The worn leather of the suitcase felt rough against my trembling hands. Forty years. Forty years of regret, of guilt gnawing at my soul. Forty years since I had last seen Elizabeth, the love of my life. Forty years since my own stupidity had torn us apart.
I glanced at the address scribbled on a crumpled piece of paper, my heart pounding a frantic rhythm against my ribs. 123 Maple Street, Willow Creek, Ohio. It felt like a destination in a dream, a place I had only ever dared to imagine.
The plane ride was a blur. My mind raced, a whirlwind of memories and “what ifs.” What would she look like now? Would she still have that mischievous glint in her eyes, that infectious laugh that used to fill our small apartment? Would she recognize me, this old man, weathered by time and regret?
As the plane began its descent, a wave of dizziness washed over me. I gripped the armrests, my knuckles white. My chest felt tight, a burning sensation spreading through my lungs. Voices, muffled and distant, seemed to come from far away.
“Sir, are you alright?”
I tried to respond, but only a strangled gasp escaped my lips. The world tilted, then plunged into darkness.
When I awoke, I was in a sterile white room, the smell of antiseptic filling my nostrils. A blurry image of concerned faces swam into view – a nurse, a doctor, a young woman with kind eyes.
“Where… where am I?” I croaked, my voice weak and raspy.
“You’re at St. Jude’s Hospital, sir,” the young woman said gently. “You suffered a heart attack. You’re lucky to be alive.”
Heart attack. The words echoed in my mind, a stark reminder of my mortality. But a different thought, more urgent, pushed its way to the forefront. Elizabeth.
“Elizabeth,” I rasped, my voice hoarse. “Is she… is she here?”
The young woman hesitated, her eyes filled with a mixture of concern and uncertainty. “I… I don’t know, sir. Who is Elizabeth?”
My heart sank. Had I imagined it? Had the years of loneliness and regret twisted my mind, creating a fantasy, a desperate hope?
Days turned into weeks. I spent my recovery in the hospital, haunted by the uncertainty. The doctors assured me that I was stable, but the fear of losing consciousness again, of never seeing Elizabeth, lingered.
One afternoon, as I sat by the window, watching the world go by, a familiar figure appeared in the doorway. A woman, her hair streaked with silver, her eyes crinkled at the corners. She was more beautiful than I remembered, her face etched with the lines of time, yet her smile was the same, the same smile that had captivated me all those years ago.
“Arthur,” she whispered, her voice trembling.
Tears welled up in my eyes. It was her. Elizabeth.
She rushed towards me, her arms open wide. I held her close, burying my face in her hair, inhaling the scent of lavender, a scent that transported me back to a time of youthful dreams and endless possibilities.
“I never stopped loving you, Arthur,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. “I never stopped waiting.”
And in that moment, I knew that despite the years that had passed, despite the pain and the regret, love, true love, had a way of finding its way back home.
As we held each other, the world seemed to melt away. The years of separation, the loneliness, the fear – all of it seemed insignificant compared to the joy of holding her in my arms once more. We had lost so much time, but we still had now. And that, I realized, was all that truly mattered. The worn leather of my suitcase felt rough against my trembling hands. Forty years. Forty years of longing, of regret, of a life lived in a perpetual twilight. Forty years since I had last seen Elizabeth, the love of my life, the woman whose laughter still echoed in the empty chambers of my heart.
I remembered the day vividly. The rain was coming down in sheets, mirroring the storm brewing inside me. We were arguing, a petty disagreement blown out of proportion by youthful pride and stubbornness. I had stormed out, my words echoing in the rain-slicked street. “Fine,” I had spat, “I don’t need you!”
I hadn’t meant it. Not really. But the words hung heavy in the air, a cruel echo of my own anger. I walked for hours, the rain washing away my pride and replacing it with a growing dread. When I finally returned, the lights in our small apartment were off. I called her name, my voice cracking with fear, but there was no answer.
The police found her car abandoned by the river, a chilling testament to the storm that had raged within me. The search parties, the endless waiting, the gnawing uncertainty – it had aged me beyond my years. The vibrant hues of life had faded, replaced by a monotonous grey.
Then, a miracle. A letter, tucked amongst a pile of bills and advertisements, a faded envelope bearing a familiar handwriting. “I’ve been thinking of you,” it read.
The words, simple yet profound, ignited a fire within me. Hope, a fragile ember that had long since been extinguished, flickered back to life. I devoured every letter, each one a precious piece of her, a glimpse into the life she had built. I learned about her children, her grandchildren, her passions, her joys, and her sorrows. And with each letter, the ache in my heart lessened, replaced by a yearning so intense it almost consumed me.
