At one point during the night, Dr. Piro tells me how surprised he is by the size of the event for a disease that is so little known. After talking to many people with Lyme, he comes up to me.
“I’m amazed how much this reminds me of the early years of cancer where people had this mysterious, debilitating disease but we didn’t have the tools to see it and no one knew what caused it,” Dr. Piro says.
Then, a frail but sweet- and kind-looking twentysomething young man walks up to me with someone who is obviously his caretaker. “This is Kevin and he’s a big fan of the show and has been following your journey,” his caretaker explains. “He’s been struggling with Lyme for many, many years.” Kevin and I start talking, and I instantly feel a connection along with a heart full of compassion. He looks exactly the way I feel: lost and disconnected from his spirit. It’s almost as if I’m staring at my own reflection in the mirror.
“How are you getting better? What are you doing?” he asks.
“This isn’t something that I can answer in this moment, but let me introduce you to Daisy, my health advocate so we can be in touch,” I say. “I don’t know how to help you in New York, but if you can move to L.A., we’ll gladly make you part of our Lyme squad.” Children and young people make the biggest impact on my soul. I wish I could start my own little Lyme clinic.
It’s time for the speeches, so I hug Kevin good-bye and sit down at my table. After the amazing master of ceremonies, Rosanna Scotto, a New York City TV news anchor, kicks off the event, Gigi comes onstage and introduces me. It’s a beautiful moment to see my twenty-year-old speak so eloquently to a big crowd with such love and understanding of my journey’s higher purpose. This makes my night especially meaningful. Her heartfelt yet heartbreaking words bring tears to my eyes and wash away all the judgment I’ve endured these past four years. At the end of the day, my children’s support is all that matters. My illness has been hard on all of us, and my kids grew up faster because of it. But I truly feel that all three of them have gained compassion and value life in a more substantial way as a result. By the time I leave Anwar and Bella at the table and make my way to Gigi onstage, the knot in my throat is thick. It takes everything I have not to just break down in Gigi’s arms before my speech.
I do not deserve this award … This award is for Bella and Anwar. This is a token of my promise that I will not allow you to live a life of pain and suffering. I will prevail and walk to the end of the earth to find a cure so that you can live the healthy life you deserve. No child in this world should suffer the way that you do, and I commend you both on your brave and persistent effort to get well and suck up the disappointment of the endless failing protocols that you have tried.
I thank you for your extraordinary selflessness during this journey. Your unwavering love and compassion has kept me alive and fighting through the darkest days of my life. I am so sorry for all the important things I’ve missed in your life these past four years. I used to be a pretty cool, smart, multitasking, kickass mom, but all three of my children really got shortchanged with the dumb blonde in the white robe who mostly lives her life in bed. I did turn into a professional social media stalker, though, liking every Twitter and Instagram post you have ever made, just to let you know that I was watching you from afar and right by your side in spirit at all times. I truly feel that I would be a real coward to turn my back and walk away from this experience without sharing and giving back to the millions of people affected by this invisible disease and silent killer.
The gala is a huge success. We raise over $3 million for research, proper diagnostics, and, hopefully, a cure. It’s an eye-opener for some of the housewives, too. Kyle is crying at the event, which hopefully means that she gets the message on a deeper level. When she is interviewed for the show, she says that she’s taken aback by how big the gala is.
“I always felt dirty and weird when Lisa Rinna said ‘Munchausen,’ and being in that setting with her and not being more defensive,” Kyle says. “Being here tonight and listening to what these people are saying, I feel bad about that … I’m tortured by it. If I had known what I know now about Lyme disease, I would never have allowed that conversation to continue.”
“This closes the chapter on doubt,” Erika says. “There is more than one person saying the same thing.”
October 21, 2015
It does not matter how slowly you go as long as you do not stop.
#SmallVictories #ComingBack #LymeDiseaseAwareness
My thyroid continues to be a challenge as it has been ever since I had it removed seven years earlier, so we’re always monitoring and adjusting my medication. My friend Dr. Paul Nassif reaches out and introduces me to Dr. Kent Holtorf, apparently an expert in thyroid disorders and Lyme who has battled Lyme and chronic fatigue himself. With great suffering comes great compassion. I like Dr. Holtorf and his review on my new extensive blood work and I start adding some of his protocols to mine. He also switches my thyroid medication to a compounded T3 and T4.
November first is David’s birthday, and he wants to celebrate by seeing a Lakers game at the Staples Center. It’s a loud, high-energy event with almost nineteen thousand attendees but all that matters to me is that the birthday boy is happy. We have a nice sit-down dinner at the venue and what I thought was a pretty good night.
Monday morning is my biweekly appointment with Dr. Kang. On the way home, Daisy and I always stop at Erewhon Market to pick up some healthy foods. As usual, as we are about to turn right at the corner of Third Street toward the store, I call David at his office to see what he wants for dinner.
“Good morning, my love,” I say. “I’m going to the store. Do you want anything special for tonight?”
“No. I’m going out with my daughters. And we need to talk,” David replies in a tone so cold that shivers run through my body.
