Hepatitus-A And Raw Cow Tongue

I do not like getting sick. I do not enjoy being ill. I hate feeling icky.

There is a theme here, did you catch it?

I don't get sick very often, but when I do, Katie bar the door. It can get pretty messy. Knocks more than the wind outta me.

I was hoping against hope never to get sick here in Korea, sixteen time zones and one ocean away from home.

Naturally, the second week I was here, I got sick.

Make that Sick, with a capital "S."

On third thought, make that SICK (emphasis mine).

For the first week, I was very careful to eat only things like bread, oranges, and bananas, and to drink only bottled water, juices, and Coke and Pepsi. I took a multivitamin every day.

My boss, however, took me out to dinner a few times, and, being the polite guest that I am, I ate what he ate and drank what he drank. On the one hand, I was trying to ease my body into Korea as gingerly as possible. On the other hand, I knew that the sooner I got used to the food here, the better.

You're way ahead of me.

I did not realize what havoc evil Korean bacteria would wreak inside my delicate American body until the moment that, at 2am, after only ten days here, I woke up with a fever, night-chills, and nausea, my body covered in sweat.

During the next few days I also had a major loss of appetite, my body felt completely worn out and beaten up, and I got a bronchial infection that produced copious amounts of cheery-bright yellow and green stuff everytime I coughed. My bones ached. Even my hair ached.

Three days into this maelstrom, I discovered myself standing in the middle of my bedroom, head pounding, body aching, sweat dripping, saying over and over again, "I wanna go home, I wanna go home," tears running down my face.

How long had I been standing there?

It is a curious thing (he says, standing safely to the side and looking back with calm, cool, detached hindsight) for your body to continue to do something that your mind can neither comprehend nor stop. I wondered, idly, if mental illness ran in my family, or if I was a pioneer.

I know now that I had a mild Hepatitus-A infection. But still.

After five days of this, my boss was getting a little worried. I tried to explain that I just needed to rest and drink lots of fluids, but he insisted that I accompany him to lunch, to try to eat something. Get my strength back.

Uh-huh.

If there is a hell, I'm sure that it closely resembles this lunch.

Before the food came, before the kimchee, before even the tea, there was set before us a bowl, the contents of which were maroon and glistening. I leaned forward slightly, my head throbbing. There were small, wet, slightly bumpy chunks of dark red flesh.

I was feverish, I was nauseous, and I was staring at wet, raw meat, attractively displayed in a ceramic bowl.

It was not a good combination.

My boss dipped in with his chopsticks, picked up a wiggly-jiggly piece (making me, wildly, think of Jell-o), and popped it in his mouth. I had to ask.

"What is that?"

"Oh! Cow, uh, hyo...cow..." He seemed at a loss, then stuck out his tongue and pointed.

Oh. Oh my.

Suddenly, I felt it. You all know the feeling. It starts down in your stomach, tingling, a million butterfly-snakes looking for a way out. You try to swallow, and that's probably a mistake. The liquid, tingling sensation rises up from your stomach to your throat, bringing goosebumps to your arms and spiders to your neck. Your mouth tastes sour and, all of a sudden, it's right there.

I turned away from the table, closed my eyes, and meditated on my new mantra: "I will not vomit on my new boss. I will not vomit on my new boss."

The feeling passed, very, very slowly, flashing gang signs out of its side window as it left. A violent uprising at lunch was narrowly avoided, but the message left behind was crystal clear:

"Next time, you and your boss won't be so lucky, chingu."