Disasters and diseases suck. They kill people, they inspire (with the aid of fearmongers) exorbitant amounts of anxiety, and they provoke playwrights to scribe trite, mawkish, pontificating tripe. Generally. In certain cases, when their implications regarding human relations are looked at from a philosophical, conversational point of view, they've a better chance at being successful (see: Neil LaBute's The Mercy Seat). Sick is not one of those cases.