Then, the invitation. “Come,” it read, “Come see me.”
She had included her address.
And so, here I was, 78 years old, sitting on a plane, my hands trembling, my heart pounding like a drum against my ribs. I hadn’t flown in decades. The world outside the window, a blur of clouds and sky, mirrored the chaos within me.
Suddenly, a sharp pain erupted in my chest. I gasped for air, my vision blurring. Voices, distant and muffled, filled my ears. “Sir, are you alright?” “We need to get him some air!”
Panic clawed at my throat. Not now. Not when I was finally this close.
Then, through the haze, I saw her face. Her eyes, the same shade of hazel as mine, wide with concern.
“John?” she whispered, her voice trembling.
And in that moment, time seemed to stand still. The pain, the fear, the decades of longing – they all faded away. All that remained was her. Elizabeth.
Tears welled up in my eyes, blurring her face. But I knew. I knew it was her.
And as I slipped into unconsciousness, I whispered her name, a silent prayer, a love song carried on the wind.
I woke up in a hospital room, the scent of antiseptic filling my nostrils. Elizabeth sat beside me, her hand gently clasped in mine.
“You gave me quite a scare,” she said, her voice soft as a summer breeze.
I managed a weak smile. “I wouldn’t miss this for the world.”
And as I looked at her, at the lines etched on her face, the silver strands in her hair, I knew that this was just the beginning. We had forty years to catch up on, to rediscover the love we had lost. Forty years to make up for the time we had wasted.
And as I held her hand, I knew that this time, nothing would ever tear us apart again.
These bugs come out at nighttime, and attacking victims, they silently kill or leave them with a lifelong infection
When Emiliana Rodriguez was a little girl, she recalls watching friends play a nighttime soccer match when one of the players abruptly died on the pitch.
Unaware of what had transpired, Rodriguez, a native of Bolivia, developed a phobia of the dark and the “monster”—the silent killer known as Chagas—that she had been told only appears at night.
Chagas disease is a unique sort of illness that is spread by nocturnal insects. It is also known as the “silent and silenced disease” that infects up to 8 million people annually, killing 12,000 people on average.
Emiliana Rodriguez, 42, discovered she had to live with Chagas, a “monster,” after relocating to Barcelona from Bolivia 27 years ago.
“Night is when the fear generally struck. I didn’t always sleep well,” she admitted. “I was worried that I wouldn’t wake up from my sleep.”
Rodriguez had specific tests when she was eight years old and expecting her first child, and the results indicated that she carried the Chagas gene. She recalled the passing of her buddy and remarked, “I was paralyzed with shock and remembered all those stories my relatives told me about people suddenly dying.” “I wondered, ‘What will happen to my baby?’”
Rodriguez was prescribed medicine, though, to prevent the parasite from vertically transmitting to her unborn child. After her daughter was born, she tested negative. Elvira Idalia Hernández Cuevas, 18, was unaware of the Mexican silent killer until her 18-year-old son was diagnosed with Chagas.
Idalia, an eighteen-year-old blood donor from her birthplace near Veracruz, Mexico, had a positive diagnosis for Chagas, a disease caused by triatomine bugs, often known as vampire or kissing bugs and bloodsucking parasites, when her sample was tested.
In an interview with the Guardian, Hernandez stated, “I started to research Chagas on the internet because I had never heard of it.” When I read that it was a silent murderer, I became really afraid. I had no idea where to go or what to do.
She is not alone in this; a lot of people are ignorant of the diseases that these unpleasant bugs can spread. The term Chagas originates from Carlos Ribeiro Justiniano Chagas, a Brazilian physician and researcher who made the discovery of the human case in 1909.
Over the past few decades, reports of the incidence of Chagas disease have been made in Europe, Japan, Australia, Latin America, and North America.
Kissing bugs are mostly found in rural or suburban low-income housing walls, where they are most active at night when humans are asleep. The insect bites an animal or person, then excretes on the skin of the victim. The victim may inadvertently scratch the area and sever the skin, or they may spread the excrement into their mouth or eyes. This is how the T. cruzi infection is disseminated.
The World Health Organization (WHO) estimates that between 6 and 7 million people worldwide—roughly 8 million people in Mexico, Central America, and South America—have Chagas disease; the majority of these individuals remain oblivious to their illness. These estimates are provided by the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC). The persistent infection might be fatal if untreated. According to the Guardian, Chagas disease kills over 12,000 people year, “more people in Latin America than any other parasite disease, including malaria.”