“Are you okay?” I ask. He mumbles an answer, then quickly ends the conversation. My stomach sinks and anxiety sets in. Even though I don’t know what he is referring to, my gut tells me that it’s bad.
“What’s going on?” Daisy asks, noticing the change in my energy.
“I don’t know, but something’s really wrong.” I share a lot with Daisy, but not private details of life with my husband, so right before we turn into the parking garage, I get out of the car and call him back.
“What’s going on?” I ask. “Why do you sound so different? So strange? Can we please talk about this?”
“I can’t do this anymore,” he says briskly. “But we’ll discuss it tonight.”
Tonight? That’s ten hours from now!
“At least tell me what you’re thinking,” I say. He refuses. He chooses to keep me in the dark. I don’t hear from him the rest of the day and by the time he comes home from dinner at 11 P.M., I’m in bed and half asleep. I try to talk to him but it immediately turns into a fight. I assume that his birthday made him realize that he has two separate lives: one with his sick wife and another with his daughters. Rightfully so, he is struggling with this scenario, although this is his fourth marriage so it’s not the first time he experiences this kind of a separation between his loved ones. Unfortunately this is the same old “Foster Movie” and I am just the new leading lady. Sadly this is the truth of our reality. I learned about this family dimension soon after we got married. I feel powerless because there is nothing I can do. I can’t change who people are or how they care for others. I am confident, though, that I have been a kind, giving, and fair stepmother who gave blending our families 200 percent effort in the five years before I got sick with nothing in return during the difficult four years that followed.
After opening up this box and this very uncomfortable subject, being in the condo is awkward. There is a huge disconnect between us and I feel like a visitor in David’s environment while I am trying to fight to stay alive. In the midst of this most difficult time with my husband, Gigi gets cast for the Victoria’s Secret show, which is a dream come true for her. The video of her auditioning and
then being told she got the job, where she screams, sits on her heels, and starts crying, goes viral, so everyone is talking about it and texting me with excitement. Landing this job is a very special accomplishment, because Gigi and I set it as a goal when I dropped her in New York just two years earlier. She is on cloud nine while I am in the midst of a thunder storm which I don’t want to share with her in this moment in time. She asks me to bring Anwar and David to the show, because she has no idea what he and I are going through. How can I miss it? I have to pull it together and go. But David is shooting a Disney project in Florida and then is scheduled to fly to Paris to record with Carla Bruni so he can’t go. With a big knot in my stomach and feeling completely discombobulated, Anwar and I fly to New York.
When we arrive, I text David to say that we landed safely. Eight hours later, he gives a very terse response and then goes completely silent. This feeling of abandonment is the worst, most suffocating thing for me. This is on top of the many Lyme symptoms that have flared up from the stress and confusion of this life-changing experience. It’s a tough pill to swallow. Still, I do what mothers do and keep it together to avoid taking away from Gigi’s great joy at such an exciting time in her life. I try to focus on business and schedule a meeting for Anwar to meet with IMG. I organized a test photo shoot with Jack Guy a couple of months ago, and Gigi’s agent, Louis Mattos, is interested in representing Anwar. Anwar is unsure, but I feel it’s important for him to be exposed to different aspects of the fashion industry, especially because he has such talent and passion for designing. This year we decided to have him homeschooled, which has allowed Anwar, who is very creative, to spend more time sewing, cutting, and building on his own collection. Although his education is the most important thing, doing a couple of modeling jobs a year will not only give him a taste of the financial independence that he needs to acquire, it will also be a great way to start building relationships within the fashion industry.
I try to get through these couple of days the best that I can, just going through the motions, numb inside from the shock of all that has transpired over the past couple days. Though I never share details of my marriage with my children, Anwar instinctively knows something is wrong. He always stays very close to me, but he does not leave my side for a second during this trip.
Two days later, Anwar and I go to JFK to return home. A greeter takes us through security and to the lounge.
“You have about an hour before the flight,” the greeter says.
“Thank you. We’ve got it from here,” I tell him. “You can go.” I get a cup of tea. While Anwar is on his phone, I sit and just stare out the window, completely paralyzed. It’s the first moment I actually allow myself to feel. It’s heavy and I have no clue how much time is passing by.
“Mom, when are we leaving?” Anwar asks.
“Eight P.M., my love. What time is it?” I say.
“It is eight!”
We jump up and rush to the lounge’s front desk. “We’re supposed to be on the eight o’clock flight, but we didn’t hear any announcements,” I tell the man behind the desk.
“We don’t do announcements in this lounge,” he says, as he looks up our flight. “I’m sorry, but it just left the gate.” What? We missed our flight?
Anwar is upset and so am I. I go to the bathroom and have a complete meltdown. I feel so overwhelmed and dumb for letting this happen. I just want to get home. Before I leave the bathroom I dry my tears. Anwar is waiting for me right outside the door and puts his arms around me.
“It’s okay, Mommy.”
“No. It’s not, Anwar. I can’t even catch my own flight,” I say.
“It doesn’t matter. There’s another one later,” he says. And he’s right. In the big scheme of things, it’s just an extra two hours out of our day.
