Thinking with my stomach.

This has been an almost excruciatingly long week, despite the fact that I did an awful lot of sleeping. My consciousness was especially tuned in to bodily function, in a way that it seldom is in this modern age. I guess to some degree I am more prepared at my age to pay attention to my physicality. Our bodies are, in a way, akin to the proverbial "canary in a coal mine". They often signal (or reflect) problems in our lives that we may not be actively addressing. Objectively I knew that I would become more aware of my physical health as I aged. This is certainly no shocking revelation. Anyone who has ever had living grandparents has probably been exposed to this reality. Things fall apart over time.

Still it is a bit astonishing just how quickly we gain information about our bodies as we age. I've done a lot of thinking recently about the idea of the "Achilles' Heel", or tragic flaw theory of mortality. Somewhere I heard that the seeds of our own destruction are already within us, even when we are feeling perfectly fine. That concept has poetic resonance. Perhaps we are all born with a number of potentially devastating genetic defects, and the environment selects the one that will kill us. Or maybe we do the choosing ourselves. I don't really care whether or not the trigger is external or not. There's just something useful about contemplating what our own burden might be.

I would expect that if you give it some honest and sincere thought, you could probably identify the part of your body where your life's stresses manifest themselves most acutely. Some people get migraine headaches, and no matter what they do they can't seem to alleviate them. They just have to suffer through. Others find their hearts racing, and quickly learn that they need to control their emotions, lest their pacemakers explode. There are folks that seem to get all twisted up when things go poorly. Their muscles get kinked and knotted. For each of the body's biosystems, there is no doubt a corresponding affliction which can let the careful observer know what emotional state the individual is experiencing.

It was obvious to me quite early in life that my own stress seems to accumulate in my stomach and digestive tract. If I am feeling a lot of pressures, or even "existential angst", I soon experience difficulties in digesting my food properly. The specific symptoms that pop up are a bit too viscerally disgusting to describe in detail, so I'll let your imagination be your guide. Perhaps if you are like me, and you often have similar problems, then you know the scope of the possibilities. If not, then you probably get a "stomachache" now and again, and leave it at that. The details aren't for you. Like Eskimos and their snow, some of us need an expanded language to express the nuances of these phenomena.

To have my digestive capabilities completely go haywire this past week was alarming. In a way that wouldn't be necessary if I got stress headaches, I began to think about how my lifestyle specifically affects my processing of food. I also thought a lot about the things I pick to put into my mouth without much thought. All of this may sound sort of pseudo-mystical to those of a purely scientific bent. But if you are able to, allow yourself some time to contemplate what your area of most profound vulnerability might be. Remember that there is always something that ultimately kills you. Whether or not you want to monitor that ongoing process is up to you. As for me, I can feel it in my gut.

Affairs of the stomach.

Today I took the opportunity to research the word "norovirus". I had plenty of time to learn about this viral affliction because I'm suffering from the very symptoms the classification describes. In fact I've had multiple bouts of suffering in the last six months that fall neatly under this category. This is, I believe, a function of Baby E. being in daycare. I recently described his "home-away-from-home" as a Petri Dish, and I feel it was an apt way to explain its effects- both on my son and my entire family. I can only hope that my body's immune system will develop some lasting resistances to the contagions that cause the norovirus. I've certainly had plenty of exposure to them.

Anyway, I also had a chance to read the paper for the first time in months. I generally don't make any effort to look at the local dailies, but cabin fever will do wonders for one's curiosity about the external world. So I quickly scanned the front page "news" items about the horrid state of the economy, and the nation's current prognosis. None of that was especially novel or insightful, and I found myself digging deeper and engaging page two. Here I discovered a particularly compelling story that seemed somehow appropriate to my current condition. I can't say I've ever experienced anything exactly like I read there, but still I can't help feeling like its somehow reflective of what's been happening in my stomach.

Apparently the actual event that precipitated the news coverage happened last August. It only reached our local outlets once again because of a "not guilty" plea registered in court by the perpetrator of a singularly heinous act. Vincent Li has apparently retracted his previous admission, which involved taking responsibility for the beheading and cannibalization of a 22-year old carnival worker on a Greyhound bus heading to Winnipeg, Manitoba. According to Li's account, God commanded him to kill Tim McClean because the victim was a "force of evil", who would have come back to life had he not been dissected. The defense psychiatrist in the case is arguing that Li is a schizophrenic who was not "criminally responsible" for his actions.

