A few months earlier, in early November 2012, I heard about a new Lyme specialist who was supposed to be a genius and miracle worker. Dr. Stanley Kacherski would be the twelfth and last Lyme doctor I would see on my journey back to health. Kacherski is at the very top of the Lyme field. He was the first in his field to create his own homeopathies by using an infected tick. Three of the top homeopaths, from Germany, Switzerland, and India, had trained him. Based on basic homeopathic principles, that the body can heal itself, his treatment system was complex, but he led me step by step.

  I began right away and started to feel the Herxheimer. Dr. Kacherski was smart to not tell me how many more cycles of the treatment I had to go through. I took all the treatments with me to Mustique. Every morning, I made fresh coconut milk shakes with pumpkin seed powder, celery, and parsley, with an apple to alkalize my system and lower any inflammation.

  We worked out of “the black box,” which was actually like a hard-cased, old-fashioned doctor’s bag. It contained little glass vials with cork caps that were filled with teeny-tiny white pellets of magic that healed the psyche and the body to the deepest layers of my being. They reset the emotional subconscious, so to speak.

  They came from a very prestigious homeopathic specialist in India. I know that they were very powerful—the treatment was intense and went beyond the physical plane. Our cells hold unhealthy negative memories and these pills would help release them. After taking them, I would experience severe anxiety and emotional weakness. I was told that I was mourning the loss of the disease I was letting go of, mourning for all the turmoil my body had gone through. It seemed to target where I was most vulnerable.

  I wanted a family of my own. I had wanted to be a mother from my earliest memories. I was fearful that Steve would not want to be with someone who was so sensitive. I was fearful that I could never work the way I wanted to. This, too, I mourned.

  When my emotions finally settled down, I felt a release I had never felt before from the bondage of a pain I had been living with for most of my life. The black box really rocked my world. It was as if I had placed my Lyme into the basket of a hot air balloon, gased and fired it up, and let it go.

  I started to paint again—I hadn’t had a paintbrush in my hand for three years. Steve and I set up an art studio in the guest cottage on the beach and painted together. It was incredible how much creativity poured out. I began a new series, which I now realize was symbolic of my healing.

  I began doing daily meditations, which made me feel balanced and whole and centered. I call these guided chakra meditations.

  We had friends come visit us in Mustique. We cooked every meal together every day and I painted. It was blissful. Steve did his work for Warner Music remotely, and we set up a little office in the dining room. We were like two old people in our seventies living the life of gypsies—a life of simplicity and happiness.

  I volunteered at the local preschool, where I read to the local children and played games with them. Once a week, Steve and I also ran an after-school art class at the local elementary school. Being around children filled me with laughter and hope and perhaps awakened an instinct in me that had been buried under Lyme disease for a long time.

  Every day I meditated and wrote my intentions and did a focus wheel on the beach in the back of our house. I wrote about moving to a house where it was warm and open and where Steve’s and my relationship would grow stronger and stronger, and where creativity would flow.

  Every day in the sun I felt better, and further from the shadow of Lyme.

  twenty-nine

  HIGHWAY TO HEAVEN

  “The air was soft, the stars so fine, the promise of every cobbled alley so great, that I thought I was in a dream.”

  —JACK KEROUAC, ON THE ROAD

  In the spring of 2013, Steve received a job offer on the West Coast. That June we packed my car and drove across the country. We chose the southern route and took our time. I was still taking treatments, so while Steve drove I would nap. One day I awakened as Steve was pulling into Dollywood, Dolly Parton’s theme park in eastern Tennessee. “Surprise!” He smiled. We went on every ride there and I had so much fun.

  Along the way to Los Angeles, we stayed in travel lodges and motels and ate at truck stops and diners, though I had to be careful with what I ordered—a burger wrapped in lettuce was one of my favored choices. We stopped at Graceland and ate famous barbecue in Memphis. We went to the Grand Canyon, the memory of which awes me still. We stayed in a dude ranch and spent two days in Las Vegas, where Steve met his work contact.

