What Is Eczema?

The kick continues. Now it spills over into my personal life. My 18-month-old son has eczema. Or, as I like to refer to it, "eczema." I call it "eczema" because I want to highlight the notion of "eczema" as a phenomenon that occurs not only on my son's skin, but also in language and in scientific discourse.

So what is eczema? And, more importantly, what causes it? And even more importantly, how do you cure it?

Take a spin around Ye Olde Internette and you'll see lots of people offering lots of opinions. My wife and I did some research and then went to see a homeopathic doctor. Two remedies later, and my son's skin was still itchy and red. So we went to a naturopathic doctor. Several avoided foods later, my son's skin was still itchy and red. So we went to a pediatric dermatologist. One corticosteroid cream later, my son's skin is red and itchy, then it's not red and itchy for 3 days, and then it's red and itchy again. So went to a pediatric allergist. One scratch test and one blood test later, we are holding out hope that my son's "eczema" is really an allergic reaction to dairy and wheat. So far, so good. We stopped giving him dairy and wheat and . . . duh . . . his skin looks a lot better.

What amazes me about this whole episode is that neither of the two homeopathic doctors we went to nor the pediatric dermatologist said anything about getting an allergy test done. According to the homeopaths, there was something in his system that was out of balance and could be cured. According to the pediatric dermatologist, "eczema" was an utter mystery: we aren't really sure what causes it, the doctor said, invoking the omniscient "we," and we have no way to cure it.

So many trained experts. So much talking. So much naming. So many nods and assurances that "we know best." So many studies. So many data. And all my son had to do was stop eating cheese and crackers.

So what does this have to do with education, and how does it relate to my rants against the basics and the nuggets o' facts approach to learning?

Think about it: here are these so-called "experts" in their little silos of facts. A homeopath knows about a certain set of things, as does a pediatric dermatologist, as does a naturopath. The pediatric dermatologist, courtesy of his extensive training, was absolutely adamant -- ADAMANT -- that eczema had nothing -- NOTHING -- to do with food or allergies. Yet the pediatric allergist, courtesy of his training, instantly associated my son's "eczema" with what he was eating.

If we had listened to the pediatric dermatologist, if we had chosen to believe him, if we had invested trust in his professional opinion, my son's skin would still be red and itchy. He would still be eating the things that were causing his skin to react, and we would still be putting on a steroid cream designed to mask the symptoms of his eating things that made his skin red and itchy. Fortunately, we chose not to believe him. But I can't imagine how many kids and parents have listened to him.

It's not just memorized nuggets o' facts. It's which nuggets count as "the truth," as real, as relevant. It's how the nuggets function in relation to other nuggets in what Michel Foucault called "the economy of knowledge."

Bottom line: the truth is often an act of faith, and knowledge -- or the lack thereof -- can be harmful.