The tale is a particularly grisly one. According to the accounts of fellow passengers, Li began stabbing McClean in what appeared to be a random fashion, as the victim was snoozing and listening to headphones. The bus pulled over and all the non-combatants began hastily exiting the bus. At that point McClean tried to escape through a window and Li attempted to escape through the front, only to be stopped when the closing door caught his arm. Reportedly enraged by being trapped, Li extricated himself and proceeded to decapitate McClean, before finally depositing the head in plain view on the driver's seat for the edification of the witnesses outside the bus.

When police finally arrived at the scene and arrested Li, they discovered a plastic bag containing body parts in his pocket. Upon examination of the grisly scene, investigators were unable to locate McClean's eyes and approximately one-third of his heart, and thus came to the conclusion that Li had employed cannibalism as a means of disposal. This little touch introduces a particularly disquieting element into the event. I'm not suggesting that there aren't a lot of other disturbing things about this tragedy, but the fact that this guy was able to engage in his abhorrent feast while a little crowd of onlookers gazed on haplessly... that frankly astounds me. I can't presume to speculate on the quality of that experience, but I can say that reading about it is a bit sickening.

A Visit to the Hospital.

As much of southwestern Pennsylvania is breathing a sigh of relief after being bypassed by the worst winter storm of the year, I am hoping that a different force of nature will soon depart from my family's life. Yet again Baby E. is sick, and this time he has landed in Children's Hospital for an extended (if indeterminate) stay. Yesterday morning I tried to decipher the meaning of a familiar but misplaced buzzing sound coming from the stand alongside my bed. It took me a bit to figure out that it was my cell phone on "manner mode". I quickly discovered the reason for its intrusion- M. was trying to get a hold of me, and calling repeatedly. When I finally answered I learned that she was at the hospital ER with E.

I don't know about you, but I'm not entirely rational first thing in the morning. It's always taken me awhile to reconcile to the fact that it's time to re-enter my waking life. M. was irritated that I hadn't picked up her call the first few times she had called, and I interpreted her tone as panicked. I don't quite remember what she had to say, but I knew that my son was in trouble and that I was needed somehow to assist. And I honed in on the phrase "104 degree temperature" that apparently described E.'s current condition. He had been ill for a few days previously, but had demonstrated a marked improvement through Saturday, so this was entirely unexpected. I wasn't remotely prepared for it.

When I was a freshman in college, I once ran a temperature that exceeded 104 degrees Fahrenheit. It was shortly after my first kiss, and seemed a poetic introduction to the worldly ways of adult passions. I was laid up pretty helplessly, and unable (or unwilling) to seek proper medical attention. When it finally felt like my fever broke, I made my way to the university hospital for a check-up. I had been unable to eat for six days, and couldn't even keep water down for half of that period. I was surprised to learn that I was at 104 degrees. My parents were called, and they were told to leave their house immediately in the middle of the night. They drove 300 miles to Pittsburgh. Apparently it was touch-and-go for some time.

In retrospect I suppose I suffered some sort of damage due to that fever. Strange shifts in my brain became evident. My ability to understand complex mathematical concepts seemed to degrade rather abruptly, but my verbal skills improved markedly in a manner that might be described as "odd". The aftermath of the affliction had major effects on my life. I didn't return to school until the next year. For about a month after my sickness I looked like a concentration camp victim. I had lost 25 pounds in a week. I had to piss more frequently. It was a strange time, and I'm sure it left an impression on my parents as well. I can only imagine the concern they had for my well-being. I stayed with my grandparents for a week after they picked me up.

Now I have had a glimpse of what it's like to worry about the health of my child. When I got to the hospital (after gathering the things that M. needed for an overnight stay), I lost my composure for the second time in the space of a couple of hours. When I finally located E.'s room, and walked through the door, I saw my son- he appeared clammy and had tubes running to multiple parts of his body. He was sitting in M.'s lap, and he looked up at me with a weak smile and extended a hand wrapped in gauze to hold an IV in place. As I crouched down to greet him my eyes teared up and I was struck speechless. There aren't sufficient words to describe how I felt at that moment.

The Absurdity of a Late Lunch.

Wednesday was the first time I ever ate cheese fries and chili dogs in an examination room at a gynecologist's office. Is that hard to believe? Maybe so, but it happened. Before you start wondering, I'll explain right off the bat that there wasn't any particular emergency. I could have stayed at home with E. (daycare was closed), but M. didn't want to drive on the icy roads, such as they were. So we all got bundled up for a cross-town jaunt to a hospital complex I had never even noticed. I can't say I was specifically enthused about going, yet it did make a certain kind of sense to have me behind the wheel. The main problem was my hunger, as I had chosen not to eat before we left. I had taken an early walk instead.

