So Many Undead It Will Drive You Batty

Halloween is Dr. Dratoc’s least favorite time of year. He’s as enthusiastic about costumes and parties as he is about draining abscesses, which he did most of the day. A guy in is twenties, who’d been bitten by a dog, had foregone medical treatment, and gotten a nice bag of neutrophils for his trouble.

Still, Dr. Dratoc tries to make an effort, and agrees to attend a friend’s party. He decides to go dressed up as doctor. Who will know? He considers helping out in the ER for a day, to get his lab coat nice and splattered. He dismisses the idea immediately, of course—Typhoid Mary was bad enough; he’d hate to be remembered as Staph-Infection Steve.

The party is thumping, packed with Miley Cyruses and government-shutdown-pun costumes. Dratoc is standing next to the punch bowl, marveling at a party in the modern era that even bothers with a punch bowl, nevermind the vectors for bacteria transmission it presents. Still, it’s full of alcohol, so there’s that. He’s talking to Greg Seibar, the party’s host's roommate, who’s dressed, of course, like a zombie.

“So, dude. Get this. Later? Doug? You remember Doug? Crazy Doug? He’s coming as a vampire. With bats, dude. With bats.”

“I see,” says Dr. Dratoc, trying to ignore Seibar’s attempt at lividity. Is that guacamole spread on his face?

“Real live bats dude. Seriously, it’s going to be—“

There’s a scream, and the crowd parts as a man stumbles into the room, falling over and crashing through coffee table. He’s dressed in dark red, a tattered cape on his back. He manages to stand up, and there’s more screams. The makeup on his face is incredibly realistic. Red welts all over, foam running from his mouth. His eyes are wild and rolling as he staggers towards a girl dressed like an undead postal worker, grinding his teeth.

“Dude!” Greg, sloshing a cupful of punch and taking it to the new arrival. “Freaking awesome dude! Have a—“

At the sight of the cup the man goes into a rage, bellowing at an ungodly volume, knocking the cup to one side, and lunging for Greg’s throat. Dr Dratoc leaps forward and pulls the man back before he can sink his teeth into Greg’s flesh.

~~~

Rabies, or hydrophobia, or lyssavirus, has been around for most of recorded history, and probably predates civilization. Since it’s naming, some 4000 years ago, the disease has always been associated with animals, which is why, when symptoms show in someone without the presentation of zootic contexts, diagnoses can be varied. This makes “zombie!” an easy way to describe someone afflicted with late-stage rabies.

Symptoms can be similar to what is seen in your “fast and angry” type zombie movies, such as World War Z and 28 Days Later. In fact, fans of these popular zombie vehicles will recall that at the start of the outbreaks in these films, rabies is believed to be the cause of the violence that humanity witnesses.

Rabies can be transmitted via the saliva, which is why biting is often the means by which new victims become infected. Modern treatments now include some protocols that have shown limited success even in post-symptomatic patients.

~~~

While Dr. Dratoc struggles with the enraged man, Greg scoots himself backwards and hides behind a table. “What the damn hell! He thinks he’s a zombie! He thinks—“

Moving quickly, Dratoc pulls his wallet out and shoves it into the man’s mouth. The man clamps down on it hard enough to make his jaw bulge.

Everyone’s staring. A girl dressed like slutty Gloria Steinem says, “Is he having a stroke?”

“No, he has rabies. The wallet’s for him to bite on instead of me." The man struggles, but Dratoc holds on. "Someone call 911. And get them to send animal control to this idiot’s house. He’s probably got a pile of dead bats in his basement.”

Half a dozen people pull out cell phones and start poking. One takes a picture. “Is he going to be alright?” the girl says.

Dr. Dratoc tightens his grip, even as the man begins to relax, easing from mania into lethargy. “Probably not. I say he’s got an eight percent chance. But stupider things have happened.”

