Yesterday morning in Waikiki, after having my routine breakfast, I suddenly got tremendously dizzy. I plopped down onto my desk chair, unable to get up. My whole body seemed to be spinning so much out of control that I was afraid that I would pass out. Hyperventilating and dripping with sweat, I incoherently screamed for my wife. She immediately rushed from the other room to my aid. After seeing how distraught I was, she repeatedly took my blood pressure—it was substantially elevated. But after vomiting a few times, I felt better; and the blood pressure readings became normal. When I was able to concentrate, my wife asked me what caused this unexpected episode. Could the culprit have been my newly diagnosed anemia, or perhaps an overdose of caffeine or fiber? I even speculated that I might have been reeling from the onset of Covid-19.
But then I had a moment of clarity. I am fond of rare hamburgers. The night before when I was ravenous, I undercooked some bison. Even though I could see that the thick patties were unusually reddish, I chomped down on them—oblivious to the danger of food poisoning.
Abashed by my folly, I now have resolved that any hamburgers (or any other red meat, poultry or fish) that I cook or order out will be pinkish medium rare.
And if I happen to consume ground chuck, I will be even more vigilant. Upchucking is not a pleasant pastime.