In 2017, our family moved back to America after spending eleven years living in England. The transition was harder than we expected. We struggled with the food, missed the slower pace, and longed for what felt like a healthier European lifestyle. Our bodies didn’t feel the same, and neither did our sense of balance.
While searching for ways to feel better, I noticed nutritional consultations advertised at Sulack Health and Wellness, where a close friend worked as a massage therapist. I hoped for simple guidance—maybe supplements, maybe dietary tweaks—to help our family adjust. During that visit, one recommendation stood out above all others: stop drinking commercial milk. I was told that milk pasteurized at high temperatures could damage proteins and cause inflammation. Instead, I was encouraged to find raw milk.
I was never warned about the risks of unpasteurized milk.
I spent months reading online about its supposed benefits. Everything I found emphasized health, digestion, and tradition. Eventually, I located a local cow-share program and purchased a share in the French Broad herd, run by Earl and Cheryl Cruze—founders of
Cruze Farm, a well-known Knoxville business with a dairy, ice cream and pizza parlors, and even a wedding venue. That decision was made in December, with hope and trust.
Five months later, at the beginning of June, everything unraveled.
After drinking raw milk regularly, William suddenly became sick one weekend. He started vomiting and had diarrhea. I felt unwell too and assumed we had picked up a stomach bug. But after a few days, William’s condition worsened. He became lethargic, complained of severe abdominal pain, and couldn’t keep down fluids. Alarmed, we went to urgent care. They took one look and sent us straight to the emergency room.
There, blood work revealed something terrifying: William’s kidneys were failing.
By then, hospital staff already knew what was happening. Several children had been admitted with identical symptoms. There was an
E. coli outbreak linked to the French Broad herd, and William’s diagnosis was clear. That same evening, he suffered his first seizure. Soon after, he was placed on a ventilator.
William spent two months at East Tennessee Children’s Hospital. One full month was in the Pediatric Intensive Care Unit. There were days—and nights—when we truly didn’t know if he would survive. His E. coli infection progressed into
Hemolytic Uremic Syndrome (HUS) caused by a powerful Shiga toxin flooding his bloodstream.
What followed is almost impossible to put into words.
William endured bloody diarrhea, relentless vomiting, repeated seizures, two periods on a ventilator, and days where he struggled just to breathe. He developed severe hypertension and tachycardia, pneumonia, adenovirus, and colitis so painful he required constant morphine. His kidneys failed completely, requiring
22 dialysis treatments, each lasting about four hours.
There was encephalopathy, swelling, permanent brain damage. Surgeries for PICC lines and vascular catheters. Multiple IVs. Allergic reactions, hives, powerful antibiotics, sedatives, painkillers, anti-anxiety medications, and seizure drugs. Withdrawal-induced hallucinations. Night terrors from delirium. Countless X-rays, ultrasounds, CT scans, EEGs, MRIs. Seven blood transfusions. TPN. A feeding tube—used simply to keep him alive.
It was a living nightmare. One I wouldn’t wish on anyone.
Our hearts broke again and again watching our child suffer in ways no parent should ever witness. And yet, even in the darkest moments, we experienced profound mercy—through faith, through extraordinary medical care, and through the unrelenting support of family, friends, and churches who carried us when we could not stand.
William survived.
But survival came at a cost.
Today, William is permanently disabled, with both gross and fine motor impairments. Years of intensive, expensive therapies followed. Slowly, painfully, he relearned how to eat, how to speak, how to walk—now with the help of a gait trainer and AFOs. He has lasting kidney damage and required medication for many years.
And yet, he is bright. He is joyful. He is alive.
William is a miracle.
But giving him raw milk is the single greatest regret of my life. It took years to forgive myself for a choice made with love, trust, and incomplete information—a choice that changed my child’s life forever.
I share our story not in anger, but in truth. Because sometimes the most dangerous things are the ones we believe are safest.