After we made it to the destination and found parking in the indoor garage, and checked in with the receptionist, I sat down and realized that I needed something to eat. The doctors were at lunch and we anticipated that it might be awhile before M. was in for her appointment. It was easily apparent that I was going to be cranky until I had something in my stomach. I got the go-ahead from M., and I didn't waste any time getting underway. I stepped outside onto Federal Street and looked for an eatery. I passed a fried fish-and-chips place, and decided quickly against stopping with the foresight that it would have been an alimentary disaster. The last thing I needed was to be sick for a couple more days.

Next I was tempted by a delectable image on an advertisement in the window of the Pizza Hut. Who knew that they now offered macaroni-and-cheese with REAL bacon? Unfortunately, after a quick surveillance, I realized that there was nowhere to sit while waiting for an order. Plus I had no idea what the hell else I could get to go along with the the mac-and-cheese. I don't like that chain pizza. My quandary deepened as I ran out of options on the "institutional" side of the street. I'd have to venture across Federal St. to the ramshackle independent "eateries" on the degraded side. Even getting over there was a bit of a hassle, with the rain and the sleet and the ice. I hit the opposite curb and skirted an open pit in the sidewalk.

There were four joints lined up in a row, as if the crumbling strip they inhabited meant to serve as a desperate bulwark against the corporate onslaught of homogenized "progress". And I felt a tiny bit guilty about my skepticism as I passed each in turn. These were the hauntings of the "Old North Side", their habitués presenting vague possibilities of danger in their poverty and "otherness". But surely employees at the hospital frequented these places as well? They looked dirty and unkempt under the gloom of the Pittsburgh winter. My appetite dictated that I make a quick choice and throw the weight of a potentially foolhardy confidence behind the search. As you already know, I chose a hot dog shop.

Ironically there were two businesses in that cluster that served hot dogs as the main attraction. My decision was based upon the way that the words "Steve's New York Style Hot Dogs" were painted on the window. They had a cleanly rendered traditional script that I found inviting. The cook was a young man of few words, and he was assisted by an older woman that spoke on the phone in alternating languages. The two worked methodically, and the food was simply prepared. How bad could it be? After what seemed like ten minutes, I grabbed my bagged lunch and went back to join M. in the waiting room. I had just set the messy conglomeration of junk on my lap when the nurse called us in. I managed to avoid spilling stuff everywhere.

Woe is Me.

Last November I wrote a post about my experience staying home with Baby E. during the day. I noted how difficult it could be trying to figure out what he needs and when. If I was his full-time caretaker, I expect I would have already developed a kind of sixth sense for individualized maintenance. Perhaps I'd know how to decode his vocalizations, so that I could tell when he was hungry, tired, wet, or in pain. As it is, I'm confined mostly to a clumsy guesswork and my limited powers of perception. I can muddle through with process of elimination, and usually get him to stop crying about half the time. Otherwise he eventually gets so exhausted that he poops out. That's a very shallow victory.

As hard as it was several months ago to assume responsibility for E., it's been even harder during the last couple days. Because this time around I'm just as much (or more) sick than he is. Over this past weekend he developed nasty ear infections in both of his ears, and these afflictions caused him obvious pain that could only be addressed with baby Motrin. For those not familiar, this version of Ibuprofen is administered with an oral syringe. It must taste fairly good, because it's been extraordinarily easy to get E. to swallow it. The only real problem with the product is determining how much to give him. There is a chart on the packaging that lists doses for age and weight. Unfortunately our kid has already far outstripped the weight limitations.

Still, to some extent, this over-the-counter medication has been our salvation. Not only does it seem to take the edge off of E.'s suffering, but it also controls the fever spikes that he is vulnerable to with ear infections. No matter how many times a parent hears that he/she need not worry too much until baby's temperature hovers at 104 degrees, that's a hard number for us to process. I've had that high a reading when I was in college, and it meant that I was close to death. It seems like one more nasty trick devised to keep breeders anxious about their progeny. I'm not the type to necessarily get caught up in the "miracle of life", but I do find it amazing what these little beings can take.

