The Korea Chronicles, Volume II

If you'll recall from the end of my last epic post, The Korea Chronicles Volume I, it was foreshadowed that impending doom might be approaching. It did. In the form of a nasty flu. As Hannibal and his armies crossed the alps and launched a surprise attack against Rome, this nasty flu completely took me by surprise. How long has the author of this blog been battling this infirmity, tooth and nail?

6 days and counting.

But, if the reader will recall their ancient history, the Roman legions (me) were victorious over Hannibal (nasty flu) in the end. Lesson? Victory doesn't come without sacrifice. Hundreds of fruits, of the citrus family, have been ravaged - heartlessly plucked from their trees and mercilessly squeezed until their carcasses were left a pulpy mess, only to be strewn about in a pile of lifeless peels. This juice then became the contents of my carton of Tropicana Citrus Blend, which I have been devouring like a fat kid devours a McDonald's happy meal.

Behold, many are the fruits that will be slain on my path to recovery!

Let's observe a brief moment of silence, shall we?



There.

As one can imagine, this illness, this malady, this ailment, has left me quite indisposed, unable to take part in many "cool" activities that one would imagine a cool guy like me normally being involved in. Instead, I was left alone in my home to A) contently wallow in my own filth B) scamper around on all fours trying to catch insects to add to my collection, and C) feverishly fling feces out the window onto unsuspecting pedestrians below. All of which is true minus the part about wallowing in my own filth. I hate getting dirty. Also, minus the part about catching insects. I hate bugs. And, also minus the part about feverishly flinging feces at people. I hate feces.

On 8:00 am Sunday, April 11th 2010, this nasty flu reached what I believe to be its zenith. I found myself in the local emergency room with the most annoying doctor in the world. His name? Jimmy Kim, whose name I refuse to place the prefix "Dr." in front of. Good ole' Jimmy Kim would saunter around in his medical garb, telling sick patients that they were feeling better, whether they were or not. Jimmy Kim came to my room and told me that I was feeling better. I wasn't, so I told him I wasn't. He was a man who refused to take no for an answer. He proceeded to tell me how I felt, which was simply regurgitating the symptoms I had described to him earlier, and would come back to his original question, "But besides the fever, nausea, dizziness, diarrhea - besides that, you're feeling fine, right?"

I didn't say anything.

After four hours of "care", the annoying "doctor" once again came to my room and told me I was feeling better, and would be releasing me to go home. I still felt the same. Not feeling like arguing, I acquiesced to this discharging. He smiled heartily and waved as I left the emergency room, shivering cold, starving, and still not feeling much better.

Compared to yesterday, though, I feel like a million bucks. My wise and noble sister, an exceptionally knowledgeable nurse-in-training, gave me a special diet to adhere to for a few days. This diet is called the "BRAT diet". I've always had trouble with acronyms. B, I think stands for "Baked Beans". R for "Rhubarb". A for "Apples". And, T, I think, stands for "Tasmanian Tiger urine". (She undoubtedly learned about the many benefits of tiger urine when she was in living among the Chinese people, who have long considered it a panacea.)

Let's see how it works out!

(More to follow...)