Lactose-Free Fun in Halifax, Nova Scotia

Flashback to my Early Childhood:
All of the neighbourhood's children were playing in the street. I was playing the lute, as I often did, and was quite good. All of a sudden, a familiar jingly music started playing from afar that interrupted my lute-playing. Silence came across the neighbourhood and with eyes open wide, the neighbourhood children furrowed their brows in an attempt to understand whether or not this was a false alarm.

Suddenly, the silence was broken. "Ice Cream Man! Ice Cream Man!" shrieked one child as the truck came into view. The children scampered to their houses to empty their piggy-banks and probably pawn their jewelry. They emerged from their houses with crisp dollar bills as they chased down the ice cream truck to secure their favorite dairy snack.

I stood, frozen with fear, unable to make a move or play a bar on my lute. Suddenly, adrenaline hit me and I disappeared into my house, foudn a large, empty bucket, and climbed inside, trembling with fear.

Six hours later, Momma came by, explaining my disappearance to a concerned neighbourhood mother who was eager to hear more majestic lute tunes. "Y'see, God don' want him drink no milk," barked Momma, matter-of-factedly. "My son ain't like no other sons on the block. He can't eat no whippin' cream, he can't drink no whole milk... he... he be alhurgenic to the dairy. He weak." My own mother... called me weak. What a day! But those were troubled times...

Ok, maybe that wasn't a real childhood memory, but since I found out that I'm lactose intolerant, I've been having to make up a lifetime of background stories as to how I've had to cope with such a serious illness. I may have told you this already, but when I got back from Japan, I found that the milk, which I once drank by the Swedish gallon, now makes my stomach angry.

Unfortunately, the same rang true for other milk products. This included caffè latte and ice cream, explaining why I had started feeling sick everyday in Japan. From what I can see, the only really safe dairy product for me is yogurt, which I consume every morning with granola and honey. What a breakfast! (Sorry, one of my students asked me today about the meaning of "What a ...!" and I'm trying to pretend we actually use this in English).

So, I'm lactose intolerant. Canadian society has been less than eager to cater towards this disability. The coffee shop in the mall below which I used to teach, for example, would not make their drinks with lactose-free milk. "We have soy milk," they would unhelpfully suggest everyday. And soy milk tastes like clay, for those of you who haven't had the pleasure.

Even less helpful in this matter has been the Children's Wish Foundation. They assert that lactose-intolerance is not life-threatening enough and that I'm not really a child, so I'm going to have to go elsewhere to get my date with Whoopi Goldberg. I just don't think that they should turn down a disabled boy like that and am seeking legal representation.

No, when it comes down to these types of "untouchable" diseases, one can only count on friends who really know how one feels. Tonight, Kelsey and I made lactose-free chocolate milkshakes.

Delicious.