We’re all sick.
Whether it’s a myriad of chronic conditions, Long COVID, or just killer lettuce, a defining part of life right now is this unwavering sense of suffering. There’s this undeniable awareness that something is very wrong, and try as we may to fix it, we’re often dealing with the symptoms and not the underlying disease.
It’s only fitting, then, that Sicko (from Ignition Press) gives us our very own hero for this “brave” new era.
Created by writer Tini Howard and artist Amilcar Pinna – who are joined by colorist Amanda Grazini and letter Ariana Maher – Sicko introduces us to Valentine Virago. (FYI: Howard and Pinna previously collaborated on The Forgotten Queen.) On track to start med school, Val’s life and future is derailed when a mysterious illness causes her body to literally attack itself.
Faced by bureaucratic doctors, a broken medical system, and dwindling resources to literally stay alive, Val’s story is one we’ve lived and/or experienced 1,000 times over. (The way Pinna and Grazini depict hospitals — an exaggerated, decidedly sickening spin on the prestige medical dramas we all love — does so much for our initial immersion.)
Main cover by Amilcar Pinna. Courtesy of Ignition Press.
And while a return trip to these core ideas is done with intent and respect, Howard also picks up on ideas of feeling disconnected from your body, and being alienated by its many demands. In that way, the book isn’t just familiar, but it’s delving into health and illness in a way that’s more multifaceted and ever more relatable. It’s an effort to show how even if you’re not sick, this understanding informs how we all view personal health, community, and even our body as a lens in which we experience the world. It’s sort of like what Howard (and Nick Robles) did with the really great Euthanauts: Just as that book touched on dying in a poignant manner, so too does Sicko embrace all this with a gusto and know-how that tempers any “icky” feelings.
But where you and I have almost no recourse against a busted healthcare system, Val does — her body has somehow become “weaponized,” and she can wield it to make others feel her disease and suffering (with an added bonus for her own wellbeing). On the one hand, it’s an especially novel device, and this spin toward the strange (it’s really like the best ‘90s Vertigo story I could ever imagine) feels exciting without mitigating the real-world pain involved around chronic illness/healthcare/etc.
It’s also another way for Sicko to make its core themes as universal as possible — we’re all just “temporarily abled” anyway, and this book reminds us that what we think we know and have planned health-wise can change fast. I think that’s something that gets at the larger value of Sicko: Our very awareness and engagement with these core concepts can have a huge impact on how we meaningfully perpetuate ideas of community health in 2026 and beyond.
Of course, Val’s “weapon” is also just a solid reason for the art team to give us something truly, wonderfully gross. Again, it helps that across the first issue, there’s something discomforting about, say, the waiting room in a hospital, or even the dispersal of Val’s meds — this subtle sense that so much is already very wrong. And so when Val unleashes her “power,” it’s absolutely, delightfully gross. (I swear that certain hue of of blood and phlegm, mixed with the distinctly superhero-esque pose that she strikes, has me puking and geeking out in equal measure.)
Variant cover cover by Juliet Nneka. Courtesy of Ignition Press.
But her “sick beams” also grounded in just the right way, and it feels like a slight elevation (over a more needlessly overt exaggeration) to never distract from what matters here. And that is, of course, not just our linked fates, but also how more of us need to consider health even if we have “it.” Sicko may be a silly comic book, but the level of care and empathy it shows is striking.
Still, Val’s ability isn’t just about getting back at others in a bit of Grindhouse-esque revenge porn. (I mean, it totally is, and it’s awesome.) As much as Sicko uses its premise to get at what’s wrong with our healthcare systems, there’s something about it that feels deeply human above all else. Not just in that we all must connect with our own health and mortality, but that through this strange power, Val begins to reclaim some of her own life.
In the debut, she meets a nurse, Jono, who we learn has a secret that will force Val to hit the road lest she become just another lab rat. I like that it’s ultimately her illness that not only robbed her of her life, but has also put her in this bizarre, decidedly thrilling new situation (when her life before was just pills, pain, and pointless doctor visits). It’s not just great fare for a good adventure story, but further extends the goals of Sicko at large.
Val clearly struggles with her illness on a number of fronts. It’s taken her life away, but it’s also given her something new. It has isolated her outright, but it also gave her this person who understands her (and also still took advantage of that trust). Am I saying being ill is ultimately a good thing? No, duh. But it’s the creators ultimately reconciling that this is the world we live in, and that we not only have to face certain truths to get better, but operate in a framework where disease and dying and even death are part of this larger, sustained conversation. They’re part of life, and not the “end.”
Variant cover cover by Matías Bergara. Courtesy of Ignition Press.
In fact, we can’t just have conversations about health and sickness, but we must go on a journey of sorts to grapple with these things and understand them in a way where we honor where we are and never shrink away from it. It’s not about good or bad (although having shitty insurance and bureaucracy in general is still the shits), but rather we can’t begin to get better (personally, collectively, etc.) if we can’t face our fears with a little attitude and some sci-fi delight.
That’s the thing that has already infected my heart and soul— that Sicko is as much a sharp, compelling bit of satire and criticism, but something of a roadmap. That the “cure” for all of this pain and sickness is this deep and abiding humanity, an ability to laugh, cry, scream, etc. in such a way that we understand what’s happening and we provide support and care for every single one of us.
I’m stoked to see whatever new body horror delights we’ll inevitably get once Val is on the lam proper, and I’m sure I’ll have to carry my own barf bag during my reading. But mostly I’m jazzed to see how the creators continue to play around with something so serious and still give us a great story that makes the medicine go down smooth.
Yeah, we’re still sick, but Sicko knows the best remedy is gore, honesty, vulnerability, and poignant drama.
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