The Tooth Trip

I remember his smile. I sat on our sky-blue loveseat, nursing my sweet one-year-old son to sleep, as the enchanting melodies of Django Reinhardt danced through the air. Rays of sunshine reached toward us, and I breathed deeply in an attempt to savor the second. Suddenly, Benjamin’s little jaw clenched down, his baby-sharp teeth sinking into my breast. I shrieked and yanked him away from my body in a single movement that left me feeling guilty and throbbing. And as I looked into his lovely, still-sleeping face, he smiled. Oh, that smile.

Benjamin was a perfectly round, breastfed baby boy. He grew quickly, played hard, and learned with great enthusiasm. But at just eighteen months of age, I noticed some discoloration between his front teeth. Flossing failed to remove any debris and I broke countless pieces of floss in the attempt. I was afraid he had some decay and scheduled a meeting with a local dentist. His first appointment confirmed my fears and revealed severe cavities in Benjamin’s top four teeth. Now, the news of Benjamin’s tattered teeth might not have weighed so heavily if the dentist hadn’t recommended immediate repair under general anesthesia. Moreover, the dentist and his staff blamed breastfeeding—the very thing I believed offered the most substantial nourishment to my baby. When I mentioned that I knew countless mothers that nursed their babies as long as I had nursed Benjamin, a hygienist defensively answered that “their babies probably have mouths full of cavities and their mothers just don’t know it”. Against our better judgment, my husband Jeff and I consented to fluoride treatments, during which the dentist enlisted Jeff’s help in holding Benjamin down. “This hurts us more than it hurts him,” said the young dentist each time. I doubted it. And Benjamin got sick after each treatment. We began hunting for fluoride information, and quickly came across a book called The Fluoride Deception by Christopher Bryson. So ended our relationship with fluoride, and a malpractice issue later ended our relationship with Benjamin’s first dentist.

As a wholeheartedly committed breastfeeding mother, I couldn’t accept that breastfeeding caused my child’s teeth to decay. I continued on my research frenzy, and soon stumbled across the website for the Weston Price Foundation. Dr. Weston Price practiced dentistry in the 1930s and spent copious amounts of time studying the eating habits of indigenous cultures. He blamed modern food practices for causing most modern disease, including tooth decay. Dr. Price’s findings highlighted the dangers of a diet laden with processed food. Unfortunately, we were vegetarians of the fast-food persuasion, depending on overly processed soy items for nourishment. Within the first two weeks following Benjamin’s dental appointment, we began to abide by the diet detailed in Nourishing Traditions, a cookbook by Weston Price Foundation founder Sally Fallon. I donated or threw out all of our old food. Our cabinets—which had been full of pasta, organic baby food, and rice mixes—were suddenly bare. Jeff hauled off bags of tofu and soy burgers in a family commitment to shun all man-made food products.

Our new food regime consisted largely of raw milk and other raw dairy, eggs, bone broths and a wide variety of natural meats, organic vegetables and fruits. Benjamin chose to eat a lot of meat at first, along with raw milk, and raw butter by the spoonfuls. His favorite foods went from tofu hot dogs and rice cheese, to chicken, broccoli, cucumbers, and avocados. We had experienced a nutritional revelation.

When I look back, I see definite signs that something was amiss in my baby’s system. Benjamin’s toenails, perfect at birth, were cracked and the surrounding skin was dry. I had written it off as crawling calluses. His cradle cap wouldn’t leave regardless of how much time I spent scraping it from his olive-oil-drenched head. His lovely round face seemed just a little pale, and barely visible dark rings accented his bright blue eyes. That still, small voice inside told me there was something not quite right, but everyone talked about how healthy he looked. And so I chose not to think about it. I guess I was afraid.

My goal was to reverse the decay through nutrition. The dentists we consulted argued that it wasn’t possible, but I’d read so much that said otherwise. I dedicated every waking moment to healing my child through whole foods and food-based supplements like cod liver oil and butter oil, all the while relentlessly watching and hoping for signs of reversal. The decay never went away, but I do believe it slowed in its progression. And I was seeing results in other areas too: Benjamin’s feet boasted ten perfect toenails, he gained seven pounds and grew several inches, and his immune system seemed to quadruple in strength. Our regular trips to the naturopath suddenly stopped.

