Dear Sir:
With all due respect for your technology and extraordinary accomplishments, I have done treatments in about 12 different clinics all over the world and have never seen prices like yours. I am looking for a cure affordable for more than 0.01% of the millions of people suffering from this debilitating disease and want to bring awareness to the medicine of the future, but not at your outrageous prices. You might want to rethink this quote with your heart rather than your brain. I am just a normal person trying to stay alive and battle through a three-year nightmare and I feel taken advantage of.—Yolanda
This just doesn’t feel right anymore. After so many pricey yet unsuccessful treatments, I’m angry and emotionally bankrupt by so many people. I start to feel that everyone is trying to take advantage of my desperate need to get well. But David feels strongly about this treatment and is willing to pay for it. Daisy consults Dr. Klinghardt, who agrees that adipose stem cell treatment will strengthen my overall health and prepare my body for the explant surgery.
Daisy and I get on a red-eye to Miami, where we change planes for the Bahamas. Although the clinic and Bahamas are beautiful, the hotel is hot, musty, and filled with mold, which I’m severely allergic to. We sleep with all the windows open just to keep the fresh air coming through. The next day, we take a taxi to the hospital, where we meet with the doctor. He examines me and explains the procedure.
“Do I even have enough fat on my thighs for this?” I ask. I’ve lost so much weight in the last year or so.
“Don’t worry. I can take it from more than one area,” he says.
“Do you think the free-floating silicone is the cause of all of my problems?” I ask.
“It’s probably a huge part and you need to deal with it,” he replies. “I’ve worked with Dr. Lu-Jean Feng, one of the best explant surgeons. I’d love to introduce you.” Daisy immediately starts researching Dr. Feng, who is a top surgeon in Cleveland, Ohio. She’s done an impressive nine thousand explant surgeries.
That afternoon after my appointment, instead of going back to bed, I lie out on the wet sand in my white bathing suit, while my body is kissed by the Bahamian sun. Watching the waves crash on the shore is calming, especially as I try to connect with the earth and make sense of this journey. There are so many different very important chapters that seem to be unfolding at the same time. After years of a slow buildup, this feels like a volcano erupting all at once. I feel anxious about the junk floating inside my body and wish I could go straight to the explant surgery, but deep in my heart I know that being here in the Bahamas is the only way to strengthen my body after the parasites almost sucked the life out of me. So many crazy years. Is everything finally starting to fall into place? I finally feel with every bone in my body that I have to surrender to the journey that God has planned for me. I watch the sun set slowly on the horizon, trying to breathe in every last drop of energy it is willing to give me. I go to bed that night feeling energetically recharged and ready to take on tomorrow.
In the morning, a car is waiting to take us to the clinic. Even though I’m supposed to be fasting, I need my rebellious presurgery coffee, so I ask the driver where we can get a latte. Daisy smiles at my naughtiness but obviously doesn’t approve. After a stop at an Italian deli, we make our way to the clinic. I change into a soft green surgery gown and cover my hair in a net. Before I get into the hospital bed, Daisy takes a picture for my photo diary. By now, this has become a laughable ritual. I look at that picture and for the first time I notice that my once-muscular calves have turned into skin and bones. This is a frightening look, and the moment I really realize what this disease has done to me. Funny enough, I stopped looking in the mirror a long time ago because the fight has been so internal.
As I get into the bed and the anesthesiologist places my IV, I FaceTime my children. I try to perk up my voice to pretend I am okay. I don’t want them to worry and need to tell them how very much I love them. After all, they’re my reason for living, and with their beautiful faces freshly in my mind, I slowly drift into a deep sleep. The fat removal takes a couple of hours. I wake up to Daisy’s smile, feeling mellow and with minimal pain.
“Right now you’re having an IV of mannitol, which will help the stem cells cross the blood-brain barrier,” Daisy says. “The kids and David called to check on you. Everything is fine.” I feel emotional and start crying. I was really scared, but now I am so happy to be alive. An hour later, the stem cells are put back into my body with an IV and injected into my compromised eyes, right ulnar nerve, facial nerve, and tibial nerve.
