Bite Me, page 22
“It’s going to be okay. Take as much time as you need,” he said as he hugged me. “Just take care of yourself.”
Those words, “Just take care of yourself,” were overwhelming. How? How was I supposed to take care of myself if I thought I already was taking care of myself? What else could I do? Do I have to be on treatments and diets and herbs for the rest of my life? Can’t I just live and eat normally? I was disappointed in myself, confused, frustrated, and I had no idea what to do with myself next.
After Nary left, I wandered through the Fashion District. I thought some air and some space would help. I was in a scene from a movie, the one where the heroine is on the verge of a nervous breakdown. I walked to Bryant Park. Big mistake. It was the first pretty springlike day of the year and it was a mob scene. I stood there frozen among what seemed like a million lives happening around me. I’d get a short glimpse of where I was and then my brain would turn off, as if someone were flipping a light switch.
I was sure I was going out of my mind.
I called Steve at his office. He said he would come home as quickly as possible.
“How could I have let this happen again?” I asked him.
I beat Steve back to the apartment and sat for a while by myself. My brain had cleared a little and I was able think through my situation. I had not let it happen to me again. It wasn’t my fault. It was the fault of this fucking disease. I wasn’t going crazy and I wasn’t going to give up. I might be only five feet tall, and Lyme might be the undefeated champion, but I’d already gone eleven rounds with it and nothing was going to keep me in my corner when the bell rang for the twelfth.
The next few months were really, really rough. I crawled back to Manhattan Advanced Medicine to see Nurse Lisa and Dr. Manganaro. It turned out my body had built up a lot of toxicity. Also, when the body is stressed, when adrenals are shot, and the body has been attacked over the years in specific areas (in my case stomach, joints, and brain), the tissue holds the memory. They were shocked to see how toxic my body had become once again. They told me I needed to start at square one.
“So square one it is,” I said.
I could barely lift up my body in the morning to use the restroom, let alone think about starting this whole thing over again. There must be some lesson, something that I am missing.
Dr. Manganaro recommended I see Sheila Bath. Sheila is incredibly intuitive and a past-life regression healer. When I finally got the courage to call her, I felt immediately at ease and knew that this was the right next step for me. This was a totally alternative approach to my fighting my disease, but I was open and ready to embrace it.
I knew again in my heart that there was a spiritual solution to my illness and Sheila opened the door for me.
She was like a supercharged, fast-track therapist with tangible and straightforward solutions and advice. No bullshit. She started me on daily writing exercises, which changed my life. The exercises were called Written Intentions and Focus Wheels, her adaptation of the Abraham-Hicks law of attraction process. Of course all of the treatments over the years had beaten back Lyme, attacking the nastiest of the nasty spirochetes and strengthening my body to fight. But this was different. This was bigger. This was like the mother of all armies. And simpler than anything I could have imagined.
One of the insights I gained through this process was that I had often used my sickness as a way to hide away from doing things I didn’t want to do or face. It wasn’t that I could arrange when I got sick, but when I did I often used it as the perfect excuse. I also learned that beating myself up only delays the healing process. Dr. Shander made me stop calling it “my Lyme disease.” I didn’t own it, and I certainly didn’t want it. Negative language lowers your defenses against the disease, she told me. Instead of owning the disease, Shander told me to say, “I am overcoming Lyme disease” and to call it “the” disease, not “my” disease.
Maybe most important, I learned that I needed to share my experience with others who suffer from Lyme so they don’t have to feel so isolated in their struggles. I knew that was the only way I was going to get and stay better.
It was in that insight that the idea for this book was born.
Here’s the thing about listening for the universe to tell you what to do, though. It’s not as if it calls you on the phone or texts you. It can, and often does, talk to you through other people, but you have to remain open to the idea there is a power outside of you that wants you well. I know this might sound crazy, but all I can do is tell you what happened to me and let the chips fall where they may.
If you do remain open to the idea, however, the results are amazing. When I first met Nary, back when he hired me to style and cast his fashion show, he was the subject of a documentary being filmed called Dressed. Later on, after we started NAHM, I accompanied Nary to a couple of screenings of the film at colleges and such. We were sort of the happy ending of Nary’s story and would answer questions during the Q&A after the screening. During this time, I became friendly with the film’s producer, Maryanne Grisz, who also happened to be a Reiki master. When she found out about my Lyme history, she offered to perform Reiki healings on me, a technique of channeling energy into my body, which she did in my apartment on a few Saturdays. Those treatments were amazing.
One day when I was having a real anxiety attack, Maryanne came over with an Ayurveda remedy that contained, I think, buttermilk, ghee, cardamom, cinnamon, and a dash of maple syrup. It was like Valium. It was really wonderful.
Because of Maryanne, I became interested in Ayurvedic medicine and one night Steve and I watched a couple of documentaries about it. In the middle of the second documentary, Dr. Scott Gerson came on the screen. He was an American living in New York. I grabbed a pen and paper and scribbled his name in giant letters across the page. Something, in an odd way, felt very familiar about him. The next morning, I jumped out of bed and called Dr. Gerson’s office (doctor No. 11).
