In a development that has sent a collective shudder through the global health establishment, the six-year-old Ebola patient who was so rudely abducted from a clinic in Beni, DR Congo, has been found safe and sound. The child, whose name is being withheld for reasons of privacy and general pandemonium, was taken by armed men on a motorbike – because nothing says 'medical emergency' like a two-wheeled getaway. Now, the little mite is back where he belongs, presumably demanding a juice box and an apology.
Meanwhile, back in Blighty, the NHS has assembled a crack team of medics who are on standby, which is medical jargon for 'hovering near a kettle, ready to look concerned'. The UK's response is, as ever, a masterpiece of theatre: we have dispatched experts who will likely spend the journey composing sternly worded letters about the importance of hand-washing. The World Health Organisation, meanwhile, is no doubt updating its 'How to Keep Your Ebola Patients from Being Nicked' manual.
The abductors, it seems, were not anti-vaxxers or rival epidemiologists, but rather a bunch of missing links who mistook the child for a bargaining chip. Because nothing spells negotiation leverage like a toddler with a haemorrhagic fever. The Congolese authorities, who have the survival instincts of a mayfly, are no doubt patting themselves on the back for their detective work.
Meanwhile, the child's family, who have been through more trauma than a reality TV contestant, are probably considering a move to the Orkney Islands, where the only epidemic is boredom. The UK's medics are on standby, ready to treat a patient who, by the time they arrive, will likely be more interested in learning the Macarena than in reviewing his viral load. The stage is set: a nation of hypochondriacs waits with bated breath.
Let us all raise a glass of gin – for the child's safety, for the absurdity of it all, and for the noble art of standing by.
