In what can only be described as a PR disaster for the Grim Reaper, a six-year-old Ebola patient has been rescued from a hospital in the Democratic Republic of Congo and is now, according to officials, “doing well.” That’s right, doing well. As in, out of the woods. As in, no longer using a viral hemorrhagic fever as an excuse to skip school forever.
Let this be a lesson to all you death merchants and viral overlords: if you want to take down a toddler with the plague, you had better bring a bigger gun. This child, whose name has been withheld presumably to protect him from autograph hunters and vaccine salesmen, was plucked from the jaws of infectious defeat by a team of doctors who clearly didn’t read the script. “We were supposed to be sad,” said one visibly disgruntled WHO official. “Now we’ve got to reprint all the press releases.”
Ebola, for those of you who have been living under a rock that is itself under quarantine, is a nasty piece of work. It’s the sort of disease that makes the common cold look like a polite cough into the crook of your elbow. It was meant to be a death sentence, a one-way ticket to a biohazard bag. But this child, this tiny warrior of juvenescent defiance, has decided that mortality can wait. He has things to do. He has toys to break. He has a life to not die from.
The rescue operation was, by all accounts, a masterclass in medical derring-do. Doctors in hazmat suits that looked like overpriced Michelin Man costumes performed acts of clinical wizardry while the world held its breath. And now, the patient is sitting up, eating solid food, and presumably demanding a refund for the time he spent incubating a lethal virus.
“We are cautiously optimistic,” said a spokesperson for the hospital, a phrase that in medical circles translates roughly to “We have no idea what happened, but we’re not going to question it.” The child’s recovery has been so swift that it has caused a minor crisis of faith among the doom-sayers. “This is very inconvenient,” complained a local undertaker. “I had the tiny casket all polished and ready.”
In related news, the global community is reportedly “encouraged” by this development, which is code for “any excuse to drink champagne.” Governments that had been stockpiling body bags are now eyeing them for alternative uses, such as oversized handbags or emergency picnic blankets. The World Health Organization has officially downgraded the situation from “apocalyptic” to “mildly concerning but hey, kids are tough.”
Of course, not everyone is pleased. The Ebola virus itself is said to be “deeply disappointed” with this turn of events. In a statement released through its preferred vector, the virus declared that it had been “screwed over by a six-year-old with a strong immune system and an attitude problem.” It vowed to re-evaluate its virulence strategy and return with a vengeance during flu season.
Meanwhile, the child in question has been discharged from critical care and is now reportedly “bored.” He has been seen attempting to escape his hospital ward, only to be thwarted by a locked door and a nurse with a firm grip. “I want to go home,” he was heard saying, a sentiment that strikes fear into the hearts of parents everywhere but also represents a significant victory over the forces of microscopic darkness.
This is a win. A small, sticky-fingered, poster-paint-smudged win for humanity. Let us savour it before the next pandemic comes knocking, because it will. It always does. But for now, a six-year-old has looked into the abyss and told it to bugger off. And that, dear readers, is news worth celebrating.
