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!
For 30 Years, My Father Made Me Believe I Was Adopted – I Was Shocked to Find Out Why
For thirty years, I believed I was adopted, abandoned by parents who couldn’t keep me. But a trip to the orphanage shattered everything I thought I knew.
I was three years old the first time my dad told me I was adopted. We were sitting on the couch, and I had just finished building a tower out of brightly colored blocks. I imagine he smiled at me, but it was the kind of smile that didn’t reach his eyes.
A girl playing with building blocks | Source: Pexels
“Sweetheart,” he said, resting his hand on my shoulder. “There’s something you should know.”
I looked up, clutching my favorite stuffed rabbit. “What is it, Daddy?”
“Your real parents couldn’t take care of you,” he said, his voice soft but firm. “So your mom and I stepped in. We adopted you to give you a better life.”
“Real parents?” I asked, tilting my head.
A man playing with his daughter | Source: Pexels
He nodded. “Yes. But they loved you very much, even if they couldn’t keep you.”
I didn’t understand much, but the word “love” made me feel safe. “So you’re my daddy now?”
“That’s right,” he said. Then he hugged me, and I nestled into his chest, feeling like I belonged.
A man hugging his daughter | Source: Pexels
Six months later, my mom died in a car accident. I don’t remember much about her—just a blurry image of her smile, soft and warm, like sunshine on a chilly day. After that, it was just me and my dad.
At first, things weren’t so bad. Dad took care of me. He made peanut butter sandwiches for lunch and let me watch cartoons on Saturday mornings. But as I grew older, things started to change.
A man feeding his daughter | Source: Pexels
When I was six, I couldn’t figure out how to tie my shoes. I cried, frustrated, as I tugged at the laces.
Dad sighed loudly. “Maybe you got that stubbornness from your real parents,” he muttered under his breath.
“Stubborn?” I asked, blinking up at him.
“Just… figure it out,” he said, walking away.
A girl crying | Source: Pexels
He said things like that a lot. Anytime I struggled with school or made a mistake, he’d blame it on my “real parents.”
When I turned six, Dad hosted a barbecue in our backyard. I was excited because all the neighborhood kids were coming. I wanted to show them my new bike.
As the adults stood around talking and laughing, Dad raised his glass and said, “You know, we adopted her. Her real parents couldn’t handle the responsibility.”
A man talking to his family at a barbecue | Source: Midjourney
The laughter faded. I froze, holding my plate of chips.
One of the moms asked, “Oh, really? How sad.”
Dad nodded, taking a sip of his drink. “Yeah, but she’s lucky we took her in.”
The words sank like stones in my chest. The next day at school, the other kids whispered about me.
Two girls whispering | Source: Pexels
“Why didn’t your real parents want you?” one boy sneered.
“Are you gonna get sent back?” a girl giggled.
I ran home crying, hoping Dad would comfort me. But when I told him, he shrugged. “Kids will be kids,” he said. “You’ll get over it.”
A man shrugging | Source: Pexels
On my birthdays, Dad started taking me to visit a local orphanage. He’d park outside the building, point to the kids playing in the yard, and say, “See how lucky you are? They don’t have anyone.”
By the time I was a teenager, I dreaded my birthday.
A sad girl in her room | Source: Pexels
The idea that I wasn’t wanted followed me everywhere. In high school, I kept my head down and worked hard, hoping to prove I was worth keeping. But no matter what I did, I always felt like I wasn’t enough.
When I was 16, I finally asked Dad about my adoption.
A girl talking to her father | Source: Midjourney
“Can I see the papers?” I asked one night as we ate dinner.
He frowned, then left the table. A few minutes later, he came back with a folder. Inside, there was a single page—a certificate with my name, a date, and a seal.
“See? Proof,” he said, tapping the paper.
I stared at it, unsure of what to feel. It looked real enough, but something about it felt… incomplete.
A girl looking at documents in her hands | Source: Midjourney
Still, I didn’t ask any more questions.
Years later, when I met Matt, he saw through my walls right away.
“You don’t talk about your family much,” he said one night as we sat on the couch.
I shrugged. “There’s not much to say.”
A young couple watching TV together | Source: Pexels
But he didn’t let it go. Over time, I told him everything—the adoption, the teasing, the orphanage visits, and how I always felt like I didn’t belong.
“Have you ever thought about looking into your past?” he asked gently.
“No,” I said quickly. “Why would I? My dad already told me everything.”
“Are you sure?” he asked, his voice kind but steady. “What if there’s more to the story? Wouldn’t you want to know?”
A couple having a serious talk | Source: Pexels
I hesitated, my heart pounding. “I don’t know,” I whispered.
“Then let’s find out together,” he said, squeezing my hand.
For the first time, I considered it. What if there was more?
A woman deep in thought | Source: Pexels
The orphanage was smaller than I had imagined. Its brick walls were faded, and the playground equipment out front looked worn but still cared for. My palms were clammy as Matt parked the car.
