This Is How I Save My Life

by Amy B. Scher

  It is true what they say, that you can never go back in time and change your life. But you can always go back and heal anyway. Little by little, I found myself and I brought her back. I aligned her fully with my heart and all the ways I knew I was meant to live. I finally saw that all my struggles turned out to be more than just years of suffering; they were a metamorphosis into that which I was always meant to be.

  The actual stem cells have become a smaller part of my story than I ever imagined they would be. In the end, they were not the singular cure, but the catalyst for my ultimate healing. They led me to India, where I had to struggle in ways I never had, in order to grow in ways I didn’t know existed. I needed to feel alone in order to find my connection to myself and who I was in the world. I had to be misunderstood so I could learn detachment from how other people received my expression. I had to be forced away from obsessively focusing on my symptoms so I could see how life shifts as you shift your focus. Somewhere in between the time I arrived in Delhi and the time I left, I went from an existence committed to killing Lyme to an existence committed to healing me. I had to acknowledge the parts of me that were saved when I stopped fueling the war on Lyme—for I was throwing the energy of that fight into my very own body. I had to learn to squeeze my eyes shut tight, feel safe in the dark of my life, let go, and trust. And I needed to go to India to collect those words from Dr. Shroff so I had them when I needed them most. Arguably, this was just as important for me as any kind of treatment.

  All of this was unseen while I was deep in the valleys of illness and despair; but when at last I found my way to the peak, and the dust of my own trek settled, the entire picture became unmistakably clear.

  My beautiful, bold, life-changing adventure in India could take me only so far. The rest was always up to me.

  Yes.

  • • •

  IT IS IN the hammering rain of October 2011 that I glide down the aisle in my white lace wedding dress. My feet are bare and my toes are painted sky blue. From the deck of this old red barn, you can see the rolling green hills of Massachusetts dotted with the radiant hues of fall—scarlet, crimson, and mustard. Mom and I cling to each other as we make our way toward David. He is standing at the front to officiate the ceremony, fulfilling the honor that Dad had planned to do. Zach is the most handsome ring bearer, and his little sister, Emma, our new niece, is the perfect flower girl.

  I turn and face the crowd to see Charlotte coming toward me, escorted by her aunt Val. Charlotte’s blue Converse sneakers pop out from under her dress and match the polish on my toes. Bunches of simple lavender, Janet’s favorite, are wrapped in burlap for our bouquets.

  Inside the barn, twinkle lights and dinner are waiting, while a henna artist paints the spirit of India onto our guests’ hands and feet.

  “Hey, Mama, did you miss Dad tonight?” I ask her, holding a blueberry beer in my hand. And because we are safe in each other’s truth, she doesn’t have to think about it.

  “No,” she says, with slight surprise. But I don’t miss him either—I think because he is here.

  When the last guests have been kissed good-bye, our family sloshes through the wide-open flooded field and out to a massive stretching tree. The moon lights the way. Under that tree, with its hovering branches and strong, solid trunk, we blow Dad’s ashes from our damp hands into the air and I watch them float for a long moment.

  My life feels as wide and high as the sky.

  As we gallop back to safety, to warmth, and to our new version of family, I feel my feet sinking into the wet grass. My heart is beating so hard it is in my throat. My beautiful wife’s hand is wrapped around mine, and the laughs of our favorite people are echoing all around us. In this moment, and in a million different ones that will come after, we will continue to remind each other that life goes on, and we do too.

  In the years to come, with my bride beside me, these strong feet of mine will travel to many extraordinary places—to the blissful beaches of Mexico, back into the sacred hills of Ojai, across the roaring red sand of South Africa, and through the sun-drenched cobbled streets of Italy. Sometimes Dad will travel with us. The dust from his ashes will gently drift from a bridge over the neon Las Vegas strip, settle beneath a tree outside his favorite camera store in San Francisco, and slip through the gates of Buckingham Palace in London. One day, David, Tatiana, and Mom will carry him back to India and set him free in the holiest of all places: the Ganges. From a small boat off the banks of the river, they will participate in a traditional Hindu ceremony where the ashes of the deceased are released so their souls can be transported to heaven. But that will not be his only resting place in the land he loved so much. He will also be memorialized outside Nutech hospital on a concrete wall containing an imprint of my mom’s hand and a pinch of his ashes. Mom’s love of India will remain strong, bringing her back there six more times, with who knows how many more trips to come.

  Little did I know that my trip would also inspire dozens of Lyme patients to follow my footsteps to Delhi. For some, the improvements would be vast. For others, there would still be much more work to do.

  What I could never have imagined is that today I would be sharing with so many others what I traveled so far to learn: that you can find parts of what you need in a million different places, but you always have to come home, to yourself, for the cure.

  People ask me the hardest questions I’ve ever had to answer. Now that you know what you know, could you have healed without antibiotics? Without stem cells? What would you say to someone who is just starting?

  There is no perfect answer, but my truth is this.

  In the end, you can’t dissect your life and pick out what you could have lived without. The epically hard and beautifully brilliant moments I experienced in my search for a cure could not, for me, have unfolded in any way but exactly as they did. I didn’t need any of it, but I also needed all of it. I was so comfortably uncomfortable in my life that nothing inside of me would have changed until it felt like the whole world was caving in and no one was left to save me except me. The growing and stretching and sometimes wailing into the dark black sky had to happen for me exactly as it did. It laid the sacred groundwork for the rebuilding of my soul. India was not the beginning and it was not the end. India was only the place that I collected more of the pieces.

  Saving my own life was not a single act of courage nor a random act of desperation. It wasn’t even, in the end, about attaining perfect physical health. It was a long, slow, burning, uncontrollable yearning to simply meet myself once again.