The following week, Steve and I pulled up to a large rustic home in Brewster, New York. I was wearing a vintage Doors T-shirt, which I had thrown on in what I thought was one of those last-minute fashion decisions I make as I walk out the door. The universe, however, was speaking to me.
We sat in the living room, which doubled as the waiting room. It was bright and sunny, and it had a lovely and healthy energy. I was wiggling my legs like a little kid, I was so excited.
Dr. Gerson came out of his office wearing a long Indian collarless cotton blouse and white cotton pants and black clogs, and he looked just as he did in the documentary, with a long brown ponytail, friendly face, and kind blue eyes. He smiled as if he was genuinely pleased to see us and welcomed us into his examining room. We removed our shoes and walked into a big room with Oriental rugs and two large chairs, which looked as if they were made for royalty in the eighteenth century. In the end of the room stood a big brass Indian goddess statue in front of one of the four large bookshelves lining the room.
“You are wearing my very favorite band on your T-shirt,” Dr. Gerson said with a big smile.
My heart leaped.
Dr. Gerson asked me for a brief synopsis of my history. I told him what my parents were like, how I was raised. I was very honest, and I became a bit emotional when discussing the pressure I felt I was under running a business. I didn’t want to let anyone down, and I felt that I had no choice but to be very successful.
After I opened my heart to the doctor, with Steve sitting next to me holding my hand, Dr. Gerson invited me to sit on the floor with him beside the statue. He had me take some long deep breaths and told me to focus on something that brought me peace, and I chose the statue. She was a strong, powerful goddess. The doctor chanted and took my pulse from my wrists for a long while.
“You are not hopeless, Ally,” he said. “Your body has definitely been through a lot and has a lot of healing to do, but I can tell that you are indeed able to get better and overcome this.”
Dr. Gerson scheduled me to come to the five-day Pancha Karma and take some herbs beforehand. Pancha Karma is an Ayurvedic seasonal detox. He gave me lemon balm oil drops to put under my tongue two times a day to calm my nervous system. He put me on a special “Vata” diet. There are three doshas, or energies, in everybody’s human body: Vata, Kapha, Pitta. Usually one is more out of balance than the rest. In my case it was the Vata, which represents air. An out-of-balance Vata can produce a great amount of anxiety.
A month or so later, during June’s summer solstice and full moon, I packed up a little suitcase, and Steve dropped me off at the doctor’s house to join a group of people I had never met in a five-day Pancha Karma.
When I arrived for the first day of this Pancha Karma, I had no idea how much this seasonal detox cleanse would change me. I experienced everything from heart palpitation flare-ups, to tears, anger, and low blood sugar attacks. I kept the faith no matter how low I got, and surrendered myself into the hands of the doctor and his protocol. In the morning, we had a light breakfast and would be given an enema created for each individual by the doctor, and wait to have our treatments. A woman would come fetch you and lead you to the steam room. After the steam, I was led into a room with a massage table and lots of sheets and hot oil. Two women would simultaneously massage in such a specific way to drain the lymphatic system and increase circulation. The doctor always met with the “herbalists” to prescribe what kind of massage and oil they should use. Some days I was given a Shirodhara treatment, which is a constant stream of hot oil being poured over your forehead for twenty minutes. This resets the nervous system as well. Some days I would be covered in clay and wrapped up in hot towels, which detoxed the body. Every day, Dr. Gerson would meet us for a healthy vegetarian Indian lunch. There were about eight people participating and living together undergoing these treatments tailor made for them and their ailments. There were people who had cancer, OCD, AIDS, or who just wanted to detox and feel healthy. It felt like I had checked myself into a rehab, but this time it was by choice and more relaxing.
Back home, I felt better than I had in a while. I think I really overcame a huge hurdle by doing the Pancha Karma. As good as the German protocol was, I wanted to try something new “to make sure no rock went unturned.” Always try something new, because you never know how it will help!
Steve and I were living temporarily at my dad’s guest cottage in Greenwich, because it was calmer and the air was cleaner. I followed the Ayurvedic program thoroughly and felt so much clearer. But I was tired much of the time and struggling to keep NAHM afloat from my bed. I was also out of the loop on many design and business decisions, which was difficult for me. I was cracked wide open spiritually, and very vulnerable. When a NAHM employee came to my apartment back in New York one day to show me samples and sign some papers, I became a puddle of tears. I was so embarrassed about how weak I had become. I was feeling sorry for myself and felt defeated. Tangible and practical matters were hard for me to take seriously, and it was especially difficult to concentrate on anything due to the fact that all throughout July and August I had been suffering from bad headaches. For my body, I suppose Dr. Gerson’s treatments could only go so far. I realize now that my body was trying to talk to me, well, yell at me. It was saying “STOP STRESSING YOURSELF OUT I CAN’T HANDLE IT ANYMORE!!!”
When late August rolled around, I knew I needed to get myself in gear to prepare our collection for the next fashion show in September. The New York Times wanted to do an article on us, and I needed the collection to be in tiptop shape. When I arrived at the new NAHM studio on Crosby Street in SoHo, the collection was not cohesive and nowhere near complete. I felt that I needed to rework the entire collection and start from scratch. Nary had a family emergency and had to be back in Ohio, and he had picked up the slack for me the past few months, so the least I could do was finish this collection to be presentable for New York Fashion Week and all of the pre-press.