Months went by and I knew I still wasn’t the mother I longed to be. For ten months I had cried too often, done too much research, and thought too much about how to fix Benjamin’s teeth and too little about giving him the mama attention he so deserved. The day I noticed the discoloration on Benjamin’s teeth, I stopped seeing him. Each time he smiled, laughed, spoke, or opened his mouth to nurse, I saw decay. I couldn’t see my sweet baby and that beautiful smile that made me know all was right with the world. And while I knew that nursing was the right thing to do, the feeling that I was poisoning him with my breast milk was overwhelming.

I finally found a seasoned pediatric dentist I could trust—one that listened to our concerns and was willing to work with us respectfully. Jeff and I eventually consented to general anesthesia in the hospital. I realized that I wasn’t the mother I wanted to be and, for us, having Benjamin’s teeth repaired was a necessary step in healing our family both physically and emotionally. In the weeks leading up to the procedure, I talked to Benjamin about what would happen at the hospital. We read books about hospitals and dentists. The worst part was not being able to nurse him the morning of the procedure. He begged, and we both cried. “Please mama mulk, one, a little bit,” little hands signing along with desperate words. My heart sank.

The hospital staff was truly impressive. They spoke directly to Benjamin, handled him gently, and one nurse rubbed my back as I stood outside of the hospital cafeteria sobbing after they’d taken my baby to the operating room. After the procedure, our dentist gave confirmation that our diet change was the powerful anecdote we hoped it would be. He said that in over 40 years of practice, he had never seen such healthy tissue inside decayed teeth. A nurse then led us to Benjamin. I’ve never been so happy to hold my son, other than the moment after he was born. It was finally over.

Fortunately, I have good friends that stood by me through our teeth ordeal. My family was instrumental in maintaining what little sanity I had left, though my mother suggested antidepressants on more than one occasion. For a while, I even questioned whether we had made the right decision in having Benjamin’s teeth repaired. They were, after all, baby teeth. But I’ve come to realize that it was the right decision for our family. It allowed us to move on. And we’re all stronger and happier on the other side of it.

How have things changed? We brush a little more, floss religiously, and talk about our food and why we eat it. I want my children to have a normal childhood, so we occasionally eat pizza, pasta, and even sweets. I just make sure they’re made with the right ingredients—sprouted grains, raw milk cheeses, and unrefined sweeteners, to name a few.

One week after the big procedure, we hosted a Healthy Tooth party. We invited Benjamin’s best friends and their parents (our friends) for a tooth-friendly shindig. We gave toothbrushes as party favors, served raw cheese and apples, and Jeff and I privately toasted to Benjamin’s health, happiness and future. For me, it marked the start of a new era—a special re-birthday for a beautiful boy and his mother. For Benjamin, it was an especially exciting day—he got cookies (sweet potato cookies sweetened with apple sauce).

Benjamin weaned the day before his fifth birthday. Now, almost two years later, his baby teeth are on their way out. New, more exciting challenges have surfaced, like learning to read and playing “I’ve Been Working on the Railroad” on the violin. He is a sword-wielding knight/pirate/Celtic warrior/farmer who knows where his food comes from, believes in good dental hygiene, and enthusiastically tells willing listeners the importance of healthy nourishment with wisdom beyond his six years. As for me, I still think about his teeth too much. But I have a calmer outlook on my children’s health in general and I can write a dental appointment on the calendar without squirming (well, almost).

Now, when Benjamin smiles, I see him — in all his seven-year-old-boy glory. Best of all, I’ve been blessed with seven sweet years full of just a little desperation, countless hours of exploration and life-changing revelation. And I’m thankful for all of it. That temporary adversity led to a healthier future for our whole family. And it helped me to realize that tough times can produce rich results—a lesson even more pertinent in these turbulent economic times. Our diet has become a staple in our lives and the accepted norm for our children. As a family, we’ve been inspired to deepen our understanding of the food chain, moving outside city limits to raise chickens for eggs and meat, and attempting to awaken our repressed green thumbs. At 7, Benjamin is independently adamant about eating healthy foods. His little sister, Annie, quenches her sweet tooth with bananas and knows that “sugar is yucky for me.” Who would have thought that a few cavities could have such a profound effect? I guess that’s why we call this whole parenting experience a journey. We just took a momentary side excursion—a little tooth trip, if you will. And while it was no vacation, it was certainly a trip worth taking.