Finding out that a student is absent because he/she is in the hospital should be terribly alarming.   Actually, it’s like someone telling me they’d like a glass of soju with their bibimbap.  It’s just typically, quintessentially, Korean.

(I’m going to speak in sweeping stereotypes now so if this offends you:  kindly look away!)

Koreans go to the hospital for everything.  They go for a sniffle.  A cough.  When they vomit.  For dry eyes.  For itchy skin. For soreness in their muscles.  For canker sores.  They go for ev.er.y.thing.  On any given day students all over campus are on crutches, or have a finger, ankle, knee, wrist or elbow wrapped up tight.  My first question is always did you break it? And more often than not, the answer is well, no… but…almost.  Natalie had a friend this year in first grade who was in a wheelchair for a week when she broke her toe.  They doted on that vibrant, adorable little girl like she had a glass heart.

There just is no such thing as “Let’s wait a couple days and see how you feel.”  There is no “Put some ice on it,” or “Take some ibuprofen.”  Instead, there is an immediate IV for fluids, extensive testing, definite prescribed medication, and an almost certain overnight stay.

But I kind of like it.  Because I kind of get it.

First of all, we sometimes know there’s nothing inexorably wrong with us, we just want someone to say, I’m sorry you feel like shit.  Here, have a cookie.

Second, and I think I actually read this somewhere, the average person is, more often that not, marginally dehydrated — for which, therefore, an IV makes complete sense.  You’ve come all this way, why don’t you enjoy yourself some delicious electrolytes while we get a phlebotomist, down here,  STAT!

Third, and I’m guessing people from all over the globe would agree, sometimes you just need a damn break.  Somewhere quiet – away from the norm.  From schedules.  From routine.  From work.  From kids.  From working with kids.  Wait.  Who’re we talking about here?

Yet.  It’s also weird.  I mean, a hospital stay and a prescription for oxycontin for ear pain that tested negative for infection, is unaccompanied by fever and has no  underlying explanation?  I’m no doctor, but really?

Korean youth do follow the trend with seeking medical attention for every tiny burp and mishap.  The following are actual exchanges I have had with students this year.  Really.

“Mrs Hamlin can I go to the nurse?”

…my finger feels pained and I’m worried I might have slept on it funny.

  …I think I might feel sick soon.

  …I think my knees are feeling a little bit squished together.

 …my stomach is hurting.  Your class makes me hungry.

…the inside of my mouth is pink.

…my fingernail has a soldier inside it.

 …I have a paper cut.  I can’t see it but I can feel it.

…my eye is so red the world has turned purple.

  …I twisted my ankle last week.  To my blank stare, he continued it just starting hurting.

  …my lungs feel too full.

And This —  Me:  I’m tired.  Student:  You should see a doctor.  Me:  For being tired?  Student, shrugging:  It’s Korean.   

See, they know.   They understand it’s over the top, but it’s the Korean way.   It is wonderfully, delightfully and consummately Korean.  Who’s it really hurting anyway?  Doctors are happy to have the business.  Patients are happy to have the attention.  Students are happy to miss school.  Professionals are happy to miss work.  Moms are happy to ….. Wait.  Who’re we talking about here?

The other day I received a generous gift for nothing more than welcoming a parent to school during my prep time (and not asking her to wait to see me until conferences.)

It was a lovely present – 12 palm-sized bottles of red ginseng and 8 pop-tart sized packets of – more red ginseng.  I don’t know if any of you take ginseng (or know what it’s for if you do) but I do not.  I’m gathering up the gumption for it.  Really I am.  It smells quite a lot like…earth.  The little glass jars with beautiful red labels and hangul lettering are like a private apothecary.  I feel like Dr. Jekyll swirling the concoction around diabolically, worried I’ll turn into Hyde if I drink it.

I’ve asked students and Korean colleagues what ginseng is good for.  “Your health!” they answer, with little patience.  “I know,” I reply, “but what part of my health?”  “All of it!” they tell me.  “Are you sure?” I ask. “No!” they admit with gusto.

Gifts are given in Korea for many reasons.  And for no reason at all.  One day I let a student borrow an earring from me and on the following day she brought me a handmade bookmark and a mug full of chocolates in return.  I have received cupcakes and cookies from students on their birthdays. For writing students’ recommendations, I was given two English tea mugs, a tin business card holder, fish oil and fresh bread.  Not all from the same person.  At our first round of conferences in the fall, I received hand lotion, perfume, lipstick, room deodorizer, amazing pastries and a beautiful hair barrette made of jade.

Last month, Luke spent the night at his friend Hung-gu’s house and when his mother brought him home, she gave me a vibrant yellow umbrella.  We have received honey, cooking oils, seaweed wraps, soap, shampoo/conditioner, half-dried persimmons, boxer shorts, pens, dried squid, socks, cases of noodles and boxes of plastic gloves.  I don’t need the gifts and I don’t expect them. But it’s a lovely thing Koreans do – celebrating and thanking each other every little whip stitch.  It makes a person feel celebrated.  And who doesn’t like a little of that?

These were left anonymously on our desks one day. The one of the left is Guy. Cute, eh?