I was able to make it into the office every day for half days. It was difficult for me to focus, and I felt drained after only two or three hours of working, but I was thrilled to be back and creative again. I insisted that my staff take care of themselves and take breaks often, eat healthy food, and recharge. I have always run a very organized and stress-free team, and I took pride in the fact that we were calm and organized, which is rare in the high-strung fashion world.
I was in the precarious position of having one foot in health and the other in Lyme, and although I never forgot how tentative my well-being was, there was a moment or two that I didn’t want to believe my health was so fragile. One day I went out to eat with some of Steve’s relatives who were in town. I knew that pizza was not on the Lyme diet plan, but I didn’t want to seem like a picky eater. I was so thin that I didn’t want anyone to judge me and think I was on some diet for vanity reasons. I just wanted to be normal and fit in.
I ate two pieces of delicious pizza and might have had a little bite of dessert. After the meal, Steve and I went to meet some friends. I was walking my bike beside him on the sidewalk. One minute Steve was asking me a question and the next thing I knew he was putting me in a cab to take me home. I couldn’t remember my address or the code to my lock for the bike. It was as if I’d had a mini-seizure. The gluten, dairy, and sugar had inhibited my brain function. The stress I was under trying to get ready for Fashion Week didn’t help.
That evening, I talked to Dr. Shander. “You know better than to eat crappy food,” she said.
I got so mad I threw the phone. I was already angry with myself. I didn’t need anyone else scolding me.
The next day I was standing in my kitchen making tea, and a burning hot yellow liquid began to leak out of my rear end. I know it’s not the most attractive visual, but I’m telling you it was like acid. It was uncontrollable. I completely freaked out and sobbed out of helplessness and pure pain-panic.
I later learned that it was my gallbladder reacting to toxins. I went back to Dr. Manganaro immediately, and he said there was a possibility that they might have to remove my gallbladder. There were studies and cases claiming the IV antibiotic I had been on several years ago greatly damaged patients’ gallbladders. I went on an aggressive series of homeopathies as well as a super-strict diet and cleanse, and it saved me from having surgery.
My gallbladder turned out to be the least of my worries.
It was three days before the New York Times writer was to come into the office. We were really making some good progress on the collection. I was beginning to be excited about ideas and fabrics and silhouettes and trims. Finally. Our staff was amazing. That they were pulling the collection together at all was a feat, but that they were going to make it happen on deadline was a miracle. During this time, my headaches were becoming more and more consistent, daily in fact. My father was concerned and wanted me to go to a migraine specialist, but I told him I was okay, I just had a lot on my plate and needed to focus.
I left the studio at 9 p.m. I had wanted to stay longer, but my staff took one look at me and sent me home. The over-the-counter migraine medication wasn’t cutting it.
I woke up the next day with the same blinding headache that had now lasted more than twenty-four hours. I immediately called the migraine specialist my dad suggested. I went in to see Dr. Green at Mount Sinai Hospital. I walked into the office wearing dark sunglasses, like Jackie O. Dr. Green thoroughly examined me and interviewed me.
“I don’t think your body does well with a lot of stress. You need to slow down and try to take it easy.”
I responded defensively, “But I have a collection to show, and this company means everything to me. I can’t ignore what I started and throw it all away.”
“It’s either your company or your health,” he said with a small, knowing smile. “I am admitting you into the ER immediately for an IV and CAT scan, just as a precaution. We need to check this out and make sure it’s nothing serious.”
I called Steve to let him know what was going on. I didn’t want to worry anyone, but just in case, I didn’t want to be alone, either.
It turned out that I had a small aneurysm in my brain. Whether or not it was Lyme related I’m not sure. The migraines were Lyme related, though, and without them the doctor might not have done the CT scan and found the aneurism. It was too small to clamp in surgery. The only thing we could do was keep an eye on it. The migraine specialist had suggested that I might want to think about living somewhere a little calmer and cleaner than New York City.
I knew I needed to be on a totally different path, and for good.
Steve and I had been together for two and a half years at this point. He was ever patient and constantly loving. He was my number-one advocate and supporter next to my dad. Together they formed a kind of tag team to help me through this latest relapse. Steve called my dad to tell him what the doctor had found. Dad was adamant about one thing, and Steve agreed with him. On some level, I knew it was inevitable.
NAHM had to close, once and for all.
It was the right decision, but it was heartbreaking.
I wanted so much for everything to be normal, and each time “normal” seemed in my grasp, Lyme, or Lyme-related illnesses, would snatch it away from me.
Right after Christmas, Steve and I left for Mustique. We’d been talking about living on the island for some time. Steve was transitioning out of his office job at Warner Music Group and he was able to work for them remotely. I was still following the protocol from Dr. Gerson, and I did another Pancha Karma for the fall season. Even though I knew Ayurveda was working, I was not willing to take any chances. I had a feeling that there was one last doctor I needed to see. Don’t ask me how or why I thought this, but my intuition knew there was still something else out there that would really be the very last home run, once and for all.