“Your fat had the highest number of cells that I’ve ever seen, 195 million of them,” he says.
“What does that mean?” I ask.
“That your cell health is really good.” At least something is healthy. Thank God for those good-old Dutch genes. This is an outpatient procedure, so we go back to the hotel. Daisy sleeps on the pullout couch in the living room to watch over me. In the middle of the night, I wake to find myself in a big puddle of blood, and the full-body compression stocking I’m wearing is drenched. It looks like a murder scene. I call for Daisy. Although they told us when I left the clinic yesterday that my incisions were left open, neither of us was prepared for this. It’s a lot more blood than I could have ever imagined. “I’m speechless” is all I can say to Daisy. I feel scared. This is barbaric! Who bleeds like this? The sheets and towels we go through are more than the housekeeping staff bargained for, and they complain, which makes me even feel worse.
Two days later, we’re on our way back to L.A. I’m happy to report that there is a distinct improvement in my overall health. It appears that it has reduced the inflammation in my body significantly, which suppresses the chronic cough that I’ve had for years. My plan is to rest up and build strength for the explant surgery, which is scheduled for two months from now. It dangles in front of me like a finish line that I can’t wait to reach.
Chapter Thirteen
LEARN TO TRUST THE JOURNEY, EVEN WHEN YOU DON’T UNDERSTAND IT.
I need to regenerate with a lot of quiet time and without any outside stimulation. The quieter my space, the stronger I feel my own life force and the more clearly I can think. And with a lot of time to think, I begin to reevaluate my life. I have learned to be at peace within myself. Although it has been a turbulent time, I’ve evolved so much as a human being and am starting to sense the higher purpose of my journey. I can’t rely on my brain function, but my sixth sense and little inner voice are strong. I recognize the blessings in my life that feel like acts of grace, like a divine presence has touched me and it’s going to keep me safe.
I am starting to see all the amazing opportunity life has brought us but I am also starting to feel the very toxic energy that has entered my atmosphere, mainly from being on the Housewives and probably my children’s visibility in the world. Even though I’m living life from the sidelines, I can feel everything energetically shifting at this point. I can even feel it by the way David and I sleep together. We’re not noodled up like we used to be. He has clearly lost interest in the depth of my soul where I exist at this moment in time but instead longs for his life outside our home. Though I see this very clearly, there’s nothing I can do about it right now. I can’t handle conflict and my energy must stay focused on my health journey. I’m not ready for the potential consequences of a marriage conversation, so I should not have it. I will focus on my marriage 200 percent and tie up all the loose ends when my health permits and I can think straight.
Right now, I need to get strong for my explant surgery. The recovery from the stem cell procedure is not easy, the bruising is frightening. I’m literally black and blue from my waist down to my calves. It looks as if a train ran over me. I also have severe, deep bone pain. I rest for weeks and go to the hyperbaric chamber every day as I try to heal.
It’s also almost time to start my fourth season on the Housewives. Although I’ve been sick since I first appeared on the show, I’m now at my worst and
in complete surrender, not to my disease but to my circumstances. During the other seasons, I could muster up a pretend smile and push for a little bit of energy here and there. I learned to rest and save my spoons one day so I could film the next. After all, I didn’t want to lose my job or be a sick person. Yet, today I’m not in control of my life anymore, and, after all these years, I finally realize that there is no timetable when it comes to my healing. I’m not on my husband’s timetable, my friend’s time-table, or that of a TV show and its cast.
June 18, 2015
I have surrendered, but I won’t stop and won’t shut up.
I will keep chasing wellness until I catch it.
#WeMustFindACure #ChronicLymeDiseaseAwareness
Global epidemic growing in the shadows!