They're Coming to Get You, Doctor Barbara

I have a source who works for the VA Hospital. I am not making this up. This is a notice that was sent to everyone in the building:
FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE TO ALL EMPLOYEES

Human to Human transmission of Ataxic Neurodegenerative Satiety Deficiency Syndrome has been confirmed in the US. The disease is expected to spread exponentially this week, estimates from CDC are that the disease will reach epic proportions bordering on Pandemic and is anticipated to culminate later this week after which it will go into a relatively dormant state. Transmission is from direct contact and the mortality rate of those infected is expected to be 100%. Infected individuals can be identified by pallor, yellowish-gray skin, blood coming from the eyes, nose, and mouth, and an insatiable appetite for human flesh. Infected individuals are often referred to as the “Walking Dead.”

Yes, we are talking about a full-blown ZOMBIE APOCALYPSE. You have time to prepare before this becomes a PANDEMIC so please visit [url redacted].

When this source sent me the above, chills raced up and down my spine. Not because of the coming doom. Not because life as we know it was about to change forever. No, it was that phrase:

Ataxic Neurodegenerative Satiety Deficiency Syndrome

What a #$%^&* awesome name for what zombie’s got. The writer/thief in me is totally stealing that.

By the way, the email went on:
You may be laughing right now but the fact is that if you are prepared for a Zombie Apocalypse you will be prepared for Earthquakes, Winter-Storms, and all other disasters.

HAPPY HALLOWEEN! J

Yeah, right. Who is this so-called “J,” just some dude trying to get people ready for “winter-storms?”

Please. This is a government institution we’re talking about. We’re doomed. I can’t wait!

Zombie Me Up, Scotty

There’s a Walking Dead convention going on this weekend in Atlanta. Walker Stalker Con. I only found out about it this morning, and only from the Seattle Times sports page (a joke about The Falcons and how they’re playing lately). And while I have said that I’m not the biggest fan of the show itself, I do love zombie stuff, and I would love to attend if I could.

I’ve only ever been to one convention, and that was a horror/sci-fi convention in Baltimore. I went because there was supposed to be a band playing there, Darling Violetta, but then they didn’t show up. But I did see Rasputina for the first time, met the folks from Torsion, and shook hands with both Anthony Stewert Head and Ted Raimi.

But it was a lousy convention, otherwise. I’ve been dying to go to PAX here in Seattle, but it’s always sold out by the time I hear about it (are you getting the impression that I am woefully misinformed, much of the time? Yeah, I am). I want that convention immersion. I want that full-on Trekkie experience.

I want to see the cosplayers and sit down to some beta-testing game and get my picture taken with a B-list celebrity, then Instagram it, put it on Tumblr, and watch the likes, notes, and reblogs stack up. ‘Cause that’s how this all works. I want to be one of the horde.

I’m serious. We zombie lovers love to think about our apocalypse survival plans, love to pick up virtual shotguns and video-game-blast away at rotting heads, and compare notes on who did it better, Romero or O’Bannon (okay, maybe that last one’s a no-brianer, pun intended).

But we like to BE the zombie, too. Zombie walks and Halloween costumes and T-Shirts, oh my. And for me, going to one of these conventions would be like ripping into the fear-choked flesh of a chased-down victim.

I wonder how much a plane ticket would cost me?

Zombies are Everywhere

A 50s looking greaser type is thrashing away, making violent love to his guitar for everyone to see. The music pounds and twangs and croons all at the same time. A guy dressed in skull make-up and a mohawk is riding a stand-up bass, and the drummer is thrashing his crash symbol and snare and squirting steady bursts of sweat. The crowd is hicks, hillbillies, trailer park graduates in their late 40s, kids from the right side of the tracks in ripped flannel shirts and greasy jeans.

The singer strikes a final chord, then steps up to the mike, throttling it with one hand while the other scratches his deep sideburns. His duck’s ass coif hangs limp in his face. “Thankyu thankyu, thankyuverumush. Y’all feel that?”

The crowd roars approval.