  I was so excited to be in Vegas—it was my first time as an adult. Steve and I stayed at the Mandalay Bay and that night went to the club in the hotel. Steve worked with the deejay who was performing. I played a little blackjack and won. By the second day I was nauseous from all the cigarette smoke and couldn’t wait to leave!

  Vegas aside, the road trip across the country was wonderful and just what the doctor ordered. I’d spent so many years battling my disease, and since so much of that time the battle took place on a spiritual plane, it was almost as if the universe was telling me to put my feet on the ground and feel the gravel of the road under my shoes.

  “There’s a big shiny world out there, Ally,” it was saying. “Go take a look.”

  When we were in Mustique, I’d meditated and done focus wheels envisioning a place where Steve and I could live, a home that was warm, bright, and open. The thought of staying on Mustique never entered my mind. It was far too isolated and unrealistic for a young couple; we weren’t running away from the world, we wanted to be part of it.

  I’d also never considered living in Los Angeles. I am very trusting, and I always want to think the best of people. But I’m not naïve, at least not anymore. I’ve learned how to respect my instincts and follow my gut. I have a yellow, orange, and red flag system. Yellow means someone who is harmless—a little clingy but with kind intentions and a good heart. Orange means someone who is codependent and doesn’t know they have ulterior motives. And red, well, it just means Stay away.

  But then Steve got the call, and L.A. was where we were headed. I immediately called my brother Richard, who helped put my mind at ease. He’d been living on the west side of L.A. for a few years.

  “It’s so beautiful, Ally,” he said. “I wake up every day happy.”

  We rented an old, Spanish-style house in Silver Lake, which is a bit more like New York in the creative sense of the word; maybe like the Williamsburg of L.A. The house was quaint and peaceful and surrounded by little fountains and beautiful foliage. It had a fireplace, plenty of outdoor space, and room for an art studio. I painted and cooked three meals a day.

  In L.A. I met really good people: healthy, kind, creative, grounded. I struck up a friendship with a girl who ran a very cool vintage clothing store. There were none of those flighty L.A. people I’d always feared.

  One day I decided to stop at Trader Joe’s to pick up some things to cook for dinner for Steve and me. As I waited on the checkout line, I saw a package of chocolate-covered cherries, which are a guilty pleasure of mine. I knew I wasn’t supposed to have them, but every once in while you just have to throw caution to the wind.

  I opened the package and began eating them on line. As I got to the parking lot, a Mini car came to a screeching halt in front of me and out of it climbed two West Hollywood boys in tight jean shorts and mesh tank tops.

  “Are you Ally Hilfiger?” one asked almost breathlessly. I nodded. “Oh my God, we are such big fans of Rich Girls!” Every now and again someone would recognize me from the show, and I guess it had a second life as a cult favorite, especially in the gay community. Still, I was always a little shocked by the mention of the show—it was really a different lifetime for me.

  To be honest, I was a little flattered. They fawned over me and asked to take a couple of photos, which I was happy to do. As I got into my car, I was feeling really pretty good about myself. Then I looked in the mirror and saw I had chocolate all over my lips and chin!

  Every day I thanked the focus wheels for how easy the move and transition were. I wrote my intentions on our road trip and kept a positive attitude. I was feeling really well. Although the treatments from Dr. Kacherski were tedious and required patience and discipline, I was willing to do whatever it took, and whatever it took was working.

  Years of antibiotics had destroyed my insides, though they had been extremely helpful treatments at the time. Now I kept things slow and steady when I felt well, and rested for a whole day after I traveled anywhere. I wasn’t afraid to say no when asked to do one too many things. The days of spreading myself thin were over. I was wise enough to know when I needed to rest and take a nap and trained myself not to feel guilty for doing so. Los Angeles was so chill, and so far from the pressure in New York that had made me ill, that I knew I’d made the correct decision in moving there. Am I perfect at all of this? Absolutely not. If I’m at an Italian restaurant and I want to eat a bowl of rigatoni Bolognese, I’m going to. With that said, I try to follow an anti-inflammatory, immune-strengthening diet as best as I can.

