Her mind raced through the last two-and-a-half weeks of tests, procedures, and frantic phone calls. All of this suffering from a tiny tick bite?

Kevin is shown with his granddaughter, Addie. Suzanne Kreiter/Globe Staff

Kevin Boyce, 62, died on May 8, 2024. His death is a painful and extreme example of the cost of rising tick-borne disease in New England, where blacklegged “deer” ticks are endemic. To blame are rising temperatures from climate change, which allow more ticks to survive milder winters. A proliferating population of white-tailed deer, one of the ticks’ favored hosts, doesn’t help.

Lyme Disease cases in the US have more than tripled over the last three decades, and those figures only capture a fraction of the true total, since many cases go unreported. It’s a similar story for other tick-borne illnesses: Anaplasmosis, Babesiosis, and Powassan virus — a particularly deadly disease — are all on the rise.

Almost four times the number of people are sickened by the very rare but very dangerous Powassan virus now compared to a decade ago, according to the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention.

“It’s still a rare disease, but it is worrisome because the numbers are increasing in Massachusetts and elsewhere,” said Peter Krause, a senior research scientist at the Yale School of Medicine and School of Public Health, of Powassan Virus.

There were 12 cases reported in Massachusetts in 2024, according to preliminary CDC data — including Kevin Boyce.

The walls and end tables of the Boyces’ childhood home in Sudbury are full of antique trinkets, Irish blessings, and family photos. Kevin Boyce as a child with his siblings; him and his wife Lisa on their wedding day; him with his two sons, Patrick and Ryan. There are nieces and nephews, and friends and neighbors.

Kevin Boyce worked as a lineman for Verizon for more than two decades. Outdoor workers tend to have a higher risk of contracting tickborne illnesses due to higher exposure, medical experts told the Globe.Courtesy of Lisa Boyce

Kevin Boyce was the third child of Sheila and Warren Boyce, an entrepreneur who owned a jewelry store. They had, per his sisters’ accounts, a simple and idyllic childhood. Sudbury was more rural than suburban back then: Kids roamed on bikes along the dirt roads and played baseball in the field behind the house where his 92-year-old mother still lives today. He and his five siblings were “always in the woods,” his younger sister, Meghan Boyce Martin, said, “and of course, our mother checked us for ticks.”

As an adult, Kevin Boyce spent almost 25 years as a telephone and internet lineman for Verizon. His job took him into homes, rooftops, office buildings and around trees, bushes, and grasses.

Kevin Boyce was a dependable union man and hated to inconvenience others. His mother and sisters remember a childhood ski trip during which he took a hard fall: he writhed down the mountain and sat at the bottom of the slope for hours, waiting patiently as his dad and siblings finished their runs. Only when his father asked him to help load the car did he admit he couldn’t walk. He’d broken his leg. “That’s how he was,” his sister Erin Boyce recalled.

So, when Kevin Boyce got sick first with rheumatoid arthritis and then a treatable form of leukemia in early 2024, he was frustrated by his inability to work. Medicine helped, and a few months later, he rushed back out on the job — albeit immunocompromised.

His health soured on April 14, 2024. First came the fever. Then he started vomiting. He told his wife he needed to go to the bathroom, but he couldn’t move. She tried to help him up, and he collapsed. His head was killing him, he told her. They made it to the bathroom, and he fell again.

Lisa Boyce struggled to drag him back to the couch. He was mumbling and not making any sense. Her mind was racing: An extreme case of the flu? A side effect of his new medication? She called 911.

Kevin Boyce was lethargic and confused when he arrived at the emergency room at Emerson Hospital in Concord, according to his medical record, which the family provided to the Globe. The doctors gave him antibiotics and began to conduct tests.

He occasionally ripped out the IVs from his arm and yelled nonsensically at the television. “Is your husband like this?” the nurse asked Lisa Boyce. Absolutely not, she insisted. He’d never acted like this.

Blood work, urine cultures, CT scans, ultrasounds, lumbar punctures, an MRI, and more. The doctors initially suspected an infection causing sepsis, a severe immune response to an infection. Countless tests and theories, but no diagnosis.

Each day, Kevin Boyce’s speech became more garbled and his mind more confused. Sometimes, the nurses had to remind him to breathe. He once told them that it was the 1960s. Doctors noted symptoms of encephalitis, or severe inflammation of the brain.

On the fourth day in the hospital, his medical records noted a new test: “Tickborne panel is pending.”

“May consider Powassan viral studies,” wrote Dr. Ishmael Rivera.

More than 1.3 million Americans are bitten by a deer tick every year, researchers estimate, and thousands of those are likely bitten by a deer tick carrying Powassan Virus. Unlike Lyme disease, Powassan can be transmitted in as little as 15 minutes after attachment.

There are few ways to prevent tick-borne disease other than by avoiding ticks. Vaccines are in development, but those drugs are likely years away from use by the general public. Meanwhile, researchers have not yet found a reliable way to reduce tick populations. That leaves the onus on individuals to reduce their exposure — wearing long sleeves and long pants outdoors, using a reputable bug repellent, removing leaf litter from yards, and checking oneself for ticks.

For decades, Powassan was extraordinarily rare, with only about one case per year worldwide. But now, dozens of cases are reported in the US each year, mostly in New England and the upper Midwest.

Most people who get Powassan, researchers believe, never develop severe symptoms and may not even know they were sick with a tick-borne disease. But a small number will be dangerously symptomatic, often resulting in severe brain damage. Ten percent of diagnosed patients die. There is no cure, so treatment typically consists of mitigating suffering.