“You ready?” he asked, turning to me with his steady, reassuring gaze.
“Not really,” I admitted, clutching my bag like a lifeline. “But I guess I have to be.”
A couple talking in a car | Source: Midjourney
We stepped inside, and the air smelled faintly of cleaning supplies and something sweet, like cookies. A woman with short gray hair and kind eyes greeted us from behind a wooden desk.
“Hi, how can I help you?” she asked, her smile warm.
I swallowed hard. “I… I was adopted from here when I was three years old. I’m trying to find more information about my biological parents.”
A woman standing at a desk in an orphanage | Source: Midjourney
“Of course,” she said, her brow furrowing slightly. “What’s your name and the date of your adoption?”
I gave her the details my dad had told me. She nodded and began typing into an old computer. The clacking of the keys seemed to echo in the quiet room.
Minutes passed. Her frown deepened. She tried again, flipping through a thick binder.
A woman looking through documents | Source: Pexels
Finally, she looked up, her expression apologetic. “I’m sorry, but we don’t have any records of you here. Are you sure this is the right orphanage?”
My stomach dropped. “What? But… this is where my dad said I was adopted from. I’ve been told that my whole life.”
Matt leaned forward and peeked into the papers. “Could there be a mistake? Maybe another orphanage in the area?”
A man looking through the documents | Source: Midjourney
She shook her head. “We keep very detailed records. If you were here, we would know. I’m so sorry.”
The room spun as her words sank in. My whole life suddenly felt like a lie.
The car ride home was heavy with silence. I stared out the window, my thoughts racing.
“Are you okay?” Matt asked softly, glancing at me.
A serious woman in a car | Source: Midjourney
“No,” I said, my voice trembling. “I need answers.”
“We’ll get them,” he said firmly. “Let’s talk to your dad. He owes you the truth.”
When we pulled up to my dad’s house, my heart pounded so loudly I could barely hear anything else. The porch light flickered as I knocked.
It took a moment, but the door opened. My dad stood there in his old plaid shirt, his face creased with surprise.
A man in a plaid shirt | Source: Midjourney
“Hey,” he said, his voice cautious. “What are you doing here?”
I didn’t bother with pleasantries. “We went to the orphanage,” I blurted out. “They don’t have any record of me. Why would they say that?”
His expression froze. For a long moment, he said nothing. Then he sighed heavily and stepped back. “Come in.”
A man talking to his daughter | Source: Midjourney
Matt and I followed him into the living room. He sank into his recliner, running a hand through his thinning hair.
“I knew this day would come,” he said quietly.
“What are you talking about?” I demanded, my voice breaking. “Why did you lie to me?”
An angry woman | Source: Pexels
He looked at the floor, his face shadowed with regret. “You weren’t adopted,” he said, his voice barely audible. “You’re your mother’s child… but not mine. She had an affair.”
The words hit me like a punch. “What?”
A sad middle-aged man | Source: Midjourney
“She cheated on me,” he said, his voice bitter. “When she got pregnant, she begged me to stay. I agreed, but I couldn’t look at you without seeing what she did to me. So I made up the adoption story.”
My hands trembled. “You lied to me for my entire life? Why would you do that?”
A confused shocked woman | Source: Pexels
“I don’t know,” he said, his shoulders slumping. “I was angry. Hurt. I thought… maybe if you believed you weren’t mine, it would be easier for me to handle. Maybe I wouldn’t hate her so much. It was stupid. I’m sorry.”
I blinked back tears, my voice shaking with disbelief. “You faked the papers?”
He nodded slowly. “I had a friend who worked in records. He owed me a favor. It wasn’t hard to make it look real.”
A sad man looking at his hands | Source: Midjourney
I couldn’t breathe. The teasing, the orphanage visits, the comments about my “real parents” wasn’t about me at all. It was his way of dealing with his pain.
“I was just a kid,” I whispered. “I didn’t deserve this.”
“I know,” he said, his voice breaking. “I know I failed you.”
A sad woman sitting in her kitchen | Source: Midjourney
I stood up, my legs shaky. “I can’t do this right now. Be sure that I will take care of you when the time comes. But I can’t stay,” I said, turning to Matt. “Let’s go.”
Matt nodded, his jaw tight as he glared at my father. “You’re coming with me,” he said softly.
As we walked out the door, my dad called after me. “I’m sorry! I really am!”
But I didn’t turn around.
A sad grieving woman | Source: Pexels
This work is inspired by real events and people, but it has been fictionalized for creative purposes. Names, characters, and details have been changed to protect privacy and enhance the narrative. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
The author and publisher make no claims to the accuracy of events or the portrayal of characters and are not liable for any misinterpretation. This story is provided as “is,” and any opinions expressed are those of the characters and do not reflect the views of the author or publisher.
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