  Sometimes you make healing happen with the strength and sheer will to survive; and sometimes you do it in the quietest moments when you feel like you are doing nothing at all. You do it by saying yes to the ugly parts of you that you wish you didn’t have, reminding yourself to let go let go let go, harnessing your inner Ganesha when obstacles arise, telling yourself all of the truth all of the time, repeating the I’m good enough story when you feel otherwise, extinguishing your brain on fire, trusting that when you know you know, and remembering you can always get off the mat and begin again. Sometimes, if you’re lucky, you’ll even find some surprise inflatable chocolate cake to get you through. There will be days that you’ll prevail as the hero of your own story, and nights when you’ll barely scrape yourself up off the floor. But you must take it all as necessary steps and proceed.

  Keep asking the questions that point to the truth of who you are. When you hear the answers, listen. This is how you own your story. This is how you transform who you think you should be into who you really are. This is how you become the path you’ve been waiting for. This is how you do it. This is how you save your life.

  Acknowledgments

  There are many people in my life who have my heart. But there are a few people without whom this book would not be the epic dream come true it is today.

  My wife, Charlotte: You are the best of everything I’ve ever known, and by a million miles, the thing in my life that was mos
t worth waiting for.

  My family, a.k.a. the Fockers: Thank you for being the people whom I never ever want to live without. Each of you has helped me save my life in more ways than you know. Lauren and Craig: for letting me not only crash your house and your life, but for including me in every part of both. You gave me what my heart needed most. Tatiana: who traveled across states, and then the globe, to so selflessly be with me. You’ve been my sister from the start. David: for being the most loving and dependable dude I know. Val and Alan: the greatest and most gracious beta readers a girl could ask for. And Zach: whose perfect little squishy newborn face was always my greatest impetus for survival.

  My literary agent, Steve Harris: Thank you for being the extraordinary champion of my projects, the best midday margaritas date in the world, and an all-around incredible human being. This book was always our meant to be, but hell if I’m letting you get away after this. We are Team 22, forever.

  My two author BFFs—Sara DiVello: Endless gratitude to you for always being my rock, but especially this past year. I struck solid gold when I found you. There is #notablelikeourtable and it will forever be the very best one there is. Nadine Nettmann: Our texts and champagne breakfasts have been one of my greatest joys of being an author. Let’s keep deciding to write books, crying because of them, and then convincing each other to do it all again. P.S. I think we’re gonna need more champagne.

  Kate Kerr-Clemenson: You’ve helped me to reach further than I ever could have done alone. Thank you for your never-ending genius, and even more, for your friendship.

  Jay: Thank you for doing everything you did when it was so hard to do.

  My doctors in India, Dr. Shroff and Dr. Ashish: I could never express my thanks for all the unexpected ways you broke my world wide open. Dr. Sudeep Sharma: Thank you for being an amazing doctor and a true friend to my family. And to all my doctors from all the years, whether you were able to help me or not, for being part of a bigger and more perfect picture than I could ever see.

  My publishing family—Diana Ventimiglia: Thank you for pushing me to tell my story in the most interesting way possible, even though starting each chapter with “Picture It, Sicily, 1922” would have been both our favorite. You are the coolest editor on the whole block. Also, thank you for being a friend. Michele Martin: Your care, expertise, quick wit, and impeccable talent are truly one-of-a-kind. Thank you for saying the yes that brought this book into the world. I could not be more grateful to you. Marla Daniels: A million thank-yous for jumping into this project, head first, and with total ease. Your support in the final haul helped me to arrive in a better way than I ever could have without you. The entire team at Simon & Schuster: Thank you for your brilliant ideas and attention to detail, and for always having everything totally under control. You rock.

  The people of India: My deepest gratitude goes to you, for welcoming me into your country, showering me with love, and showing me that anyplace in the world can become home.

  Finally, thank you to these incredible literary superwomen, who inspire me to type my truth each time I put my fingers on the keys—Elizabeth Gilbert: for going to India first and making me believe I could do it, maybe even gracefully. I was wrong about the grace, but you’re still my hero. Glennon Doyle: for making books that remind me we can write hard things. Cheryl Strayed: for reminding me that sometimes we have to go into the wild for answers, only to realize we carried them from the start. Anne Lamott: for convincing me that even you write shitty first drafts. And for every single word in each of your books.

  About the Author

  AUTHOR PHOTO BY TATIANA SCHER

  AMY B. SCHER is also the bestselling author of How to Heal Yourself When No One Else Can. An expert in mind-body-spirit healing, she is often lovingly referred to as an “accidental guru.” Amy now uses energy therapy techniques to help those experiencing emotional or physical challenges to heal permanently and completely. She lives in NYC with her beautiful wife and two bad cats. Most importantly, she lives by her self-created motto: When life kicks your ass, kick-back.

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  Gallery Books

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  Copyright © 2018 by Amy B. Scher

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. For information, address Simon & Schuster Subsidiary Rights Department, 1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020.

  First Gallery Books hardcover edition April 2018

  This account was previously self-published in different form in 2013 as: This Is How I Save My Life: A True Story of Embryonic Stem Cells, Indian Adventures, and Ultimate Self-Healing.

  This publication contains the opinions and ideas of its author. It is sold with the understanding that the author and the publisher are not engaged in rendering health services in the book. The reader should consult his or her own medical and health providers as appropriate before adopting any of the suggestions in this book or drawing inferences from it. The author and publisher specifically disclaim all responsibility for any liability, loss or risk, personal or otherwise, which is incurred as a consequence, directly or indirectly, of the use and application of any of the contents of this book.

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  Interior design by Bryden Spevak

  Jacket design by Zoe Norvel

  Elephant Illustration © Krk Imaging Services/Shutterstock

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available.

  ISBN 978-1-5011-6495-8

  ISBN 978-1-5011-6496-5 (ebook)