THE FUSE

I first learned about alpha-gal syndrome in the back corner of a tavern in Southwest Virginia as my aunt carefully unwrapped cellophane from a turkey sandwich she’d just pulled from her handbag. We were at a family birthday party, seated near an inviting spread of wood-fired pizzas laid out for guests. She noticed my quizzical look at the deli turkey. “It’s because of alpha-gal,” she said, and produced a small stack of printed papers from the same handbag. “I made these to give out at restaurants and to my doctors, because so many people still don’t know about it.”