As usual in the weeks before the start of filming, the producers call to inquire about my upcoming schedule. Schedule? What schedule? I can barely participate in the most basic elements of daily life. My only focus is to get to a safe place and stay alive. How can I go back to work when getting out of bed feels like running a marathon? I’ve been living in the same fuzzy white robe for a long time and probably look worse than I have in years. At this point, I don’t wear makeup, nail polish, or body creams, and haven’t had my hair done in eight months. I’m trying to live a toxic-free life. I’ve been passing parasites of all shapes and sizes the past six months, I am barely eating, and the open wounds from my stem cell treatment in the Bahamas are still healing. My skin is still jaundiced from the RHP I did in Mexico.
Alex Baskin, the head of Evolution Productions and producer of the Housewives, visits me at my apartment. Although he’s my boss, Alex has also become a great friend and confidant over the years. In the time that I’ve been sick, he’s come to visit me every couple of weeks with a Starbucks, to check in and give me updates on the Housewives drama, ratings, story lines, et cetera. In addition to our work relationship, I know that he genuinely loves me and has my best interest in mind.
“As much as I don’t want to lose my job,” I tell him, “I don’t think I can do another season. I’m worse than last year.”
“We really don’t want to lose you.”
“Alex, I’ve been in my robe since last season’s filming ended. I don’t even think I can handle the pressure of getting dressed. Most days I can’t even get out of bed and that is my reality. Trust me, this is not the glamorous Beverly Hills lifestyle you’re trying to portray.”
“Yes. You’re right. But the audience is invested in your story,” he reminds me.
“But I don’t think I have anything to add to the show,” I say.
“Viewers want to see you get better. If you allow us, we want to share your journey,” he says. “You’ll bring more attention to Lyme than anyone ever has. Maybe this is your purpose for being on the show.” Apparently, Bravo has gotten feedback from many chronically ill viewers who are thankful to see their lives—or something close to it—play out on prime-time TV. Many identify with me and are genuinely interested in how I’m doing. I know that God has given me this journey for a very specific reason and that one day I’m going to be the change I wish to see in the Lyme world. I’m very aware that hundreds of thousands of Lyme sufferers with questions are looking at me for direction, and I’m determined to find those answers. I’m just not sure how to do it at this moment. And don’t I need to heal myself before I can help others? As much as I’m willing to share my Lyme journey in order to educate people and bring awareness to the challenges of this invisible disease, the Housewives doesn’t seem like the right platform to do so.
“I’m just afraid I won’t be able to show up for you,” I say, explaining that I can’t predict how I’ll feel in the next five minutes, much less a day, week, or month from now. Alex doesn’t say anything else, and we leave the conversation at that. A couple of days later, he calls me with what seems like a logical compromise.
“We know you can’t commit to anything, but if you let us follow you to your medical appointments, we’ll make the rest work,” he says. “It doesn’t matter how often you show up—ten times or forty times. We will work around you and the best of your ability.”
I think about this and carefully weigh the pros and cons of staying on the show. Besides the responsibility that I feel to speak for those whose voices can’t be heard, there is my paycheck, which is very important because it gives me the power to hold on to whatever is left of my independence. And there is always my true optimistic spirit, which makes me feel that even though things are really bad in the moment, finding a cure could be right around the corner. In my mind, remission isn’t an option. Maybe the explant surgery will allow everything to fall into place. The ending must be in sight soon. I agree to give the show one more shot. I’m not sure how it’s going to work out, but I’m going to give it my best effort and trust the process.
Sunday afternoon, we meet with our friends Tom and Erika Girardi. Although we talk a bit about Lyme, most of the conversation is about Erika’s career as a singer, songwriter, and performer. Several of her songs have become number-one Billboard singles, and she and Tom are looking for David’s guidance and direction in the music industry. As the three of them are chatting away, I suddenly see a clear vision of Erika as a housewife.
“Have you ever considered being a Beverly Hills housewife?” I say, bluntly interrupting the conversation. “You have the house, the life, the looks, and, most important, you have the brain!”
“I never thought about it,” she says. “My focus has been my music.”
“That will be the platform for your music and much more,” I tell her.