  It had been nearly ten years since I was diagnosed with Lyme disease. In that time I had created a toolbox for myself and filled it with spiritual and physical methods to help me get through anything my disease threw at me. The tools included phone numbers of healthy people, breathing exercises, writing practices, therapists, foods, herbs, meditation, and not lying to myself about when I didn’t feel great.

  After ten long years, I had developed a healthy sense of what really matters in life and what has meaning.

  After ten long years, I finally had the clarity to know what I needed to be happy.

  Dr. Shander had recommended someone named Joe Wilson, who taught me about powerful meditations. I did these special meditations and I imagined visiting with everyone in my life who had seen me through this torturous road with my health. In my meditation, I saw and told every one of my doctors, from Dr. Phillips to Dr. Kacherski, that I was better. I saw myself with Dr. Shander in her office, where I told her that I was completely healed. I transported myself to my backyard in Greenwich and told all my friends that I had been cured and didn’t have a trace of Lyme left in my body. I saw Steve in our old apartment; Jaimie was there, too. I saw Uncle Billy in the attic on Round Hill Road and my island family on the beach in Mustique.

  I swam in the healing ocean in Mustique with my mother, and she and I cried with happiness that I was free from Lyme. I fell into my father’s arms and thanked him for all he had done, because he’d been so strong for me and it had all worked. In my imagination, the reactions on my parents’ faces felt so real and true and beautiful.

  Then I was able to see myself in the moment with all of my senses engaged, telling people I was totally healed, and I was. I remember feeling heat run through my body. It was as if I were injected with light that I imagined dissipating any dead or sleeping spirochetes.

  As I opened my eyes, I kept that feeling I had experienced in my meditation. That feeling of being able to tell people I was healed, and feeling truly healed, once and for all. I think between the years of antibiotics, homeopathic treatments, detox diets, herbs, meditations, letting go of stress, and being in love, attempting to gain balance and happiness within myself might have seeped into my subconscious somehow. I felt healed. Maybe I would have to go through a few things here or there, but never would I ever have to be in fetal positions sobbing in agony, pain, confusion, or any other extreme symptoms of Lyme disease. I had filled a huge toolbox for myself over the past twenty-two years, to help me manage this illness. Though I know I am not 100 percent cured, you never are from Lyme disease, I feel healed in many ways. I feel stronger and more capable, and able to be honest when my stomach, brain, or joints flare up. It doesn’t have to pull me into the pits of hell.

  thirty

  NOT AT ALL WHAT I WAS EXPECTING…

  There is a moment in any journey where you look back and realize that it all finally makes sense. All of the treatments I’d taken, all of the setbacks, disappointments, and Lyme relapses I had experienced had not, in fact, been slides backward but necessary steps forward. The realization that the only way out of my sickness was through it was pretty sweet. In fact, I thought nothing could be more miraculous.

  I was wrong.

  Ten months after settling into our new home and life in Los Angeles, including my boyfriend’s new job as creative director with a cool independent electronic label and a big-name artist, Steve was scheduled for a work trip to Japan with his whole team and I was invited. My mom had often told me about being pregnant with me and designing her women’s sportswear collection in Japan. When I told her I was going on the trip she didn’t offer any sightseeing advice; all she said was, “Don’t eat the rattlesnake soup.”

  We landed in Kyoto, where we saw the Kinkaku-ji, the golden Buddhist temple, and a real geisha walking on the street. The following day we took the fast train to Tokyo. When people asked if I’d ever been there before, I’d say yes, but that I had been in my mother’s abdomen at the time. We ate sushi for breakfast and felt like teenagers out on the town. There was an electric energy in the air with everyone on this Japan trip; it was tangible and delightful. I danced, ate, made love, laughed, ran, skipped, sang, and explored.

  One month after Japan, Steve and I went to Santa Barbara, California, where I did two visual meditations. The morning meditation, which I did on the beach, was focused on creativity. Right after the meditation we saw dolphins jumping and swimming in the ocean in front of us. Later that day, we went to the house where Steve was born. It might have been a coincidence that my astrology chart had sent me to the place of Steve’s birth, or maybe not.