If there's a single issue that has become particularly pressing, now that I have seen over a full year of my child's life, it is the daycare issue. The strains it places on child-rearing can be formidable in a number of ways. Obviously, first and foremost, there is the potentially prohibitive monetary cost. People have to make an assessment of their income streams to decide whether or not it makes more sense to have one parent stay at home, rather than spend around eight hundred dollars per month to have strangers look after their child in a group setting fraught with bacteria and resistant forms of virus. Given the state of the current economy, and projections for its future, stay-at-home parenthood is likely to experience a decline in frequency.

However, even once an adequate facility can be identified that meets minimum standards and falls within one's budget, parents still need to arrange some sort of backup for the occasion when their child is too sick to attend daycare. M. and I are both fortunate and unlucky when it comes to this requirement. Our sick days do accrue, and carry over from year-to-year. Although M. used all of her store after E. was first born, I still have a surplus left (meaning that I have now become the go-to nursemaid). But neither of us have family available locally to fill in the gaps when we can't take off, or are too sick to do a proper job ourselves. I can only imagine what single parents must go through trying to raise a kid in this day-and-age.

If it Sounds too Good to be True...

On Monday afternoon I reached home, baby in hand, to find that I had finally received what I had been waiting in anticipation for since shortly after Christmas. A small package had arrived in the mail, bringing me what I thought would be the means to give up my worst habit. Frankly I've been getting rather sick and tired of smoking cigarettes. There are a number of reasons why this vice has become tiresome. It's expensive, stinky, and seriously degrades my health. These characteristics should be sufficient for me to want to give it all up permanently. Unfortunately I still enjoy puffing away. I'm in a bind that many others can relate to. Slowly though, I find myself in rarer company.

Last year Allegheny County made smoking in most public places illegal. It's no longer possible to sip on a coffee drink at a local cafe while leisurely basking in the joy of a cigarette. There's no such thing as an after-dinner smoke at the restaurant. Not too long ago I was even scolded for getting my fix within ten feet of the entrance to a bar/eatery. Times have changed, and I suspect that they have done so for the better. Slowly any situation where I am tempted to light up is being removed. This will some day make quitting altogether a lot easier. I wish I could say that I was ready for that ultimate step. But the fact is that I am not. Perhaps I never will be. Still it's possible to imagine an end to it that doesn't involve a hospital stay.

When I learned that there was a new alternative to combustion, my interest was piqued. I ordered the ePuffer from Canada, and prepared to have my life altered for the better. I was excited when it came in the mail, and quickly got the contraption set up. And you know what? My expectations were disappointed. I had worked myself into a lather for what I thought might be an "easy answer". However there are some very real problems with my new e-Cigarette. The first among many is that the cartridges (which cost over $3 each) do not last nearly as long as advertised. The company promised the equivalent of 20-25 cigarettes, but the truth is that each unit delivers (at most) a little over a third of that.

I've since learned that you can actually refill the cartridges with formula that you buy in a bottle. This solution is truly inexpensive, but has its own problems. Nicotine in its pure liquid form is tremendously toxic. An amount somewhere between 40 and 60 milligrams can prove fatal to a full-grown adult. More troublesome is the fact that it can be absorbed through the skin. No doubt one can take special precautions in recharging containers with this fluid, and thus make it relatively safe. Still I don't feel especially comfortable with keeping one more poison around the house for my son to potentially discover. I have to wonder whether that would be worth the hassle and anxiety.

So now I've paid almost $200 for this new alternative nicotine delivery system, and it appears that it's going to be more frustrating than satisfying. I really got my hopes up too. The thought of recovering my full lung capacity and avoiding the carcinogens produced in burning tobacco appealed to me. But unless I'm willing to pay the premium for the factory-made cartridges, I'm never going to have enough product to keep me away from the "analogues" (normal, paper-rolled cigarettes). Of course the obvious answer would be to break the dependence once and for all. Unfortunately I just don't thionk I'm ready for that. I guess I'll be searching for some sort of compromise over the next few weeks. I'll keep you all updated.

A Space-Aged Cigarette.

Late on Christmas Eve, after I went to my friend's restaurant for his holiday party, I went up the hill to visit a friend. There was much conversation and revelry. Everything seems a bit of a blur now, as there were many things to discuss and enjoy that night. Still there is certainly one moment that sticks out in my mind- our host noticed that one of his guests was smoking a cigarette, yet it wasn't really burning. The guy would take a pull, and its end would light up, but there was no smoke involved. The square remained its original length no matter how many hits were taken from it. Obviously this was a compelling mystery, so an explanation was requested. As more people tuned in, the room got quiet.