We get home really late, but at least we are home.
November 11 is our fourth wedding anniversary. Although I’m seeing another side to David, I still love him and don’t want this once very special day to go unnoticed, so I send him flowers in Florida. Late that night, I receive a bouquet in return with a note that says, “11/11 was a very special day. Xo David.” This is the final rose and it is clear that everything good is gone.
David is supposed to go from Florida to Paris, but since major suicide bombings and mass shootings are taking place in Paris right now, he cancels his trip and flies back to L.A. Yet instead of coming home to me and working on our problems, he blatantly checks into the Peninsula Beverly Hills—a hotel just two and a half miles down the road from the condo! I have already learned that David deals with emotions by cutting off all communication and performing a well-oiled disappearing act, yet not hearing from him is devastating. Not even a text saying, “I need space so I’m at a hotel.” Instead, it is complete and utter silence. I guess this allows him to escape from having to deal with the facts of his life, my heart, and the sadness he is causing me. How did we go from that beautiful boat trip in July to David living at the Peninsula in November? Yes. I get that David married a lemon! But isn’t this what marriage is all about? In sickness and in health? I’m pissed and, most of all, disappointed with his failure to keep his word and lack of loyalty. But I also feel sorry for him because he is unable to communicate with kindness and understanding. I sadly see the stuck little boy who has been running his whole life because he doesn’t have the tools to fix the things he has broken on purpose.
Although I stay in treatment and on my detox protocol, I am really stressed and spend my days in bed trying to find my strength. After about ten days, David comes by the apartment to get some clothes. With my half of a brain, I try to start a discussion, but he isn’t interested. His demeanor is cold and aggressive, a side of David that I’ve never seen before.
“Let’s talk about this,” I say, trying to stay calm and not engage with his negativity. We can work things out.
“Your sick card is up,” he says. I am totally stunned Actually I am enraged. MY SICK CARD IS UP? After having a front-row seat to my journey, he’s actually saying that I used a SICK CARD? Who is he talking to? Who is influencing him? How did he come up with such an unkind statement? I don’t deserve this! David has watched me fight for my life over the years. He has seen me at my lowest possible point. And yet he thinks I’m playing the SICK CARD? What happened to the sweet husband who ran my port and hooked up my daily IV antibiotics when this first started? During one of his interviews for the show, he even says, “When you get married, it’s for better or for worse, and Lyme disease is something that Yolanda and I are going to have to deal with for life … Lyme disease showed me that I could be a good husband because I have failed at that a few times in the past.” I guess people are allowed to change their mind and maybe promises are made to be broken. I don’t know how else to make sense out of this. The caregiver role isn’t meant for everyone. Not everyone has the strength or the ability to battle through years of uncertainty with a chronically ill partner, and I’m the first one to admit that it’s not easy. It is very hard on the caretakers in the family but like my little Bella said, I am not choosing to be sick. I readily acknowledge my own shortcomings in our marriage. Although I’m a very good sick person, I’m definitely not the wife I used to be and will probably never be that wife again. My health challenges have changed my ability to do for others the way I used to. That said, it has not changed my moral compass, integrity, or compassion for others, and if roles were reversed and David was sick, I would stick by him.
I thought that our relationship was a lifelong one. Of course, in any marriage, even the best, there are ebbs and flows, but I was willing to ride the waves with David because I was in our marriage for the long haul. However, once he tells me that my “sick card is up,” I know that something has pushed him over the edge. He also says something else that I won’t repeat but will never forget. These two statements are so below the belt that this makes it a very sad but very clear moment for me. Even though I am unsure and have no idea how much longer my he
alth journey is going to be, I’m not afraid to continue on to the finish line by myself. Nothing and nobody is going to stop me from figuring this out. The loss of my marriage is abrupt, and not having the opportunity to communicate with David makes things ten times worse. I lost my husband and my best friend all in one day. I cry myself to sleep many nights.
The day before Thanksgiving, I get a letter from David’s lawyer saying that we’re officially separated. This is obviously not something he needs to do but something he wants to do. We aren’t talking and David posts a picture on Instagram that says “Foster-ized Thanksgiving,” showing his family without me. I get the message loud and clear.
I’m devastated and just want to stay home and hide under the covers, but my kids beg me to come with them to Mohamed’s house for dinner. I go because it’s important to my children, but I’m paralyzed and unable to talk or eat because the knot in my stomach is so big. Divorce, regardless of how it happens, feels like a death, especially when you don’t have children together.
I’m not sure how I will do it but I have to pull up the bootstraps. My kids are watching my every move and I must lead by example just like my mom always did. I want to show them that we can get through difficult times like this with grace and great self-respect. First I’ve got to get out of David’s condo and find a space that is mine and that my children can call home. I don’t want the press to find out that I’m looking at apartments, so my friend Rebecca uses her broker and we make an appointment for Thursday morning. The day before, I see my osteopath, Dr. Trafeli, and fall asleep during my treatment, probably because of pure exhaustion and too much crying. I have a clear vision of a white bed that faces a huge window with sunlight streaming through it. It’s such a strong image.
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