There isn’t any treatment for dengue, he said. It’s likely he’ll get worse before he gets better. More delirious. Also, it’s very painful. They used to call it breakbone disease. Ask anyone with dengue and they will tell you that it feels like their bones are broken. They all use the same phrase.
I said nothing.
But you should know that dengue is very common, the medic said. A mosquito-borne illness, endemic to the tropics. Only in rare cases is it fatal. Still. Your husband should get medical attention as soon as he gets ashore.
Ashore, I thought. Ashore sounded as magical a place as Arendelle.
Could we please go back a step? I asked. When should I worry? I mean, I’m worried already. But when would you recommend that I worry?
The real danger with dengue comes after the fever recedes, the medic said. If secondary symptoms present. This could indicate the possibility of hemorrhagic fever. Fairly quickly, the capillaries can fail, filling the lungs with—
Never mind, I said. Let’s not talk about that, after all.
But hemorrhagic fever would only be evident once the fever recedes. You should be ashore by then.
I didn’t mean to interrupt you, I said. Sorry.
Excuse me?
The music of closing credits strained from the quarter berth.
I’ve got to put my husband back to bed, I said.
That’s a good place for him, the medic said. Try to get him to drink fluids. Treat him just as if he had a really bad flu.
Thank you so much for your help, I said.
No problem. It was Jones again. Don’t forget, we’re nearby, he said. You can always check in with further questions or updates. You can’t see us, but we’re here.
See? I said. You’re amazing. I’m going to tell my husband. How well spent our tax dollars are. He’s always complaining about taxes. When he gets better, he’s going to have to admit that I was right.
Yes, ma’am, Captain, said Jones.
And the children charged in.
HOW YOU GO ’ROUND THE BOAT WITHOUT TOUCHING THE FLOOR. Start on settee cushions. March ’round table. This is easy part. Say to little brother, Keep up! Early challenge getting into quarter berth. Can possibly ride door clinging to doorknob. Come on, Doodle! Don’t watch, he can’t do it. Thud. Tell him Junior Climbers are allowed to use the floor at hard parts. Land on own bed. Two, three steps, launch off bed rail and FLY to Doodle’s bed. By the way, NEVER grab a bungee for support. Two, three steps across Doodle’s bed, then monkey around to clothes closet. Hands on underwear shelf. Feet on pants shelf. Thud. Doodle grabbed a bungee. Super Black Diamond Difficult shimmy around corner to nav station using ONLY wooden trim as handhold and feet against squeaky wall. Ah, bench. Rest. Pick Brother off the floor. Rest together. Whisper, Don’t touch ANYTHING on the nav table or Daddy’s going to break your butt. Step CAREFULLY around charts, laptop, then it’s a cinch along starboard settee, arriving at galley. Don’t forget to tell your brother he’s doing good. Easy to walk across countertop but must be done undercover as it is a CHEEKY and BAD thing to do. Slippery near sink, so tell Brother to exit course at end of settee and meet you over at the door to the aft berth. Long handholds over galley make this stretch of the course a cinch. Brother very excited. Brother doesn’t care that he looks like a jerking germ cell compared to Sister. Who is very advanced. He thinks only of the team. Then he does something dumb. Puts hand on handle to aft berth and starts to open door. NO! you scream. That’s not part of the course, you tell him. That room is off limits. Daddy’s sick in there!
The brother does not like loud, sudden screaming. He babbles babystuff. Tears come like he’s in big trouble. Must distract Brother. LOOK! Jump—no, FLY—from galley countertop to companionway ladder. WOAH. Amazing. Now Brother is on ladder too, preparing for final leg of course through the head. Everything all right down there? asks the helmswoman, peering down. Give her thumbs-up.