My fiancé, M, and I are going to Thailand in three months. We consume every blog post, travel site, book chapter and cooking article available. The main theme, aside from Buddhism and beaches, is shrimp. Shrimp stew. Shrimp broth. Shrimp kabobs. Shrimp-I-can’t-pronounce-it-but-it-looks-delicious. While this may seem intriguing to most, it is alarming to us. You see, M is allergic to shellfish.
The conversation following this discovery went something like this:
“We can learn how to say the words for shellfish.” I say.
“Thai is tonal,” M reminds me.
“We’ll just learn how to pronounce the word for shellfish.”
“Menus aren’t written down. And even if they are, they don’t typically cite “shellfish stew” or “shellfish cakes”.”
“We’ll learn to read all the words…for every type of shellfish.” I grit my teeth.
”There is shellfish that we’ve never even heard of in Thailand.”
I am stumped. “Shit. Don’t panic. Let’s pause before panic.” I silently panic. “I know! We can make little cards that we carry around with us.”
“Like a diabetic?” M is dubious.
“Yes! Like a diabetic! We can carry business-sized cards that have a visual image of a shellfish. And we can put a X over it, or a slash through it. Like the no smoking signs where a cigarette is slashed and encircled in red. That has to be universal. Right?”
M stares at me.
“And we could even post a photo of a man. Maybe even a picture of you? A picture of you. Maybe you choking. On shellfish.”
“Let me get this straight. You think we should carry around a business card with photos of me choking on shellfish?”
M is right. Suddenly I envision myself drinking from a bowl of noodles, commenting how the broth tastes wonderful…familiar even…like a soup I’ve had once before. Just as M slurps down his soup, I recognize bits of scallops between my teeth. “Noo-ooo!!!!” I yell in slow motion as I slap an empty bowl from his hand and he drops to the ground in asphyxiation.
But I digress. The real issue is that we need to find a solution, and we need to find it quick.
“Can’t you take a test to see if you’re still allergic? When was the last time you ate shellfish?” M does some research. It was 20 years ago. He calls the doctor and starts the testing.
“First, we’ll conduct a scratch test. Should your arm swell, we know you’re allergic. Should it not, we’ll take a blood test.” The doctor is optimistic. First test, no swelling. Next up: blood test.
M texts me. “The blood test is negative! SHELLFISH CHALLENGE!”
M’s shellfish challenge commences at 8:30 am tomorrow. We bought shrimp cocktail for the affair. (We bought in bulk. If M is rushed to the emergency room because his throat closes, I might be hungry in the waiting room.) M will sit with a handful of fourth graders, also determining if they are allergic to shellfish, and eat shrimp every half hour for four hours. Should all go well, M will survive, our trip will be a breeze, and a fourth grader won’t puke shrimp on him. Wish us luck!