Despite the fact that these bugs have been found in the United States—nearly 300,000 people are infected—they are not thought to be endemic.
While some people never experience any symptoms, the CDC notes that 20 to 30 percent experience gastrointestinal or heart problems that can cause excruciating pain decades later.
Furthermore, only 10% of cases are detected globally, which makes prevention and treatment exceedingly challenging.
Hernández and her daughter Idalia went to see a number of doctors in search of assistance, but all were also uninformed about Chagas disease and its management. “I was taken aback, terrified, and depressed because I believed my kid was going to pass away. Above all, Hernandez stated, “I was more anxious because I was unable to locate any trustworthy information.”
Idalia finally got the care she required after receiving assistance from a family member who was employed in the medical field.
“The Mexican government claims that the Chagas disease is under control and that not many people are affected, but that is untrue,” Hernández asserts. Medical practitioners misdiagnose Chagas disease for other heart conditions because they lack knowledge in this area. Most people are unaware that there is Chagas in Mexico.
The World Health Organization (WHO) has classified chagas as a neglected tropical disease, which means that the global health policy agenda does not include it.
Chagas is overlooked in part because, according to Colin Forsyth, a research manager at the Drugs for Neglected Diseases Initiative (DNDi), “it’s a silent disease that stays hidden for so long in your body… because of the asymptomatic nature of the initial part of the infection.”
Forsyth went on to say, “The people affected just don’t have the power to influence healthcare policy,” making reference to the impoverished communities. It’s kept hidden by a convergence of social and biological factors.
Chagas, however, is becoming more well recognized as it spreads to other continents and can also be transferred from mother to child during pregnancy or childbirth, as well as through organ and blood transfusions.
The main objective of the Chagas Hub, a UK-based facility founded by Professor David Moore, a doctor at the Hospital for Tropical Diseases in London, is to get “more people tested and treated, and to manage the risk of transmission, which in the UK is from mother to child,” according to Professor Moore.
Regarding the WHO’s 2030 aim for the eradication of the disease, Moore stated that progress toward it is “glacial” and added, “I can’t imagine that we’ll be remotely close by 2030.” That seems improbable.
Two medications that have been available for more than 50 years to treat chagas are benznidazole and nifurtimox, which according to Moore are “toxic, unpleasant, not particularly effective.”
Although the medications are effective in curing babies, there is no guarantee that they will prevent or halt the advancement of the condition in adults.
Regarding severe adverse effects, Rodriguez remembers getting dizziness and nausea as well as breaking out in hives. She completed her therapy, and she gets checked out annually.
Moore goes on to say that while creating stronger anti-Chaga drugs is crucial to stopping the disease’s spread, pharmaceutical companies are currently not financially motivated to do so.
As president of the International Federation of Associations of People Affected by Chagas condition (FINDECHAGAS), Hernández is on a mission to raise awareness of the condition until there is a greater need on the market for innovative treatments.
In Spain, Rodriguez is battling the “monster” as part of a campaign to increase public awareness of Chagas disease being conducted by the Barcelona Institute for Global Health.
“I’m tired of hearing nothing at all,” Rodriguez declares. “I want Chagas to be discussed and made public. I’m in favor of testing and therapy for individuals.
They are being heard, too.
World Chagas Disease Day was instituted by the WHO on April 14, 1909, the day Carlos discovered the disease’s first human case.The WHO states that “a diversified set of 20 diseases and disease categories are set out to be prevented, controlled, eliminated, and eradicated through global targets for 2030 and milestones.” And among them is Chagas.
To prevent a possible infestation, the CDC suggests taking the following steps:
Close up any gaps and fissures around doors, windows, walls, and roofs.
Clear out the rock, wood, and brush piles close to your home.
Put screens on windows and doors, and fix any tears or holes in them.
Close up gaps and crevices that lead to the exterior, crawl areas beneath the home, and the attic.
Keep pets inside, especially during the evening.
Maintain the cleanliness of your home and any outdoor pet resting places, and check for bugs on a regular basis.
If you believe you have discovered a kissing insect, the CDC recommends avoiding crushing it. Alternatively, carefully put the bug in a jar, fill it with rubbing alcohol, and then freeze it. It is then recommended that you bring the bug’s container to an academic lab or your local health authority so that it can be identified.
Please tell this tale to help spread the word about an illness that goes unnoticed!
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