Tagged: health

Checking Out

Dear Planet Earth,

The political bickering is over. General Talpa and the doctors here came to an agreement.

The hospital staff will stay here with the patients who are still too ill to move. Hopefully, that doesn’t include me, and hopefully I won’t need to have an apple thrown at my leg to prove it. The troops and the rest of the able-bodied civilians, many of whom are now unofficially part of humanity’s most important resistance, will head out tomorrow and try to draw the attention away from the approaching force of mole people.

It’s a Hail Mary move if I ever saw one, but boy will I be glad to finally be out of here, fighting on the front lines instead of sitting in a smelly hospital bed with a target on my head. I just need Dr. Brooke to believe I can actually walk faster than a blindfolded Steven Hawking.


Arriba, Arriba

Dear Planet Earth,

If I didn’t feel like enough of a baby-like invalid before, learning how to walk definitely sealed the deal.

I started my physical therapy today with Dr. Brooke, who as it turns out, isn’t even a doctor. No joke, he dropped out of medical school halfway through to start a chain of Mexican restaurants with his brother. But that’s a rant for another day.

He’s had me walking up and down the hallway for the past five hours. I’d tell you that I’m moving at a snail’s pace, but that would be offensive to decent snails everywhere. However, my unfathomably slow gait still makes me feel like I’m running a marathon. With pins in my leg. With Tabasco sauce marinating those pins.

To make matters worse, they’re cutting back on my painkillers now, too. If only I could summon some of that adrenaline from yesterday, I know I’d be the unholy love child of Usain Bolt and Speedy Gonzales.

One Klick To Chaos

Dear Planet Earth,

The power’s finally back online. I know I promised to make a comprehensive timeline of all the crazy things that have been happening since October, but I swear I have a good excuse:

Roberts took this picture for me of the burning ambulance now decorating the front of our hospital-turned-battlefield. The mole people attacked early Monday morning, just as the rising sun was at its most inspiring and tranquil point.

There was only about a dozen of them, which is probably why we’re still alive. They started shooting their crazy guns at our unmanned tanks, and that screeching, piercing sound jolted me — and presumably every other human within five miles — out of peaceful slumber. The adrenaline got me out of bed and over the windowsill.

I could see our boys returning fire with their comparatively primitive rifles, and a few of them even made it to the tanks. The entire parking lot was a smoking, thundering haze within five minutes. The bastards finally retreated when they saw their battle was lost and we chased them back for about three klicks. (I learned today that a “klick” is a kilometer, and you have to wonder how our military came to adopt that without using the metric system.)

The hospital is missing some windows and — like I said — the power was out, but we somehow survived without any fatalities. Three soldiers have some serious injuries; luckily they were already living in a hospital.

The small scale of the attack has General Talpa convinced that this was only a group of scouts, and that we have to move everyone out right now before the full wave comes. The doctors are saying that’s impossible without sacrificing the lives of some patients, and now there’s some serious politics going on here.

The Skillful Skull-Swiper

Dear Planet Earth,

It seems my painkiller bender is over. The swelling’s gone down considerably and now only hurts as much as listening to Justin Bieber sing a duet with a pack of geriatric cats in heat. My insightful wit also seems to have restored.

But drugs or no, a little boy did actually steal my burnt mole man skull. There’s at least a dozen kids running around the hospital at any given time, but Roberts is pretty sure my suspect is the little Hispanic boy they picked up at a looted gas station near a highway off-ramp.

They found him huddled underneath a cash register, covered in spider webs and Cheetoh dust. He’s only said the words “yes” and “no,” which first led everyone to believe he only spoke Spanish; he spoke even less to a translator.

Whoever he is, he stole one of the few material things I have left, and that cannot stand. Unfortunately, I cannot stand yet either.


Dear Planet Earth,

General Talpa wasn’t lying about those drugs. I’ve got enough painkiller flowing through my body right now to satisfy Paris Hilton and Rush Limbaugh combined.

It’s morphine or analgesic or some other weird word you hear thrown around Grey’s Anatomy. That’s right — I’m so high right now, I’m not ashamed to admit I used to watch Grey’s Anatomy.

Shit, I wonder if the mole people killed the whole cast now. I guess I’ll find out soon; if all goes according to plan and a doctor says I’m ship shape enough to walk without a cane, Talpa’ll take me along with his new army to California, where there’s supposedly a growing resistance set up.

Ship shape, ship shape. That’s a weird expression. Is that even an expression?

Okay, blogging time is over. I think I just saw a little boy come in here and steal my skull.

Garden of Eden Redux

Dear Planet Earth,

The troops have been back for a few days now, so I felt a little neglected when General Talpa didn’t show up before. I guess I should be glad he honored me with a visit at all since he’s presumably focused on trying to save our entire civilization from mole people. Of course, that thought didn’t stop me from complaining.

“I was sure you forgot about me.”

He walked to the foot of my bed and inspected an apple in his hands. “How you feeling?”

“Better,” I said. “Much better, actually.”

I tried to sit up straighter in my bed without wincing. Talpa looked me in the eyes — I mean, really looked me in the eyes — and tossed that damn apple right at ground zero of my pulsing, stinging wound.


I don’t know where that came from, but it was enough to make the general flash one of his rare smiles. I quickly wiped away the pools of tears that seemed to have materialized from nowhere.

“You gotta take me with you. I know you’re recruiting civilians now. Take me. It hurts like a bitch, but I can still pull a trigger if you give me a gun.”

“You watch too many war movies,” he said. “All you kids do. Christiansen, Mendoza, Leone, Bitoni. They’re all dead now, you know.” I could hear him release a long exhale. “They were all so eager.”

“I’ve lost too many friends to just sit here and rot while those bastards –”

He raised his hand to cut me off.

“We brought back some more supplies — food, weapons, medicine.” He walked over to my left side, picked up the apple, brushed it off, and put it on the hospital bed tray in front of me.

“Get better, Mr. Panus. And stay eager.”

Two Friends

Dear Planet Earth,

It’s a sad day when you realize you only have two friends in the entire world. My only consolation is the thought that either most humans still have no access to the Internet or they’re dead.

If you’re out there and able to read this, please try to make contact on here, Facebook, or Twitter. We can find you, and protect you, and offer you the chance to fight against the mole people. We can offer you hope.

Speaking of which, General Talpa is supposed to be visiting me soon. I’m praying he’ll let me come along with them again since the swelling in my leg is now down to the size of only two watermelons and the pain is back at Pauly Shore levels.