Conrad was Polish, right? What was Nabakov's original tongue?

You know what horrifies me? When I discover a tick on me and see that it's all engorged with my blood, and I realize how long it must've been there unbeknowest to me. *shudder* It is a sort of retrospective disgust. And of course I'm in terror that I might get rocky mountain spotted fever or something. *ugh* I've often imagined heaven as beautiful gardens and lawns and woods without any nasty bugs.