The Horror of Ebola Virus Disease

By Elton Camp She was weak from vomiting and diarrhea Blood ran from her gums onto her teeth Her husband and sons had died horribly Only she and daughter Anne remained The whimpering child clutched her mother Soon, there was no longer any response Anne ran to the neighboring metal shack “Help me! I think mother is dead too.” “Get away!” the family fearfully ordered “You can’t come here. Go to your auntie.” Her mother’s sister lived a half-mile away The ten-year-old fled, stumbling, crying “I can do nothing, child,” the aunt said “You must never come here again!” Small and frail, Anne collapsed in the street Passers-by diverting gazes, walked on Not lack of care, but fear ruled the day Anne was an outcast by no fault of hers Hours passed as Anne grew ever weaker A doctor in a yellow bio-suit appeared A mask and goggle completed her protection Anne could see only a pair of brown eyes Desperately ill, she could only give her name The Ebola treatment unit was her only hope Anne was bathed, clothes burned, new ones given But without direct contact--only a faceless nurse Enshrouded in the manner of the doctor No vaccine or cure could be offered The health care workers must be kept safe Spread of the infectious virus must stop It was a lonely, terrifying time for Anne Parents dead, rejected by friends and family To save young Anne proved impossible She began to bleed freely from her mouth Her final hours were a terror of desperation Anne died miserably, alone and frightened The burial team sprayed her with disinfectant The same done for the inside of the body bag They slipped her inside and closed the zipper Then added a second and third body bag Open pits in the forest awaited Red Liberian clay filled the grave A crude, wooden marker erected “In Memory, Anne Rathborne”