“Why don’t you meet with my friend Alex?” I ask. It seems like a brilliant idea—if I do say so myself—for Erika, who is in her early forties, to share her music on the Housewives, not only to help her career but also to inspire women her age. Although I’ve lost my communication and writing skills, spiritually I have more clarity than ever and somehow feel that this will be a match made in heaven.
I walk away from the conversation and into my kitchen. “I found you a new housewife,” I text Alex. This is one of my many witchy moments that turns out exactly as I predict. Two weeks later, Erika is hired, and after I make it out of bed to officially introduce her to the other women while being filmed, she is off to the races and cameras are rolling at the Girardi residence. Erika is a powerful and positive addition to the show. She is kind, unique, and the smartest cookie in the group. As far as my camera time is concerned, it is very limited. The first procedure we will film is a new chapter of my roller-coaster ride: my dental chapter. I am preparing to have my nine metal-based crowns removed as they are causing an immune response which I have known since early on in my journey but wasn’t educated enough to understand. This is like peeling the endless layers of an onion in order to find the sweet spot of vibrant health.
Daisy has requested samples of my crowns from the lab that made them ten years earlier and I can see through muscle testing with Dr. Kang that it is blocking my healing just like he told me. Dr. Kang is a chiropractor I see who does nutrition-response testing, a form of muscle testing that helps strengthen my organs. I love going to see him because I connect with his humble, unpretentious energy; his little office in Koreatown feels authentic in this very unauthentic world. He is helping us investigate the dental chapter so that we can make educated decisions. This week, Daisy brings various dental materials for Dr. Kang to test and determine what my body will tolerate.
Once my beautiful pearly white crowns are removed, I will have them tested by a forensic lab to identify exactly what kind of metals are in them. It’s a big deal to have what seem like perfect teeth ripped out, yet I’m willing to do anything to get my life back.
On the morning of June 30, Daisy and the Housewives film crew accompany me to my dental appointment.
“I’m really nervous and just want to make sure that whatever you put into my mouth is one hundred percent safe and metal free,” I tell Dr. Hill.
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“Of course,” she says, touching my arm soothingly.
“How long are the temporaries going to be in?” I ask.
“A couple of weeks,” she says. “But don’t worry, they’ll be beautiful.”
“Don’t worry about the beauty part,” I say. I’ve lost all sense of vanity, and how things look from the outside isn’t even on my mind anymore.
“Wouldn’t it be great if I wake up tomorrow and have a normal brain?” I say to Daisy right before I doze off.
“Yes,” she says.
“I just want my life back to take care of my babies,” I say with tears in my eyes.
In addition to removing my nine metal-based crowns, Dr. Hill pulls tooth number 14, which is infected. It’s fascinating to me how every tooth in the mouth is linked to organs and other parts of the body. Tooth number 14 is linked to the sinuses, jaw, spleen, stomach, breasts, and thyroid.
Obviously, this experience seems like one of the most unflattering things to film for a glamorous show about Beverly Hills, but when I set my ego aside I realize that maybe it is important to educate people about the potential dangers of dentistry and the risk of heavy metals. I’m finally learning to be my own advocate and make intelligent and prepared choices, something I had to learn the hard way. Years ago, none of the important information was ever brought to my attention, mainly because I didn’t ask questions but also because I always thought that doctors and dentists had my best interest at heart. I never thought they would use or do anything that could potentially hurt me. I guess I was very innocent and ignorant.
Daisy sends the removed crowns to Avomeen Analytical Services to identify the metals that they are made of, not that the information matters to me now but I want to understand so I can write about it one day and use it to educate others. We also send my blood to Clifford Laboratories to determine what dental materials I’m allergic to and which ones will be safe to use when we install my new teeth. Looking back I should have dealt with my teeth back in Switzerland. But hindsight is twenty-twenty and at that time I was overwhelmed with all that was coming at me and, to be honest, I was still stubborn about my journey and unwilling to surrender to it.
Believe Me Page 23