The enigmatic holder of the strange device began to explain its mechanics. He was "smoking"... but not really. What he was actually doing was inhaling atomized nicotine. There was no carbon involved. There was no second-hand emanation. It looked exactly like any normal cigarette, but its "burning" cherry was simply an LED light that activated whenever you brought air through. Inside the barrel (where tobacco is normally kept) there was a computer chip and a lithium battery to power the contraption. What looked like an ordinary filter was the cartridge that contained liquid nicotine. The thing vaporized the concoction and sent it into your mouth whenever you wanted a hit.

I was already amazed, and soon our emissary passed the "cigarette" around for everyone to try. One after another, our faces lit up as we enjoyed the faint chocolate taste the cartridge was flavored with. It was a very clean and smooth alternative nicotine delivery system. And it felt very satisfying. I was almost instantly sold. I did a quick cost-benefit analysis in my head. If I had such a way to get my fix without the carcinogens, tar, and various unnamed chemicals, what did I have to lose? Sure, I'd be up-taking a purer form of nicotine, which can't exactly be called a nutritional supplement... but what was the difference between that and my Winstons? The only thing different would be a distinct lack of pollution for me and any innocent bystanders.

I asked where I could find the product, and the man replied that it was only available (as far as he knew) online. He told me to Google ePuffer. He said he wasn't sure exactly how much it would cost me to get set up, but he did know that cartridges (equivalent to 20-25 cigarettes) went for around $3, and came in multiple varieties. This was an added bonus, as it worked out to at least a $1.50 savings on each "pack". I didn't need to hear anything else. I was convinced, and I ordered the "deluxe set" the next day. Now I wait with great anticipation for it to arrive in the mail. I'll get two units, 20 cartridges (tobacco and coffee flavored, mild), and all the accessories within the next couple of days.

I've written before on this blog that I am not an early adopter when it comes to most technology. However, this time I'm making an exception. I like to smoke, and I'm certainly addicted to the habit. Yet I know how exceedingly bad it is, with the risks of heart disease, lung cancer, emphysema and reduced lung capacity. No matter how many times I've thought about quitting, I never fail to come up with a reason not to. Still I'd love to be able to participate in vigorous physical activities without the inevitable ill effects of smoking. Now it looks like I may have that chance. Maybe I'll even cease my nicotine dependence altogether. After all, I'm cutting out the middle man for a change.

Who Will Make Our Nation Healthy?

It's pretty tough to determine how many people currently lack health coverage in the United States. Most estimates that I've seen hover in the 40-45 million range. That number is large enough to place health care front-and-center as a major issue in this presidential race. Both Barack Obama and John McCain have rolled out plans to address this problem. The difficulty is seeing through the negative campaigning and the murk obscuring the issues. And even after we determine where these candidates actually stand on health care, it may be folly to predict that their approaches will yield results come January. What is most likely is that a Democratic Congress will shape the basics of any program next year.

Of course the political makeup of the legislative branch favors Obama's prospective plan, and it's doubtful that anything John McCain suggests will ever see the light of say. Still it's useful to see what he might push for, should he prevail in November. His approach to the issue is to bundle it together with his general tax plan. If McCain's strategy was adopted, for the first time in US history, health benefits would be taxed. This would have an obviously negative effect on any Middle Class workers who get insurance through their jobs. In fact some experts suspect that it would be the beginning of the end of employer-provided health benefits. Nobel Prize-award-winning economist Paul Krugman has written an interesting explanation of how this would happen, and I won't try to summarize his logic here.

McCain expects to "offset" these new taxes with a tax credit of $2500 for any individual (or $5000 per family) purchasing their own health insurance plan. The average cost of a family policy is $12,100 ($4400 for an individual). But when people start being removed (or removing themselves) from employer -based health plans, funding for these credits will have to come from somewhere else. Another problem with this setup is that it is virtually impossible to get insurance if you have a pre-existing medical condition. While McCain's advisers claim that his tax restructuring of health benefits will allow an additional 27.5 million folks to purchase their own health care, independent analysts have determined that his plan will actually make the amount of uninsured citizens grow by 5 million in the first five years.

Additionally McCain seeks to open up the health insurance industry, so that people can purchase out-of-state plans. The problem there is that every state has different consumer protections, and undermining those state laws will lead to the classic deregulatory "race-to-the-bottom". This is something Barack Obama has stood adamantly against. He's calling for the standardization of benefits and premiums, and for requiring insurers to accept all applicants. He would require plans to cover preventive, maternity and mental health care (unlike McCain). He wants to make insurance currently offered to government employees available to the public through a federally sponsored health plan.

