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!
My First Love and I Agreed to Travel the World Together After Retirement — But When I Arrived at the Meeting Spot, a Man Was Waiting for Me
When John returns to the bench where he and his first love once promised to reunite at 65, he doesn’t expect her husband to show up instead. But when the past collides with the present, old promises give way to unexpected beginnings… and a new kind of love steps quietly into the light.
When I was 17, Lucy was everything to me.
We had it all. From secret notes folded into squares and passed under desks, first kisses under the bleachers, promises whispered like prayers into the dark. And one of those promises was simple.
A young couple | Source: Unsplash
“If we can’t be together now, let’s meet at 65, when we’re well into our lives. If we’re single, then let’s see where we’ll go. If we’re married, then we’ll catch up about our spouses and children if we have any… Deal?”
“Deal,” Lucy had said, smiling sadly.
We picked a place. A little park with a pond on the edge of a quiet city. A wooden bench, nestled beneath a pair of sprawling old trees. No matter what.
Life, of course, pulled us apart the way it always does. Her family moved across the ocean. I stayed, put down roots, lived a long and full life.
I did it all.
A bench in a park | Source: Unsplash
Marriage, two kids, a messy divorce, five grandkids who now tower over me. But through it all. Birthdays, holidays, years stacked on years… but on Lucy’s birthday, I thought of her.
And when I turned 65, I packed a bag and went back to the city, and checked into a motel. I felt like 17 again.
Suddenly, life was bright again. Full of possibilities. Full of hope.
The exterior of a motel room | Source: Pexels
The air was crisp, the trees dressed in golden jackets, and the sky hung low and soft, like it was holding its breath. I followed the winding path, each step slow, deliberate, like I was retracing a dream I wasn’t sure was real.
My hands were jammed into my coat pockets, my fingers curled tight around a photograph I didn’t need to look at anymore.
I saw it. The bench. Our bench. Still nestled between the two ancient trees, their branches reaching over like old friends leaning in close. The wood was darker than I remembered, worn smooth by time and weather… but it was still ours.
A bench in a park | Source: Unsplash
And it wasn’t empty.
A man was sitting there. Mid-sixties, maybe a bit older. He had neatly trimmed gray hair and wore a charcoal suit that didn’t quite match the softness of the afternoon. He looked like he’d been waiting, but not with kindness.
He stood slowly as I approached, as if bracing himself for a confrontation.
“Are you John?” he asked, his voice flat.
“Yeah, I am,” I said, my heart inching into my throat. “Where’s Lucy? Who are you?”
An elderly man sitting on a bench | Source: Pexels
His eyes flickered once, but he held his posture. He looked like every breath cost him something.
“Arthur,” he said simply. “She’s not coming.”
“Why? Is she okay?” I froze.
He took a sharp breath, then let it out through his nose.
An elderly man looking down | Source: Pexels
“Well, John. Lucy is my wife,” he said tightly. “She’s been my wife for 35 years. She told me about your little agreement. I didn’t want her to come. So, I’m here to tell you… she’s not.“
His words landed like sleet. Wet, sharp, and unwanted.
And then, through the trees, over the sound of leaves skipping along the path, I heard footsteps.
Trees in a park | Source: Pexels
Quick. Light. Urgent.
A figure appeared, weaving through the golden blur of the afternoon. Small, fast, and breathless. Silver hair pulled back in a loose knot that bounced with every step. A scarf trailed behind her like a forgotten ribbon.
Lucy.
My Lucy.
“Lucy! What are you doing here?” Arthur spun around, startled, his eyes wide.
An elderly woman standing outside | Source: Pexels
She didn’t slow down. Her voice rang out. She sounded like herself but more… determined.
Clear. Controlled. Sharp as frost.
“Just because you tried to keep me locked up at home, Arthur, doesn’t mean I wouldn’t find a way out! You’re ridiculous for pulling that stunt!”
The exterior of a home | Source: Pexels
She must’ve left right after him. Maybe she’d waited until he turned the corner. Maybe she watched him walk away and made her decision the moment that door clicked shut.
Whatever it was, the sight of her now… bold and defiant, stirred something in me. Something fierce. Something young.
