The Countdown Begins! Memoir Launch Date: September 16, 2025

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Resuscitated: A Memoir by Tara Kittle From Hollywood to Lyme Disease

Overview

In the fall of 2004, I was writing and directing my first feature film, 'Resurrection' about a doctor who falls in love with a patient dying of the 1918 flu virus, with the help and dedication of numerous people in rural Michigan.

While in production on the movie, I was bit by a tick then developed Lyme Disease. By the time I started treatment in the fall of 2005, the disease had hit my brain and my heart, rendering me clinging to life gasping to IV antibiotic drip poles for years.

In a strange mirror of fiction and reality, many of the characters I once imagined inside my mind came to life in the fall of 2005, right when I needed them the most.

I would not be alive today without the small army who supported me along the way, many of whom are paid tribute in this book.

It is not a perfect book and it's not a perfect story but ultimately this memoir is a story of love and passion...and sacrifice.

Every day we're surrounded by faith, hope and love; I wish everyone is lucky enough to experience the hurricane of magic that once saved my life.

This is our story.

A physician from 1918 holding a female patient who appears to be dying inside a small country church.

Memoir Chapter Titles

CHAPTER TITLES

--Part One--

1. "Your script sucks."

Mardik Martin -- Professor

Classroom at USC Cinema-Television. Los Angeles, California

2. "It says San Francisco but you should come to Michigan."

Amy Reedy -- Ebay Seller

On the phone in my bedroom in Valley Village, California

3. "You look absolutely nothing like the doctor in my mind."

To Mark Alan -- Actor

Outside of the Blanchard House in Ionia, Michigan

4. "Action!"

To the cast and crew of Resurrection

Ext Dr. Fletcher's House in Hastings, Michigan

5. "'You think you can save me?'"

Jane Ann Sweeny as Madeline dying of the 1918 flu virus in Resurrection

Inside the church in Sidney, Michigan

6. "Omg so gross"

Ionia Cemetery, to Mark when I discovered the engorged tick on the back of my neck.

7. "I'm having a hard time carrying the camera through the snow."

Mark and I at the Sidney Church.

8. "Do you mind giving me the name of your doctor? Something isn't right."

Joe and I inside his office.

Hollywood, California

9. "I can't cancel the shoot this summer. Too many people have taken off of work, bought plane tickets, I just can't cancel it."

Valley Village, California

10. "When did you get that facial twitch??"

Dr. Marc Abrams

Inside examining room, Sherman Oaks, California.

11. "This is shaping up to be one of the largest hurricanes to ever hit U.S. soil."

Newscaster commenting on the approach of Hurricane Katrina, visiting Joe on the set of "Homecoming".

Sutton Place Hotel. Vancouver, Canada

--Part Two--

12. "She's a fucking bitch!"

The Elevator.

13. "They're trying to commit you against your will!”

Draped in a patient gown, listening on my cell phone as I walked the hallway outside of my hospital room (I was paranoid the nurses might listen to our conversation).

Cedars-Sinai Medical Center

14. "Nothing lasts forever."

Dr. C. Andrew Schroeder

Beverly Hills, CA

15. "Holy shit! I've never seen anything like that before!"

Dr. C. Andrew Schroeder

Phone. Inside my hospital room at St. Joseph's Hospital. Sepsis.

16. "How often do you guys talk on the phone? I don't like it. You're very sick Tara."

Catherine Winteringham, RN

Hanging IV medications inside my bedroom.

Valley Village, California

17. "Please stop calling me so much."

Dr. C. Andrew Schroeder

Phone. Laying next to the I.V. drip pole at home.

18. "Um, sure I'll help you until this gets resolved."

Dr. Jeffrey Sherman

Inside Dr. Sherman's office. 3rd Street Medical Towers

19."You're not going to get better eating that garbage."

Dr. Steven Harris

Lyme Literate Physician. Malibu, California

20. "I had to know if you were crazy or if you were right."

Mark and I in the backyard.

Valley Village, California

21. "When you feel better, you should finish the movie. What you have so far is good."

Joe and I in his office.

Hollywood, California

22. "It's going to be a long time."

Dr. C. Andrew Schroeder

Cedars-Sinai Medical Plaza.

A doctor from the early 20th century kissing a woman wearing a pink dress.

Excerpt: Chapter 1 "Your script sucks."

--Part One--

CHAPTER 1: “Your script sucks."

I entered the unmarked door and walked up the narrow flight of wooden stairs.

At the top of the stairs was an open room that looked like it might once have been a dance room that had turned into a production location to build a set. To the left was ‘Video Village’, the area on set with TV monitors where the producers and other key personnel sit to watch what’s happening behind the lens of the camera.