Stephen Rich, a microbiology professor at the University of Massachusetts Amherst who has studied the virus, said those with a weakened immune system are much more likely to develop a very severe case.

“There’s no magic pill,” Rich said. Right now, “there really isn’t anything other than supportive care.”

By the fifth day, a personal care attendant was monitoring Kevin Boyce 24/7, changing his clothes, feeding him, and observing his breathing.

Dr. Rivera came into the room and sat with Lisa Boyce.

“We’ve got to get Kevin out of here,” Lisa Boyce remembered him saying.

Nurse notes show Kevin Boyce‘s fever was spiking, and he wouldn’t sleep. Full-body tremors, always groaning, and doesn’t respond to verbal commands.

Dr. Rivera told the family that he needed advanced tests and specialized doctors available at Massachusetts General Hospital, and added him to a waitlist.

The next day, Lisa Boyce and her eldest son, Patrick Boyce, anxiously waited for news of a transfer.

In the late afternoon, the family took a break and left the hospital. Lisa Boyce drove home, let the dog outside, and ate dinner. Then, around 5 p.m., her phone rang.

“Can we intubate Kevin?” the doctor asked her.

They raced back to Emerson.

Her son went into the room first after the intubation, and he tried to brace his mom for it. “Dad’s calm,” he told her. “He’s not fighting anymore.”

She walked in to find her husband in a coma. Hours later, she watched with terror as a swarm of nurses prepared her unconscious husband for the late-night helicopter ride to MGH. Minutes after she kissed him goodbye, she heard the helicopter lift off.

Powassan virus is especially difficult to diagnose. The symptoms often include encephalitis, an inflammation of the brain, which can have many causes. Healthcare professionals can also be slow to recognize the signs of Powassan due to a lack of awareness about the disease, medical research studies have warned.

Plus, if a physician does suspect Powassan, highly technical lab tests are needed to confirm the diagnosis. Those tests can only be completed by a handful of specialized laboratories in the US and take weeks to complete.

“Because it’s rare, most labs won’t offer this, because it’s just not cost-effective for them,” Krause said. “So, that makes diagnosis even harder.”

Neither Emerson nor MGH agreed to the Globe’s requests to interview Boyce’s doctors for this story before the Globe’s deadline.

After Kevin Boyce got to MGH, the tests continued. For days, the doctors were concerned he might have tuberculosis, but that was eventually ruled out.

His breathing improved, and he was extubated . More tests. The days passed. Still no answers.

Lisa Boyce wondered: Her husband didn’t seem to be getting any better. Was she honoring his wishes? He never wanted to be on life support. At the same time, the doctors still didn’t know what was wrong. She couldn’t just abandon him.

It took the Boyce family 18 days to get an answer. On April 30, 2024, the doctors called.

They finally had a diagnosis.

In an office room of the hospital, Kevin Boyce’s family gathered around a table and hung onto every word. The doctors explained that he had contracted a rare disease called Powassan virus.

It was spread by ticks.

It was not curable.

Kevin Boyce had never mentioned being bitten by a tick. Then again, his sister Erin Boyce said, he wasn’t the type to complain about something like that.

Erin Boyce asked the doctor if he had brain damage. “Yes.” They asked if he would ever recover. “No.”

Kevin Boyce grew up skiing with his family, a hobby he enjoyed throughout his life. (Courtesy of Lisa Boyce)Courtesy of Lisa Boyce

If he couldn’t walk, if he couldn’t read, if he couldn’t ski, if he couldn’t hold his granddaughter, Addison, and if he couldn’t go to work… Their decision, the family decided, was clear.

All of his monitors were discontinued that night. A few days later, they moved him to a hospice facility in Central Massachusetts. The family visited. His mother, Sheila Boyce, recited the Memorare, a Catholic prayer, over his bed. His wife played his favorite music and watched the trees.

Kevin Boyce died a few days later. “Life became very empty,” Lisa Boyce said, “and very alone.”

The church parking lot for the funeral was packed. Out front, his union brothers and sisters parked Kevin Boyce’s Verizon bucket truck and hung an American flag. His best friend played “Somewhere Over the Rainbow” on trumpet.

In the same church where they were wed more than 30 years earlier, Lisa Boyce stood up to speak and didn’t stutter:

“He was the love of my life,” she recalls saying. “I’m very lucky that I had the time with him that I did.”

On a recent Saturday in May, Kevin Boyce’s family arrived at church for mass. It’s that time of year again when the cherry trees shed their flowers — weeks earlier than they used to, because of how climate change has warped the seasons.

In the year since Kevin Boyce’s death, Meghan Boyce Martin, his sister, has asked state land officials and her state representatives for signs warning of tick-borne disease to be posted at every hiking trail. Lisa Boyce has brought up Powassan virus at her regular doctors’ appointments and in her bereavement groups. They’ve spoken with the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, lawmakers, and local officials.

Most of the responses have just pointed the family to existing resources. But they know all too well that those are not enough.

With tick-borne disease on the rise in Massachusetts, the Boyce family wants more prevention education, better testing, and faster diagnoses. They want people to know that Kevin Boyce died too young.

And more than anything else, Lisa Boyce said, “I don’t want this to happen to anyone else.”

The family of the late Kevin Boyce, left to right: his mother Sheila Boyce, sister Erin Boyce, sister Meghan Martin, and wife, Lisa Boyce. They are photographed in his mother’s home, where he was raised. Kevin was diagnosed with Powassan virus, a rare and dangerous tick-borne disease.Suzanne Kreiter/Globe Staff

Erin Douglas can be reached at erin.douglas@globe.com. Follow her @erinmdouglas23.