Aug 19, 2025
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My grandfather and my godfather (a beloved neighbor and dear family friend) had a long standing bet- for one dollar- about who would die first. Both of them being slightly pessimistic (in the funny way), they both insisted that they themselves would be the first to die. Any time my grandfather had a health scare, he’d gleefully call up my godfather to boast that he’d be passing “any day now” and he was sure to win the bet. It was a big family joke and they were always amiably sparring and comparing notes about who was in worse shape, medically speaking.
When my grandfather was in hospice care dying of liver cancer, my godfather was quite ill also. It took him great effort to make the journey to see his dying friend. As he came into the room, supported by a family member, he shuffled to my grandpa’s bedside and silently handed him a dollar bill. He was ceding his loss of the bet, as they both knew who was going first. My grandpa had been in quite bad shape for a while and was no longer able to speak but let me tell you he snatched that dollar with unexpected strength and literally laughed aloud. He knew exactly what the gesture meant and he couldn’t help but find the humor within the grief. It was the last time any of us heard my grandpa laugh, as he passed shortly after.
When I talk about my appreciation for “dark humor” I’m not so much thinking about edgy jokes, but rather the human instinct to somehow, impossibly, both find and appreciate the absurdity that is so often folded into the profound grief of life and death. When I tell this story I think it kind of perturbs people sometimes, but it’s honestly one of my favorite memories about two men I really deeply admired. I could never hope for anything more than for my loved ones to remember me laughing until the very end, and taking joy in a little joke as one of my final acts.
I'm sick, so they're sick.
But I wonder if we also ignore illness because of our bias toward agency and control. We would like to imagine that we captain the ships of our lives, that human history is largely the story of human choice. Perhaps this is why rumors have swirled for millennia that Alexander the Great died of poisoning even though he almost certainly died of typhoid or malaria. We simply don’t want a world where even the most powerful emperor can be felled by mere infection.
John Green, Everything Is Tuberculosis: The History and Persistence of Our Deadliest Infection
A disease often thought to only affect 18th century sailors is reemerging in Canada.
A disease often thought to only affect 18th century sailors is reemerging in Canada.
Earlier this week, doctors identified 27 cases of scurvy caused by prolonged and severe vitamin C deficiency in northern Saskatchewan. Experts say the confirmed diagnoses highlight a broader issue with poverty and food insecurity in rural and remote communities across the country.
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Thinking about whumpees who act like an injured animal. They will not show weakness, they will not show pain. And when it gets to a point where it's unbearable, they will find somewhere to hunker down and wait it out -- or die.
And if someone does notice and come looking for them, they lash out at anyone who tries to help them.
"Get the fuck away from me." "Whumpee, you're bleeding." "I don't care. Fuck off."
And thinking about once the team knows about this habit of theirs: "Whumpee started limping this afternoon." "Shit, our last fight was days ago. How long have they been hiding this?" "I don't know. They won't let me near them. But if it's to the point where they can't hide it... I'm worried." "Don't let them out of your sight. I don't want a repeat of last time."
But until the team learns about it... lots of fun you can have.
I'm imagining a whumpee coming back from a mission or something and avoiding the others for a few days. It's not unusual. Whumpee's never social at the best of times, let alone after a stressful mission. But when the absences tick over into almost a week, the team starts to get worried. Usually whumpee at least says something.
So they go and check on them, and find whumpee dangerously ill. Like, "you should have been in the ER yesterday" ill.
Imagine the guilt the team feels for not checking in sooner. Imagine how surprised and confused whumpee would be to wake up alive in a hospital/infirmary bed.
Is the team angry with whumpee? Is that anger deserved? Did whumpee try to reach out, but by then it was too late? (Too weak to get out of bed, etc.) Is whumpee angry about being saved? (Self-sacrificial characters who don't get to die, my beloved.)