Lucy stopped in front of me, chest rising and falling. Her cheeks were pink from the cold, from the sprint, maybe even from nerves. But her eyes, my God, those eyes, they softened when they met mine.
A close up of an elderly woman | Source: Pexels
“John,” she said gently, as though no years had passed at all. “I’m so glad to see you.”
Then she hugged me. Not out of politeness. Not for show. It was the kind of embrace that reached all the way back through time. One that said I never forgot about you. One that said you mattered all along.
Arthur cleared his throat behind us, sharp and intentional. And just like that, the spell broke.
An elderly couple embracing at a park | Source: Pexels
We ended up at a coffee shop nearby. The three of us, sitting in a triangle of awkward energy. Arthur scowled into his coffee. Lucy and I talked, haltingly at first, then like old friends who’d been on pause too long.
She showed me a picture of her daughter. I showed her my grandson’s graduation photo. Our voices filled the silence with old stories and echoes.
Then, suddenly, Lucy leaned across the table and brushed her fingers over mine. My body almost recoiled at her touch… Arthur was right there.
People at a coffee shop | Source: Pexels
“John,” she began softly. “Do you still have feelings for me? After all this time?”
I hesitated. I didn’t know how to answer this question. Maybe… maybe I did have feelings for her. But maybe they were just for the memory of who we were.
“Maybe a little,” I said. “But mostly, I’m just happy to see that you’re okay.”
A close up of an elderly man | Source: Pexels
We parted ways without exchanging numbers. There were no grand declarations. No lingering stares. It was just a quiet understanding. Closure, I thought. The kind that aches but doesn’t… bleed.
Then, a week later, someone knocked on my door.
It was late afternoon. The sun was dipping low, casting long shadows across the living room floor. I wasn’t expecting anyone. I shuffled to the door, still in socks, a mug of lukewarm tea in my hand. When I opened it, I blinked.
A person standing on a porch | Source: Pexels
Arthur.
He stood stiffly on my porch, hands shoved deep into his coat pockets. His posture was defensive, like a man bracing for a swing.
“Are you planning on stealing my wife, John?” he asked bluntly, his eyes fixed somewhere over my shoulder.
“Excuse me?” I stared at him.
“She told me that you used to be in love with her,” he said. “Still might be. So, I’d like to know.”
I set the mug down on the side table in the hallway, my hands were suddenly unsteady.
A mug of tea on a table | Source: Unsplash
“I couldn’t steal Lucy even if I tried, Arthur. She’s not someone to be taken. She’s her own person. And she loves you. That’s enough for me. I was just honoring a promise that we made decades ago. I didn’t go to the park with any expectations other than to see Lucy all happy in her old age.”
Arthur looked like he didn’t know what to do with that. He rocked slightly on his heels, eyes scanning the floorboards.
“We’re having a barbecue next weekend, John,” he said after a moment of silence. “You’re invited, okay?”
An elderly man sitting on a porch step | Source: Pexels
“Seriously?” I blinked.
“She wants you there,” he said, dragging each word out like it tasted bad to him. “And… Lucy wants to set you up with someone.”
The air between us thickened. He looked like he wanted to evaporate.
“And you’re okay with that?” I laughed.
“No, but I’m trying. Honestly, I am,” he sighed.
A smiling older woman reading a magazine | Source: Pexels
“How did you even find me?” I called after him as he turned to leave.
“Lucy remembered your address. She said that you never moved and told me where to find you.”
And just like that, he walked off down the street, leaving behind silence and something unexpected: the sense that maybe this story simply wasn’t over yet.
An elderly man walking away | Source: Pixabay
After Arthur left, I felt a surge of energy. It wasn’t about Lucy. It was true, what I’d told her husband. I didn’t have any expectations about Lucy and us rekindling what we’d had in our youth.
If I was truly honest with myself, I wasn’t sure about being in a relationship again. At my age, was it worth all the drama? I was fine with just being a grandfather.
I went about my day making French toast and humming to myself. I didn’t know who Lucy wanted to set me up with, but the thought of getting out of the house felt good.
A plate of French toast | Source: Unsplash
The next weekend, I showed up with a bottle of wine and low expectations.
Lucy greeted me with a hug and wink, the same way she used to years ago when we snuck off during school breaks. Arthur gave me a grunt that was more bark than bite. And before I could fully step into the backyard, Lucy looped her arm through mine.