“Awright,” he steps back, plucks a B major chord from low to high, and the crowd roars louder. “When I look into your eyes out there, when I look out into your faces, you know what I see? I see a little bit of Elvis in each and every one out there, let me tell ya! Wellllllll…” he starts in with a fast riff, and out of nowhere, the zombie attacks.

~~~

In the introduction to my zombie story collection, I point out that “zombies are a thing.” They’ve become so much a part of our culture as to invade advertising, newspaper comics, and Sunday-afternoon family restaurants.

Of course, we’re in the middle of Halloween season as I write this, so zombies are going to be trotted out like Santa at Christmas. But that sort of proves the point. Zombies are ubiquitous, more so than Santa; any summertime evoking of Santa is a reference to Christmas, while zombies in July do not necessarily reference Halloween.

I suppose that’s because Christmas is strictly seasonal, while horror is year-round. But Zombies are evoked in so many non-horror ways. (I’m not talking about the GiffGaff ad, or this Ford ad, because while these are amusing, the irony is based in an understanding of scariness). I’m talking about ads like this one for Sprint, or Hillary Price’s “Rhymes with Orange cartoon today, or how about all of these Baby Blues strips?

Then there’s Zombie Burger and Drink Lab, in Des Moines, Iowa. They serve “goreMet Bashed Burgers,” “Soylent Greens,” “New Jersey Rippers” (hot dogs) soups, sides, and “Brain Freeze shakes.” For you uber-aficionados, who love the blood and gore and post-apocalyptic chaos of deep zombie mayhem, what resonates more for you than dining in the midst of a shambling horde?

Zombies: they’re here, no fear. Get used to it.

~~~

The zombie pushes the singer off the stage, who, already eight beers into his set, falls down and stays down. The drummer and bass player, oblivious, go right on playing. The zombie picks up the fallen guitar, steps closer to the amp, grabs some feedback, and stomps the fuzz pedal as the inexpertly fingers a Z chord. “Zombies are everywhere” it gurgles into the microphone. “Zombies are everything. Zombie are everybody, Zombies are still the king…”

The crowd goes absolutely wild.

What I Didn’t Like about World War Z

The zombies didn’t eat anybody.

They’re the polar opposite of zombies in The Walking Dead. The WWZ zombies run fast, bite their prey—once—and then move on. You don’t become a zombie when you die; you become one immediately. In as much as they a) bite people and b) can’t be reasoned with and c) look freaky, I guess they’re zombies. But that movie could have been made using different make-up and a different word, and it wouldn’t be a “zombie” movie any longer.

I respect that there needs to be different kinds of zombies in the zombie meta-verse. I applaud those who made the movie for trying something different. But at the point where I realized the zombies don’t eat people, I stopped being horrified. It was just scary. Like war is scary—so I guess it was a good title after all.

Now, for my money, the zombies in The Walking Dead are quintessential zombies. Slow, inexorable, and almost always dripping gore. Dress ‘em up in clown suits, call ‘em ballerinas, and they’re still zombies. Its that “inexorable” that I like. They’re dependable. They will always be there to mess things up.

Because I sort of find The Walking Dead boring. I know, zombie stories are about the people, not the shamblers (with exceptions like Monster Island and my own stories). But TWD has become a real soap opera. I get bored watching The Governor and Rick gaze at each other with tired eyes. Luckily, those inexorable zombies eventually come along and do what they do to the best laid plans of men.

I’d love to see a mashup of the two. Give me gore-chomping zombies versus humans who are solving a mystery Give me something. TWD is just One Life to Live with guts and guns. WWZ is just The Big Red One with nibblers for Nazis. I want The Usual Zombie Suspects. Or even Zombiedeus.

I’m a picky eater; I’d make a lousy zombie.

You, Zombie

Darkness falls, and the city is lit by warm yellow light. Your pineal gland, no longer suppressed by blue rays from the wide-spectrum light of the sun, begins to produce melatonin. You walk down the street towards your apartment building, become slightly, almost imperceptibly drowsy.