  The second meditation, to be done in the evening, was centered on my health. Through the magic of Google Maps, Steve found a lovely park with a bench where I could sit. My boyfriend stayed in the car, did a little meditation of his own, and watched over me to make sure there weren’t any creeps around. I told him to visualize white light and sparkles swimming through my body. He was sweet and went along with my silly request. As I fell into the meditation, I went around to all the people I knew and loved and told them I was completely healed and cured. This time my imagination, however, threw in a little twist: While visiting all these people I saw myself pregnant.

  In the meditation, my friends and family asked if the Lyme was affecting the pregnancy. No, I assured them. I told them that I had never felt better in my life, that I was totally cured, and that I felt absolutely amazing.

  I remember being curious as to why the meditation would interpret me as pregnant. With all my body had been through, I wasn’t even sure I could get pregnant. Steve and I had discussed the possibility and decided we would to try in a year or two. We had wanted some time just to feel healthy and free. To be honest, I didn’t spend much time thinking about it. I just figured my meditation and imagination were projecting into the future. It wasn’t until the next evening that it all made sense.

  On our way back from Santa Barbara, we stopped in to see my mother, who had also moved to L.A., to be close to my brother and me. I had a few presents I’d found for her at an antique shop. As Mom and I were chatting, I lifted up my shirt and asked her if she thought I had gained a few pounds; I was feeling heavier than normal. She was politely honest, as usual, and said, “Yup, you don’t look like yourself.”

  It was at that point when the possibility dawned on me. Steve, my mom, and I walked to the pharmacy, where I bought three pregnancy tests (and Steve bought a six-pack of Pabst Blue Ribbon beer). We rushed back to her house and I peed on all three sticks. A few minutes later, all of us crammed into the bathroom. My heart was racing.

  All three tests were positive.

  I don’t know if it was right then, but if it wasn’t it was soon thereafter that I found myself in the bathroom crying. The tears that streaked my face were different than the tears of years gone by, the tears of frustration and pain, the tears of hopelessness that chronic Lyme sufferers experience. Gone from my reflection was any trace of the doctors, the treatment, and the relapses. In their place was a new woman, a pregnant woman, crying tears of joy. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not like the Lyme disease has completely disappeared. I still experience joint pain, nausea, memory loss, and other symptoms of Lyme, and I probably always will. But I’m different now and the realization of that is truly a miracle, and a moment I wish for for everyone who suffers from Lyme disease. Even in the most chronic cases of Lyme like mine, hope is the most powerful antidote.

  epilogue

  I began writing this book in 2012. It grew out of my daily writing exercises and focus wheels in which I had announced to the universe my intention to help others with Lyme disease. Over the last few years, I’ve become more involved with the Global Lyme Alliance, serving on its board of directors. Last year, along with Yolanda Foster and Latin singing star Thalia, I was honored with the Courage Award at the Global Lyme Alliance’s annual gala in New York City. It was a night that glittered with celebrity and the brightest lights in the world of fashion. The most brilliant part of the evening, however, was the fact that we raised more than $3 million.

  When I accepted my award, I told the audience a bit about my story and then asked them to focus on the youngest victims of Lyme disease. They are our daughters and sons, and grandchildren. Our future generation needs our help so they won’t have to go through life in a fog and with chronic pain. Children ages three to fourteen are at the greatest risk at contracting the disease.

  Our beautiful, healthy daughter, Harley Elizabeth Hilfiger Hash, was born on February 8, 2015 at Cedars-Sinai Medical Center in Los Angeles. Steve brought an iPod so there’d be music in the room. When I was trying to push, the doctor told Steve to change it to something a little more upbeat than Native American flute music. So Steve went to the iPod and pressed “shuffle” on the rock-and-roll playlist. My daughter came into the world to David Bowie’s “Space Oddity,” our song. She is the light of our lives and the motivation behind all that we do. Yet, Harley came into a world that still hasn’t caught up to the ravages of Lyme disease. Countless numbers of Lyme sufferers continue to be undiagnosed or misdiagnosed, and many simply cannot afford the treatment.