Sometimes the DP and Director are parked at Video Village, sometimes they’re standing next to the camera (and sometimes the DP is behind the camera). Allen Daviau didn’t like to sit behind the camera on “The Astronaut’s Wife”, but some DPs prefer to be their own camera operators.

Video Village was the most likely place to find a producer on a set, so I walked over there and stood next to the chairs.

My eyes circled the room and caught a glace from a detailed oriented PA.

Who are you?

I turned back to Video Village trying to act relaxed, like I belonged.

SLAM!

A door slammed loudly from the other side of the space. That area of the set was hidden behind some dark drapes.

“CUT! Let’s go again RIGHT AWAY.”

I turned back to the video monitors trying to hide my nervousness.

SLAM AGAIN!

“CUUUUTTT!! LET’S GO AGAIN RIGHT AWAY.”

Frustrated movement on set.

An inquisitively nice lady sitting in one of the chairs turned to me sweetly,

“Who are you here to see my dear?”

I shifted in place not really sure what to say. The eagle eyed PA was watching me closely and I started to feel in over my head.

It was time to commit to the role: “I’m here to see Matt Damon.”

‘Oh’, the lady nodded in response. Maybe Mr. Damon had a lot of visitors? She kindly patted one of the empty chairs.

“Why don’t you have a seat.”

The alcohol was rapidly wearing off and reality was blazing in. ‘I don’t have a lot of experience sitting in these foldy chairs and these foldy chairs don’t look too stable, but if I don’t sit in this chair then it’s gonna be really obvious I don’t belong.’

I sat in the chair.

SLAM SLAM SLAM

Finally a frustrated voice pierced the room “and that’s a CUT! Let’s take fifteen.”

Running behind? People scurried quickly.

Mr. Damon dashed across the room (to go to his trailer?)

“MATT!”

I bolted across the room. I didn’t want to waste his time, so I moved quickly.

He instantly turned towards the sound of his name,

And at one quick glance it was very apparent to everyone in the room that Matt Damon had no f*#&ing clue who I was.

Excerpt: Chapter 4 "Action!"

CHAPTER 4: “Action!”

Midway up the staircase of the Frank Lloyd Wright house in Hastings, Michigan, I was drenched in the August humidity. Not for the meek, Michigan humidity was relentless, suffocating mortals in perspiration.

The heavy 16mm camera rested heavily in my sweaty hands, making it difficult to hold onto it. Exhausted but focused, I was staring down at Mark Alan sitting in front of the ornate wooden organ, beautifully lit with candlelight, patiently waiting my direction.

The early 20th century wooden organ was the heart of the props for the movie; not only was the organ the way Dr. Fletcher channeled his worries and fears and passion for his patients, the organ was the catalyst that lead the project to Michigan. The organ represented history -- love and dreams of a better future -- for all of us; the organ was an instrument of our emotional creation.

“I need a minute.”

Most of the cast and crew had left for the day, leaving Mark and skeleton crew inside the house. In spite of my numerous broken promises regarding the number of hours we’d be filming inside the historic home, the owner graciously kept allowing more time.

I was looking for the right shot.

The living room had wallpaper taped to the walls because the owner of the house wasn’t sure if he wanted the wallpaper left permanently, which meant the crew was constantly having to get on a ladder and retape it to the wall -- Michigan humidity and tape didn’t mix well.

The cast and crew were exhausted; producing a historical movie as a no-budget operation stretched the capabilities of everyone. Drunk on a dream, I was too inexperienced to realize I was asking too much of people.

In spite of our discomfort, lack of sleep – and lack of fundamental infrastructure to support a historical feature film --

What bonded us together was a deep commitment to the story; the story of a doctor who falls deeply in love with his patient – energized us together, an interconnected web of passion.

When a writer writes a story, especially a movie script, in the writing phase it belongs to the writer -- like a baby growing inside my uterus, originally the story belonged to me and to me only.

Sitting on the staircase drenched in sweat, with a sleep deprived cast and crew dedicating their time and resources to bring the story alive (the majority were working for free)

That night on the staircase I realized the story didn’t belong to me anymore.

It belonged to us.

Usually, I make up my mind quickly what shots I want to do, either having prepared a shot list or electric inspiration on the fly,

But the overwhelming exhaustion of the expedition was slowing me down.

How can I best capture the intensity of Dr. Fletcher’s relationship with his organ? How can I best capture -- in a photograph -- what he’s feeling in his heart?

Dr. Fletcher’s helplessness with the people dying around him, his years of commitment to science and medicine evaporating into death and destruction all around him?

And just as my mind wrestled with these thoughts inside my soul,

without a word

Mark started playing the organ;

Listening to Mark play the organ was like hearing voices of angels healing my wounds.