People in a backyard | Source: Pexels
“Come help me pour drinks,” she said.
We walked into the kitchen, the clink of cutlery and hum of laughter drifting behind us. She opened the fridge, pulled out a pitcher of lemonade and handed me a glass.
“She’s here, you know,” Lucy said, pouring another glass of lemonade. “The woman that I’d like you to meet.”
“Really?” I asked, already knowing.
A glass of lemonade | Source: Unsplash
“Grace, that’s her name,” Lucy smiled. “She’s a friend from the community center. She lost her husband six years ago. She reads like it’s a full-time job, volunteers at the library and she’s got a thing for terrible wine… and even worse puns. Seriously, John, she’s the kind of woman who remembers your birthday and shows up with carrot cake before you even ask.”
I glanced through the kitchen window. Grace was outside, laughing at something Arthur said, her sunhat slightly askew, earrings swinging. She looked comfortable.
The interior of a library | Source: Unsplash
Open.
“She’s kind,” Lucy added, softer now. “The kind of kind that doesn’t need a spotlight, you know?”
“Why are you telling me all this?” I asked, sipping the lemonade.
Lucy looked at me for a long moment.
A smiling older woman | Source: Pexels
“Because you’ve loved well, John. And you’ve lost hard… And I think it’s time you met someone who might just understand both.”
Back outside, Grace smiled when I approached her. We walked over grilled corn and folded lawn chairs, our conversation easy and light. She teased Arthur. She called me out for trying to win a card game by bluffing.
She laughed with her whole chest, head thrown back like the sky was in on the joke.
Corn on a grill | Source: Pexels
After six months of letters tucked into books, long walks, and sunrise breakfasts at quiet coffee shops, Grace and I were officially dating. It wasn’t electric.
But it was true.
One day, the four of us took a trip to the ocean. A rental cottage. Seafood dinners. Late-night poker games.
A seafood boil on a tray | Source: Pexels
Arthur eventually stopped treating me like a threat and started calling me by my first name. Without ice in his voice. That was progress.
On the last day, I sat beside Lucy on the sand, warm light pouring over everything. Grace and Arthur were wading out into the water, half-challenging the waves.
“You don’t have to cling to the past, John,” Lucy said gently. “You’re allowed to move forward. But never forget what the past gave you. Never forget what Miranda gave you… a family. All of that is why you are who you are…”
Birds flying over the sea | Source: Unsplash
And in that moment, watching the two people we had grown to love splash in the sea, I realized she was right.
Lucy and I weren’t each other’s endings. But we’d helped each other begin again. And that was more than I’d ever hoped for. Maybe I needed more than just being a grandfather…
As the sun dipped lower, Grace walked back toward me, barefoot and glowing, a seashell cupped in her palm.
A seashell on the beach | Source: Unsplash
“I found this,” she said, holding it out. “It’s chipped. But it’s also kind of perfect, don’t you think?”
“Like most good things,” I said, taking the shell and tracing the ridges with my thumb.
She sat beside me, her shoulder brushing mine. Neither of us spoke for a moment. The tide whispered its rhythm, slow and steady.
An elderly couple standing together | Source: Pexels
“I saw you with Lucy,” Grace said softly. “I know you have history.”
“We were young,” I nodded. “But it was important.”
“And now?”
“Now I’m here, with you.”
An elderly couple embracing | Source: Pexels
She didn’t look at me right away. Instead, she reached for my hand and laced her fingers through mine. Her skin was warm and familiar in a way that felt like it had taken a long time to earn.
“I don’t need to be your first,” she said. “Not at our old age anyway. But I just want to be someone who makes the rest of the story worth telling.”
I looked at her then, really looked, and felt something settle in my chest. A kind of peace I hadn’t known I needed.
“Oh, Gracie. You already are.”
An elderly couple holding each other | Source: Pexels
What would you have done?
If you’ve enjoyed this story, here’s another one for you:
Easter was always my favorite—floral dresses, big hugs, and the smell of Mom’s roast filling the house. So when I called to say I’d be home, I didn’t expect my mom to tell me I didn’t have a family anymore. I froze. But nothing could’ve prepared me for the real reason that made them all turn on me.
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