Out of the shadows a figure emerges. A homeless person, dressed in filthy rags, looking for a hand out. You try to ignore him as he shuffles closer. Suddenly he’s upon you, grabbing your arm. He shoves his face in, teeth bared, and bites. But your heart is racing in fear, your adrenal glands pumping, producing a burst of energy and pain-suppression, along with an (unhealthy) dose of cortisol. Still, you can see blood, the homeless guy’s bitten clean through the sleeve if your jacket. You manage to push him off and run down the street.

At the corner you stop to catch your breath, pain finally starting to ooze into your arm. You look back—he actually doesn’t look very homeless. He’s wearing suit, albeit a stained and torn one. He’s still shuffling toward you, and that’s your blood dripping from his mouth. You turn the corner and run home.

Inside you strip off your jacket to look at the wound. It’s not a very big bite, but in the poor lighting of your bathroom the edges look a little green. You pour hydrogen peroxide over it, wash it as best as you can, wrap it in gauze. Jesus Christ, what the hell was that all about.

You grab some leftovers from the refrigerator, sit down in front of the TV. Inside your brain, a virus attacks and annihilates your pineal gland. All serotonin productions shuts down. You are wide awake. You watch one, two, three hours of TV. Soon it’s midnight. Then three in the morning. Then six. You haven’t slept a wink. And something happened to you last night, what was it? There’s red and green-stained gauze on your arm. Did that have something to do with it?

Your hippocampus is no longer in communications with your visual cortex. You see things, but they don’t have any meaning. Your adrenal glands are producing a steady supply of adrenaline and cortisol, further eroding your hippocampus and your amygdala. Your metabolism has been ramped up, and you’re running a fever. Free radicals built up inside your brain are taking out neurons in your speech and fine motor areas.

There’s a stirring in your belly. You’re hungry. You know you need to eat. You know you need protein, meat, as fresh and free of decay as possible. You stumble out your door. Your olfactory senses are no longer distracted by emotion or memory. You can smell food in the door across the hall. You move towards the door, but it’s closed. You pound on it, and hear movement inside. This makes you hungrier. Food inside. Pound on the door.

The door opens and you lurch forward. Food. Hair and eyes and skin and food. She screams. You grab her arm, and she kicks you away, runs down a hall, slams a door. You follow the food. Your throat is convulsing, swallowing in anticipation. Your gums are bleeding as they recede and rot, your teeth protruding. You move towards the door. It opens, and she’s standing there. There a bright flash and a loud noise, and you’re pushed back. Five more noisy flashes, all on top of one another, and you fall down.

Hydrostatic shock has stopped your heart. There’s a hole in your shoulder, your leg, your stomach. Your brain, starved for oxygen, starts to shut down. But the cancer eating your brain is feeding your adrenal glands. Free radicals mutate and collide, exciting nerve endings, telling your arms to move, your legs to move. You stand up. You are dead, no heart beat, adrenaline and cortisol washing through your body like blood soaking through a sponge. You’re rapidly deteriorating but the food still standing in front of you and moaning, “no, no, no!” has protein, her own store of adrenaline, and maybe a few drops of that sweet sweet melatonin.

Your lurch towards her. She falls back, blocks the door. You’re on top of her, sinking your teeth into her neck. She screams, but your grip is too powerful, pinning her as your rip out her throat. The eating is everything. Healthy meat, clean meat, peristalsis uninterrupted by breathing.

But it’s not enough. Finally you stand, your guts, unnoticed, spilling out of the gaping wound in your belly. There’s more food in this building. You can hear it. You can smell it.



You can feel it. It’s the only thing you can feel.

Dr. Manny, You are Paranoid and Misinformed (about Zombies)

In a recent post at Fox News, Dr. Manny opined that “America's obsession with 'The Walking Dead' is hurting our society.” He went on to say: “call me paranoid and misinformed, but there is one common theme that is pervasive in American pop culture today: violence. Even more specifically, zombie violence.”

