“Last, a reminder that the Ministry of Education has issued updated curriculum standards for English and Mathematics instruction,” he explains. “Department heads will be distributing materials later this week?—”
I’m in the middle of jotting down notes about the drill procedures when it hits me.
The nausea comes on suddenly, a wave of queasiness that rolls through my stomach and makes me break out in an instant cold sweat.
I press a hand to my stomach, willing it to pass, but it only intensifies.
Oh no. Not here. Not now.
Not in the middle of a faculty meeting!
I push back from the table, my chair scraping against the floor. Heads turn in my direction—including Mr. Noh’s, his speech faltering mid-sentence.
“Excuse me,” I sputter, already beelining for the door. “I’m sorry, I just—excuse me.”
I don’t wait for a response. I hurry out of the lounge and down the hall, making it to the women’s restroom just in time to empty my stomach into the nearest toilet.
The retching is violent and miserable, leaving me trembling and sweaty by the time it finally subsides.
More morning sickness.
Dr. Gong warned me it might get worse before it gets better.
I stay in the bathroom longer than necessary, partly because I’m not sure my stomach’s truly settled and partly because I’m dreading the walk of shame back to the faculty lounge.
Everyone saw me bolt out of there like the building was on fire. They’re probably all whispering about it right now.
When I finally gather myself and make my way back, the meeting has ended. Some teachers are filing out while others remain at their tables, laptops open, preparing their lesson plans.
Kelly spots me immediately and waves me over, her expression pinched with concern.
“Monroe! Are you okay? You looked like you were about to pass out.”
“I’m fine,” I mumble, sinking into the chair beside her. “Just... probably something I ate. I did have yogurt, and it’s been in our fridge for a while.”
Kelly studies me with narrowed eyes. “Youdolook kind of green.”
I blink at her. “Kelly, I’m Black.”
“So! You can still look green. I can totally tell. Are you sure you’re not coming down with something?”
Before I can respond, someone approaches our table from my periphery.
I look up to find Mr. Noh standing beside us, a steaming mug cradled in his hands. His expression is difficult to read at first, his dark eyes even more crinkled at the corners than they naturally are.
My stomach clenches with a different kind of anxiety. I interrupted his meeting. He’s probably here to reprimand me. Remind me that professional conduct means not fleeing the room in the middle of important announcements.
But instead, he extends the steaming mug toward me.
“Monroe Ross, is that correct? One of my second-year English teachers. I noticed you weren’t feeling well,” he says. “I thought this might help. It’s Saenggang-cha—ginger tea with some honey added. It’s very good for settling an anxious stomach.”
“Oh…” I stammer, caught off guard by the kind gesture. “That’s... thank you, Mr. Noh. You didn’t have to do that.”
“It’s no trouble. It helped my wife through her pregnancy many years ago.” He offers a small, warm smile. “If you’re still unwell, we have a substitute teacher on standby. There’s no shame in taking a day to recover.”
“I’m okay. Really. It’s nothing serious.”
He nods and takes a step back. “Well, the offer stands. As educators, we must remember to take care of ourselves.”
