never stops, the tiny victories that feel huge and the mistakes that echo. The show catches the rhythm of shift work: adrenaline moments (crashes, deliveries, emergency ops) interspersed with the long, boring paperwork stretches. That cadence is something you can’t fake on screen, and here it’s portrayed with a gritty, darkly comic touch that rings true more often than not. What I loved most was how it shows the emotional bookkeeping clinicians carry. There are scenes where the humour is almost a coping mechanism — jokes at 3 a.m., gallows-laugh reactions to the absurdity of protocols — and then it flips, revealing exhaustion, guilt, and grief. That flip is accurate. The series and the source memoir don’t shy away from burnout, the fear of making a catastrophic mistake, or the way personal life collapses around a demanding rota. Procedural accuracy is decent too: basic clinical actions, the language of wards, the shorthand between colleagues, and the awkward humanity of breaking bad news are handled with care. Certain procedures are compressed for drama, but the essence — that patients are people and that clinicians are juggling imperfect knowledge under time pressure — feels honest. Of course, there are areas where storytelling bends reality. Timelines are telescoped to keep drama tight, and rare or extreme cases are sometimes foregrounded to make a point. Team dynamics can be simplified: the messy, multi-disciplinary support network that really exists is occasionally sidelined to focus on a single protagonist’s burden. The NHS backdrop is specific, so viewers in other healthcare systems might not map every frustration directly. Still, the show’s core — the moral compromises, the institutional pressures, the small acts of kindness that matter most — is portrayed with painful accuracy. After watching, I came away with a deeper respect for the quiet endurance of people who work those wards, and a lingering ache that stayed with me into the next day.

Every time I rewatch 'This Is Going to Hurt' I end up zeroing in on particular episodes because they don't just show hospital chaos — they dig into what that kind of life does to a person's head. The mental-health thread is woven throughout the whole series, but if you want the episodes that put the emotional toll front and center, pay special attention to the middle and final ones. Early episodes plant the seeds: you see sleep deprivation, numbness, and that slow erosion of empathy. By the mid-season episodes the cracks get bigger, and the finale really deals with aftermath and the choice to step away. Those are the chapters that focus most explicitly on anxiety, guilt, burnout, and moral injury. Specifically, the episodes around the midpoint are where grief and cumulative stress start to feel like characters in their own right — scenes that show sleepless nights, intrusive thoughts, and the ways colleagues try (or fail) to support one another. Then the last two episodes take a hard look at what happens when pressure meets a devastating outcome: the guilt, the replaying of events, and the painful decision whether it’s possible to continue in a job that repeatedly asks so much of you. The portrayal of mental strain is subtle at times — a tired joke that doesn't land, a private breakdown in a corridor — and explicit at others, with conversations about quitting and the difficulty of admitting you're not okay. I also want to point out how the series treats mental health not as a single dramatic event but as an accumulation: tiny compromises, repeated moral dilemmas, and the loneliness that comes from feeling you have to be the resilient one. If you're watching for those themes, watch closely from the middle episodes through the finale and be ready for moments that hit hard; snack breaks and company are good ideas. On a more personal note, those episodes always make me want to call an old colleague and check in — they land long after the credits roll.

Watching 'This Is Going to Hurt' felt like reading a friend's messy diary — lots of it rings painfully true. The show lifts many scenes straight out of Adam Kay's memoir: the relentless rotas, the exhaustion that makes people snarky and tender by turns, and the petty-but-crushing bureaucracy that eats into patient care. A lot of the comedy — the gallows humour in corridors, the cheeky songs, the crude jokes traded between shifts — isn't invented so much as amplified. Those moments capture what it's like when people lean on dark humour to survive the impossible hours and emotional load. You also see real-world things like being reprimanded for systemic failings, the way senior staff can be abruptly cruel, and the way bereaved families are shepherded through paperwork and rituals; Kay wrote about all of that, and the series doesn't shy away from it. The most searing sequence — the traumatic stillbirth and the aftermath of that case — is drawn from Adam Kay's real-life breaking point. In the book, a devastating obstetric tragedy pushes him toward leaving medicine, and the show keeps that as the emotional climax. The rawness of the scene, the quiet aftermath where staff try to carry on like the next shift hasn't witnessed a life collapse, that is all grounded in Kay's experiences. Equally true are scenes showing minor but meaningful things: junior doctors juggling impossible caseloads, shouting down the phone at officials who refuse to help, and the small kindnesses between colleagues that carry you through a night shift. Those details come from lived experience, even if individual patients on screen are composites. That said, the writers did take liberties for clarity and drama. Timelines are compressed, characters are often amalgamations of several people, and a few jokes or beats are heightened to keep the tone balanced between black comedy and heartbreak. So while key events and the emotional truth are real, expect some consolidation — it’s storytelling, not a documentary transcript. For me, the series nailed the emotional landscape: the gallows humour, the bureaucratic cruelty, and that one catastrophic case that changes everything. It left me quietly rattled and oddly grateful for the small acts of care that persist in messy hospitals.

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As someone who thrives on emotionally charged stories, 'Does It Hurt?' by H.D. Carlton is a dark romance that grips you from the first page. The novel follows a troubled heroine entangled with a mysterious, morally gray man, weaving themes of trauma, obsession, and twisted love. The tension is palpable, and the psychological depth keeps you hooked. Carlton doesn’t shy away from raw, uncomfortable moments, making it a visceral read. What stands out is the atmospheric setting—a remote lighthouse that mirrors the characters' isolation. The push-and-pull dynamic between the protagonists is intoxicating, blurring lines between pain and desire. If you enjoy intense, unconventional love stories with a side of suspense, this book delivers. Just be prepared for a rollercoaster of emotions—it’s not for the faint of heart.