Dengue Season Is Here

Dengue fever has hit India with a vengeance over the last month. So far, more than 4000 cases and 89 deaths have been reported. As dengue survivors, we're not looking forward to the next few months. Thanks to the post-monsoon puddles, the Aedes mosquito that carries dengue has lots of breeding opportunities. So you can be sure that we're using DEET, wearing socks (mosquitoes, like Victorian gentlemen, are attracted to ankles), and emptying any standing water we have around the house. (Too bad there's a giant lake less than half a block away....)



The Dengue
Patrick J. Wilson
(with apologies to Mr. E.A. Poe)

Once upon an Eid-ul-Fitr, while I dined with my friends so dear,
Tasting many a quaint and curious bit of Bangladeshi treat,
While I ate up foods exciting, suddenly there came, alighting,
A mosquito gently biting, biting on my naked feet.
“’Tis some mozzie,” I muttered, “biting on my naked feet –
Just because my blood’s so sweet.”

Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bright November,
And each Mosquito Coast member cast its whining through the air.
Little did I know of dengue; – so often did the doc harangue me
To prevent bites that would pang me, pang me with despair,
Into rough and racking fevers that are, sadly, not so rare –
But, ignorant, I didn’t care.

Eight days later fever got me; I felt like someone had shot me,
Shot me full of poison to make me weep and moan;
But the fact was I’d been infected, and so gently was my foot injected,
And so faintly can it be detected, detected when the bite strikes home,
That I scarce was sure she bit me – Flavivirus was her loan –
A fever that they call “breakbone.”

Deep into that fever peering, long I lay there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortals ever dared to dream before;
But the fever was unbroken, and the first test gave no token,
And the only words there spoken was the whispered cry, “There’s more?”
This I whispered, and the doc confirmed the threat for me, “There’s more!
Muscle aches, and so much more.”

Back into my bedroom turning, my brain and all my body burning,
Soon again I felt a churning somewhat rougher than before.
“Surely,” said I, “surely that is something like a migrane,
For my head has never felt such great pain and such dizziness before;
Let my brain be still a moment – I’ll just lie here on the floor,
Lie and wish to die here upon the floor.”

For two whole weeks I lay dejected, with my wife (also infected),
In solitude unelected – ‘til the fever finally left.
With our symptoms in recession, dengue brought us one more lesson:
One whole month of mild depression; fatigue made us bereft –
Drained of all our energy, our muscles had no heft –
Christmas was that fever’s final theft.

Now the shrill and sad insectile trilling of each tiny wingtip
Thrills me – fills me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I’m always DEET-ing,
Lest some small mosquito fleeting give me dengue here once more –
Some tiny violent vampire bringing fever here once more; –
‘Cause I don’t want to have it anymore.