Today someone in my family lost his battle against Dengue.
And I’m angry, but I don’t know who or what I should direct my ire at.
The mosquitoes? People who were careless enough to breed them? Or the doctors who should have diagnosed it earlier?
I cannot even begin to comprehend how one tiny mosquito destroyed this big man.
It affected his liver, then the pancreas and today his kidneys failed. There was so much of internal bleeding that he had to be given fifty odd pints of blood last week. Everyone around him worked so hard to keep him alive, but I know he tried the hardest.
When I last spoke to him inside the ICU, he whispered that all he wanted was to get well enough to have ice-cream.
What makes his death that much harder to accept is the fact that he fought so valiantly and he was in no way prepared to die.
But in the end he lost. And Dengue has won yet again.