You’re paranoid, Manny. I googled “zombie” and got about 231 million hits. I googled “war” and got 1.6 billion. And last time I checked, your own Fox News, where you opine regularly, covers war about 99% more often than it does zombies. So if its violence you’re afraid of, tell your handlers to back off.

You’re misinformed, too. You say, “We also see this zombie obsession in many videogames. Even more disturbingly, these games create environments for young children—“ and I’m going to stop you right there. These games do NOT create environments for young children. The average video game player is 34. Most video games are not created for children, and if you are giving YOUR children these games, you’re a sicko.

You Fox News types haul out this “violent video games warp kids” trope every chance you get. But that’s like saying “alcohol makes kids alcoholic.” No one’s legally giving kids alcohol, and zombie video games are not for kids. You even say “That’s why they’re labeled M for Mature.” Do you not know what that means?

But back to zombies. ”This obsession with the undead in television and other media is quite puzzling.” But why is it puzzling to you? You point out that the concept has been around for decades, you mention “zombie runs…” and that’s it. TV shows, video games, and zombie runs, oh my. How is this an obsession, exactly? Where’s the zombie flags flying over zombie protestors angry at our zombie government for giving the zombie poor acces to low-cost zombie healthcare?

Because that, Dr. Manny, would be an obsession. The same way you trot out the words “socialized medicine” every chance you get to castigate the Affordable Care Act. (Little fact for you, Doctor M: America already has socialized medicine. It’s called Medicaire and Medicaid. And you’ve already made a mint off of it. So pipe down).

I know why you don’t like zombies, Dr. Manny. Zombies are by the people, of the people, for the people. Zombie ‘fantasies” show us how the so called power-elite would be powerless against a mindless horde. And since you conservative types view us regular folks as “mindless hordes” already, it scares you silly.

But don’t worry, when it comes to eating brains, we’ll skip your empty head.

On the Difficulties of Creating a Zombie Taxonomy

Any approach to classifying different types or kinds of zombies is already working in the realm of meta-fiction. This is to say that comparing two different kinds of zombies requires comparing two different ideas created by two different people. Therefore, internal consistencies will the greatest challenge to establishing a robust taxonomy. Perhaps one way to mitigate this challenge is to base a zombie taxonomy not on the zombie creator but on the zombie consumer. What does the consumer know a zombie to be, and how does a consumer choose one kind of zombie as more “authentic” than another?

For example, consider the first popularization of zombies, in George Romero’s classic Night of the Living Dead. The original consumer would have come to the film without any context besides other horror films, and may have considered these zombies “vampiric.” And now consider the recent update of The Omega Man, called I Am Legend. In this movie, the vampires have all the appearance of zombies, and this is how many people refer to them.

This is because, due to the ongoing popularization of zombies, the modern consumer comes to a film or other zombie entertainment vehicle already equipped with a full collection of zombie tropes. The zombie consumer classifies the zombies by what she already knows, adjusting only as much as is required by the films’ adherence to revelation and consistency.

Zombies in Romero’s film eat only brains. In The Walking Dead, they eat human flesh. In World War Z, zombies bite, but they do not consume flesh or brains. Are these aspects of the zombie integral to the overall horror felt by the consumer? If so, she may classify zombies by what they eat.

In World War Z, 28 Days Later, and the video game Left 4 Dead, zombies run at top speed. In The Walking Dead and Shaun of the Dead, the zombies are slow shufflers. Whether or not zombies “should” be able to run quickly is a hot topic for debate among fans of zombie consumption, so the zombie consumer will certainly classify zombies by their ambulatory agility.

And how are zombies made? By chemicals in Return of the Living Dead. A bite resulting in death will make a zombie in Night of the Living Dead. Just a single bite will do the trick in World War Z. And while we don’t know why, in The Walking Dead, anyone who dies comes back as a zombie, no matter what the cause of death.