In order to preserve the employer-based insurance system, Obama would make it mandatory for employers to contribute "meaningful coverage" or pay into a government fund that would do so for the uninsured. Small businesses would receive a subsidy to cover this expense. Apparently the costs of Obama's plan would be largely financed by the suspension of the current Bush tax breaks for the wealthiest 1% of Americans. The Tax Policy Center reports that Obama's reforms will cost $1.6 trillion over the next ten years, and they estimate that McCain's program will clock in at $1.3 trilion. While the $30 billion/year difference seems substantial, it is significantly less than we are spending in Iraq every three months.

Furthermore the Tax Policy Center estimates that McCain would only reduce the number of the uninsured by 2 million, while Obama's changes would cover an additional 34 million folks that currently lack coverage. It seems to me that if you can benefit 32 million more Americans under Obama's plan for just $30 billion more per year, then it's an easy decision. And if you consider the increased quality assurances of insurance policies regulated under Obama's plan, it seems that everyone will come out ahead.

Drink a Tall Glass of Milk.

Ever since I was a little kid, I have enjoyed drinking milk fresh from the carton. Unlike many children, I didn't need the adulteration of chocolate to stomach its taste. I'd simply drain it directly from the glass. I honestly don't know where this preference comes from. It's a bit of a mystery as to why we like what we like, so I'll not try to speculate on it too much. My maternal grandparents always encouraged me to consume as much milk as I desired, even promising to go out to the store should their supply run out. For some reason I've always preferred skim or 2% milk, but I wouldn't turn my nose up at whole milk. It's very thick on my tongue, but once in awhile I like it for a change of pace.

Despite our society's official advocation of milk (it's been a staple of the school lunch program for as long as I've been alive), there are many that caution against its consumption. It's not too difficult to find outspoken critics. Here's a site that is particularly vocal about the dangers of milk. Some highlights include death by cancer, mad cow disease, obesity, chemical and hormonal poisoning, etc. If you want a reason to stop your intake of milk, then this is a great place to find a reason. The case is even made that this food is even particularly inefficient at delivering the substance it is most often promoted for- calcium. Not only do people question the necessity for the FDA's recommended amount of calcium, but they say that there are better sources for it than milk.

Still, with a minimum of internet searching, you can find plenty of sources that dispute the assertions of milk's critics. This article actually claims that drinking milk decreases the risk of heart disease. Some nutritionists and researchers suggest that its consumption can prevent osteoporosis, reduce hypertension, help fight the risk of tooth decay, and decrease your risk of colon cancer. In addition, American milk manufacturers started supplementing their products with Vitamins A and D. While some may charge that any and all boosters work directly for the dairy industry, it's kind of hard to ferret out the truth.

One thing I can say for sure is that I am skeptical about the way milk is processed by the American dairy industry. A bit over ten years ago, the federal government approved the use of recombinant growth hormone (rBGH) to stimulate milk production in cows. This synthetic chemical mimics natural substances produced in bovine pituitary glands. Some observers were worried that rBGH was responsible for the onset of early puberty in American children, but the research doesn't necessarily support that conclusion. However, studies have proven that the use of rBGH and the antibiotics used to treat cows that are rendered more vulnerable to mastitis (due to rBGH) can be hard on the animals. Even more troublesome was the FDA (and state departments of agriculture) practice of banning labels notifying the consumer when artificial growth hormones are not used.

Commercially accepted processing techniques also tend to cloud the picture. Pasteurization is used to kill bacteria in milk stocks- it involves heating the liquid for a time, and then cooling it off quickly afterwards. This process kills e coli, salmonella, listeria, and other types of toxic germs. Homogenization is done to give milk a consistent texture by dissipating its fats evenly. There is a current trend of buying and consuming "raw milk" (neither pasteurized nor homogenized). This is legal in 26 states, including Pennsylvania. Consumers who prefer this milk claim it is richer in taste and more nutritious. Apparently pasteurization destroys the "good bacteria", protein and enzymes naturally contained in the beverage. Many imbibers take both physical and legal risks to procure their supply- there are actually black markets popping up throughout the nation to service their needs.

Whatever conclusions I ultimately draw about the benefits/risks of pouring a glass of milk everyday, there are a lot of considerations to sift through. It seems that the most fervent battles regarding food are fought over the dairy case.