Ill

A long time ago…

During the U.S. military regime in Korea, measles was running rampant. 

My neighborhood friends died off one by one.

I often cried from the pain, and the neighborhood mothers cried with me, reminded of the young they couldn’t save. 

It seemed as though I was recovering, but then it suddenly worsened. 

My mother, determined to save me, carried me on her back and knelt in front of the village chairman, my great grandfather.

She cried and cried and cried, pleading for some money to buy medicine.

The chairman was also very poor at the time, but his wife had pity on us.

She slid off her Rolex, a most precious item, pressing it into my mother’s palm and wishing us well.

With the Rolex in hand, my mother was able to find a doctor.

The doctor said penicillin would make me better.

I was too thin, my skin stuck to my bones, and he couldn’t find a suitable place to inject. 

He decided to inject it in my groin area. 

But the needle broke off, and even through surgery, it was not found, leaving only a scar. 

Miraculously, I was able to heal.

Around this time was when the Northerners attacked. 

We fled to Busan. 

I escaped from kidnappers, avoided rabid dogs, and fell into cold streams. 

When we finally returned to Seoul, I discovered a tuberculosis boil on my hand. 

It quickly took over my body.

Blood often flowed from my mouth. 

I was hospitalized, I survived, but it didn’t end.

I struggled through my middle and high school years.

I spent my days in and out of hospitals and schools.

Once my peers graduated, the law conscripted them. 

You were looked down upon if you ran from conscription. 

I wanted to be respected. 

Barred from the national military due to my illness, I joined a regional force.

I was discharged two times because of tuberculosis.

But I kept going. I served my time. 

My great-grandmother, who had saved me with her Rolex, delivered great news. 

She had found a doctor in Seoul who could treat my tuberculosis. 

I visited that doctor for over a year, taking a dizzyingly bitter medicine. 

My mother couldn’t bear to see me suffer.

Every time we visited the doctor, she would miraculously buy precious meat and cook it for me. 

The rich flavor helped combat the sharp bitterness.  

Over time, I recovered. 

My tuberculosis faded. I shouldn’t have smoked after that. 

My great-grandmother and mother had saved me a second time. 

Afterward, I left my family’s wing to find my own place in the world, but I never forgot their actions. 

Continued on Motherly Love