These three axes alone make zombie classification difficult enough. But other creative choices by zombie makers further complicate the issue. Some zombie vehicles include sentimental or even sentient zombies (Shaun of the Dead, Fido, Warm Bodies). Do zombies eventually rot away to nothing, or can they “grow” (as in David Wellington’s novel Monster Island)? And just what do we do with super-heroes turned undead in Marvel Zombies?

I began this essay as an introduction to creating my own zombie taxonomy, but I’m afraid my brains have been consumed by all of these different zombie types. Like a horde descending upon me, I’m succumbing to the realization that no single taxonomy will ever do justice to understanding zombies.

It's All Fun and Games until your Flesh Starts Rotting Away

Things are bustling at Lidokork General, a hospital right in the heart of the city. The ER is hopping (rash of food poisoning from a raw-foods bistro), the pharmacy is backed up (one too many pharmacist at home sick with strep) and the jocks in Ortho are horsing around, as usual. One of them, Dr. Crank, is giving Dr. Dratoc a hard time.

“So, Dratoc, heard you cured a zombie last week.”

Dratoc sighs. He doesn’t have time for this. He’s got a patient in 14B who isn’t responding to antibiotics, and her necrotizing fasciitis may require debridement, and he is not looking forward to his consult with the resident otolaryngologist. Talk about the walking dead. The guy’s breath could knock a buzzard off an offal wagon.

“Did you say zombie?” A police officer, walking by the nurse’s station, stops for a second.

The ortho surgeons burst out laughing. Dr. Crank claps Dr. Dratoc on the back. “Here’s your man, sergeant!”

The cop glares at Dr. Crank, who doesn’t seem to notice, then turns to Dr. Dratoc. “I just brought a guy in, caught him trying to break into a pill-lab on the east side. The doc in ER doesn’t know what to make of him. Teeth all busted, eyes bloodshot, running sores on his arms and legs. I swear he looks like an honest to god zombie.”

Dr. Dratoc takes a deep breath, sighs again. “Show me.”

###

It’s called Krokodil, a mixture of codeine, paint thinner, gasoline, and whatever else the pushers who make it can find in their garages. The high has been described as comparable to heroin, although it can be more intense, and much briefer. As an opiate-based drug, it’s terribly addictive, and abusers wind up taking more not just because it’s so cheap, but because they want to avoid the excruciating withdrawl.

But the worst part is the toxic effect it has on the body. People who shoot up krokodil develop green spots at the sight of injection almost immediately, and subsequently gangrene. Their flesh starts to literally rot away in places, which means they have to choose a different spot on their body for the next injection. More exposure to the corrosive chemicals: more gangrene. Abusers don’t last more than a few years.

If they’re lucky. The drug doesn’t just effect the skin, but any major organ, every major organ. Including an especially the brain. Imagine someone shuffling towards you with rotting skin, groaning through a decaying larynx, eyes vacant from brain damage. Sound familiar?

###

Dr. Dratoc follows the police officer into one of the ER examination rooms, where a young man sits, handcuffed to the bed. It’s just as the cop described: open wounds on the kid’s arms and legs, skin turning green, blackened in places. Dratoc does a cursory examination, and finds track marks in the few places where the skin is still more or less clean.

The doctor shakes his head. “Krokodil. Not very common in the US. In fact, I think there have been less than ten reported cases this year.” So far, he doesn’t say out loud.

The police officer makes a face. “I figured he was on meth. What’s Krokodil?”

“Let me put it this way,” Dr. Dratoc says, grabbing forms to admit the junkie into intensive care. “If you had to choose between Breaking Bad and The Walking Dead, which TV show would you rather live in?”

The cop makes another face. The junkie gurgles

Dr. Dratoc nods. “Yeah. This is like both.”

Plants vs Zombies 2 Now Available on Android

It’s a good day to have an Android or Android enabled device. Plants vs Zombies 2: It’s About Time, the free sequel the one of the best video games of all time, is now available for those of us who don’t necessarily have an iPad. (Link goes to Google play store).

