let food be your medicine and medicine be your food

Hippocrates said this, according to the tote bag my fried Tracy brought to our boys' t-ball game tonight. In other words, eat right and you'll be well. The problem is, even health professionals can't agree on what eating right looks like. Some don't even think diet makes a difference, at least not for a three year old with chronic reflux. They'd rather prescribe the "real" medicine.

About a month ago Elliott was burping and refluxing so frequently, I timed these disruptions at three minutes apart for nearly two days straight. He was pointing to his throat and stomach saying, "Ouch." I felt terrible for him. But our family doctor didn't know what to do. He thought a stomach virus was aggravating his already delicate digestive system and it would subside soon. It did, but during his acute bout, the "wait and see" approach we've been operating under as a way to address E's ongoing chronic issue wore thin. As much as I hate intervention, especially after the boy has already been scoped and biopsied, I decided to make an appointment with another specialist for a second opinion. On a whim, I also decided to go hard core and completely eliminate dairy.

If we lived in the Far East, cutting dairy out of my son's diet would be a no brainer. No one in the Far East eats diary products. And, interestingly, practically none of the people who live there can tolerate them. Milk-drinking Americans have genetically mutated to digest lactose. Weird but true. It can be argued that we were never designed to drink the milk of other animals. But we do. And we love it.

This is where it gets really interesting. We drink big tall glasses of milk, we think we're downright healthy for it, and we suffer the consequences as the lactose wreaks havoc on our tummies. At least some of us. Elliott, for one.

Here's what we've discovered through our anti-cow experiment (which since we've begun, Elliott has been walking around the house singing "ei-ei-o," as if to say, finally you people are getting a clue): No dairy, no reflux. Tiny bit of dairy, within the hour, thrown up.

It's a little hard to believe that the solution to a chronic two-year problem could be this simple, but I think that's the health care system talking. In America, more is better: more doctors, more tests, more drugs, more interventions. Figuring out how to "cure" a condition by taking out a food group - one that's primary on the government's food pyramid, no less - seems downright hippie-like. Next we'll be moving to a commune and foraging for nuts and berries in the woods.

Interestingly, I have been rereading Barbara Kingsolver's book Animal, Vegetable, Miracle along with the seasons. Last week I finished the chapter on Late June, which was all about our dependence on cow's milk and lactose intolerance and so on. This weekend I listened to an incredible This American Life radio show explaining the American health care system called More Is Less (listen to it!), haphazardly chosen to accompany me while I washed a pile of dishes. And then today, completely unsolicited, a friend sent out this very provocative article by a physician who lays out more concerns about milk than I ever imagined existed. If God's trying to send me a message here, I'm getting it.

Hippocrates' idea of healthcare sounds pretty idealistic, if not like a downright fairytale. But maybe that has more to do with wanting what we want and not wanting to give up what we like. Lucky for me I have a three year old who doesn't get a vote. He's giving up ice cream and quesadillas and his beloved pizza. And I'm working on making up some delicious alternatives, because I know he feels better. Best of all, I didn't need to pay a specialist hundreds of dollars to tell me he needs medicine. Maybe I am a hippie afterall.