Rumor has it that Apple laid out some serious cash to make PvZ2 an iPad exclusive. If this is true (and even if it is not), the takeaway is that PVZ2 is an excellent game with a huge following. A following that just got more huge. Huger. A horde, if you will.

A horde of shambling, shuffling, drooling gamers, slowly walking along the sidewalk, heads bent over their Galaxy S IIIs and their Droid Razrs and their Kindle Fires.

If you don’t know about PvZ, I’m not sure what planet you’ve been living on, but briefly: it’s a unique version of a tower defense game: place weaponized plants in rows to defeat oncoming shamblers. Plants come in a variety of specialties, from simple pea-shooters to cabbage-apults to coconut cannons.

Zombies are varied as well: simple shufflers, hard-headed bucket-helmet wearers, even zombies that burrow under the ground.

PVZ2 ups the ante by introducing three genre-specific themes—you start off in ancient Egypt, eventually move to a Pirate world, and finally you find yourself fighting cowboy zombies in the Old West.

Free? Yes, with optional (and let me stess: not required) in-app purchases available.

Fun? Very.

Addictive: let me put it this way. Your goal in PVZ and PVZ2 is to stop the zombies from eating your brains. But trust me, by the time you’ve poked the screen for a few minutes, your own brain has no hope.

Real Life Zombies (Sort of)

Dr. Dratoc is almost done with another 18 hour shift. He’s tired. He’s bleary-eyed. He’s already spent five hours in the OR patching up a drunk with bite-shaped wounds on his legs (“I think it was a dog or some kind of wild cat,” the drunk kept saying) and another two hours on a code in the geriatric wing. They managed ot save the old guy, but Dr. Dratoc is tired. He’s heading for the locker room, to drop of his lab coat, grab jacket, and head home.

He turns the corner, taking a short cut through ER, and standing there, just staring at him, is a zombie.

A walking corpse, to be precise. Middle-aged man, dressed in a filthy shirt underneath two jackets and a coat. Cold sores open and oozing around his mouth. His pants are in tatters, stained with blood, and as Dr. Dratoc stands there, trying to decide if he’s hallucinating, the man (thankfully?) collapses.

###

Cotard’s Syndrome was named for a French neurologist who, back in 1880, met a woman who insisted she had no brain. Since then, although it’s not common, several cases have emerged with similar symptoms. Sufferers describe themselves as dead, or invisible, or having limbs that don’t belong to them. People with Cotard’s will seem to be obsessed with death, take no pleasure in any stimuli, and will sometimes forego normal hygiene.

PET scans have shown a link between Cotard’s and subdued activity in the front and paratiel regions of the brain, like that of someone in a deep coma. This can be the result of depressive episodes or drug induced metabolic imbalances.

Recently, meta-analysis of drug databases and hospital admissions have suggested that in patients with renal failure, some drugs aren’t broken down adequately, and increased levels of 9-carboxymethoxymethylguanine (CMMG) can cause obstructions in certain cerebral arteries. In some people, this can have disturbing psychiatric effects. Dialysis is often the only way to clear CMMG from the brain.

###

As tired as he is, Dr. Dratoc leaps forward, checking for a pulse. He calls for an orderly, and together they get the man up on a table. He opens his eyes, pupils surrounded by a sickly yellow and shrunk to pinpricks. “I’m a dead man,” he says. His breath is awful. “I’m dead. Put me in the ground. I am dead.”

Dr. Dratoc checks the man for ID, and finds a bottle of pills—Zovirax. Probably for the cold sores. Dratoc does his best to stabilize the man. He does a quick examination. Swollen kidneys. Skin under his fingernails, matching deep scratches in the rash on his legs. Bruising on his arms, especially between the wrist and elbow.

Dratoc is exhausted. Think, think. Swollen kidneys, itching, rash, the coats could indicate he feels cold, the bruising, from falling several times, due to dizziness? Could this be renal failure? Dratoc makes a decision. “Get this man on dialysis, right now.”