The chaos of the 1918 flu pandemic and the chaos of making the movie were becoming one and the same;

As Mark’s fingers dashed delicately over the keys, refueling my hopes and dreams for the story in desperate need of sustenance to keep breathing,

I raised the camera and started filming.

Excerpt: Chapter 12 "She's a Fucking Bitch!"

--Part Two--

CHAPTER 12: “She’s a fucking bitch!”

After ten, twenty, thirty (?) minutes of sobbing in the waiting room, eventually I accepted I wasn’t going to be able to stop crying and needed to pick myself up and leave.

Because the disease had hit my brain, I had little control over my emotions. It was frustrating and annoying and frightening for a young woman from a ‘good’ background who knew never to share her emotions publicly and now I couldn’t even stop myself from crying to ride an elevator back down.

I pulled myself out of the seat and sobbed my way to the elevator.

I stared at the ground by the elevator, embarrassed I couldn’t stop crying, I just wanted to melt away.

“Are you okay?”

The voice was calm, steady. Was it inside my mind?

“DOES IT LOOK LIKE I’ M OKAY??”

My mind couldn’t function very well, but that was a really stupid question. Clearly I was NOT okay.

“THIS DOCTOR…THIS DOCTOR…JUST THREW ME OUT…”

He took a few steps closer.

“Which doctor?”

“DR….DR. BAZNER”

“Dr. Bazner is a good doctor” he said gently.

“SHE’S A FUCKING BITCH!”

Maybe she was a great doctor, maybe she wasn’t, I really didn’t know. I just knew in that moment I was deathly ill with few options in front of me.

In between sobs I looked up at the voice in the hallway, it was a young man about my age wearing a lab coat starring intensely at me.

Why is he so worried when I’m the one who is fucked? Who is this person?

“WHERE’S MY PIECE OF PAPER?” Whoever this voice was, he seemed more interested than the doctor I had just left. Maybe he would look at the document I wrote.

I took a few steps towards the voice tto look closer at his lab coat.

“What kind of doctor are you?”

“Pulmonary.”

“What kind is that?”

“Lung.”

FUCK. I threw my hands into the air and spun away from him. I finally found what might be a nice doctor and he’s fucking the wrong kind.

My sobs became hysterical.

Ding.

The elevator opened.

We stepped inside the empty elevator.

I didn’t even know where I was going or what I was doing. I continued to sob.

“I don’t know what I’m going to do…I am very sick…” I was muttering words more than sentences.

As I stood next to man in the hallway,

A strange sensation started to wash over me…slowly at first, then more and more intensely as we travelled down the floors, crowding the elevator as we descended.

This feeling…I had never felt anything like this feeling before…a strange sensation washed over me, unexplainable yet undeniable, a calm I’d never felt before in my life.

A waterfall of serenity.

Like World War III could break out and I was going to be safe because I was in the presence of this person.

I wanted to be mad at the doctor who threw me out—I was pissed—I was really really pissed—

and this feeling of peace was invading my anger.

I wanted to be mad, I was scared, I had no idea what I was going to do the moment I stepped out of the elevator,

But I was becoming entrenched in this magnetic wonderland.

The elevator beeped for the 3rd floor.

The man in the elevator and I stepped out of it. I’m not sure why I left the elevator on the 3rd floor, I was following him by default.

We stood outside of the elevator for a moment, holding the moment.

I JUST CAN’T FUCKING DEAL WITH THIS RIGHT NOW.

And I snapped around to walk away.

What the fuck was that feeling.

At 30 years old, you think you’ve been through it all, and I had just felt something I had never felt before and I was not in any shape or state of mind to process it.

It was confusing…and even annoying…pure peace when I’m deathly ill…

Whatever that was, now was not the right time. I need to save my life. That’s all I have time and energy for;

I need to figure out how I’m going to save my life.

Then one day I’ll go back to the 11th floor of the East Tower and find the man in the elevator. He must have an office up there.

‘One day’, I told myself, ‘one day I’ll find him again.”

Little did I know stepping out of the elevator on Friday, September 16th, but thankfully he would find me again soon.

Excerpt: Chapter 14 "Nothing Lasts Forever"

CHAPTER 14: "Nothing Lasts Forever"

September 30, 2005

There won’t be any drinks if I’m dead.

My text to Dr. Schroeder the night before echoed in my mind.

I slumped in a chair against the wall in the examining room of his office frazzled from my near escape from the hospital. Only an hour earlier, I clawed my way out of Cedars-Sinai with desperate determination. I wasn’t sure what was wrong with me, but I knew I needed to get back on that antibiotic drip.

The examining room offered no comfort…greyish color, no artwork, no personality. No humanity. Doctor’s offices weren’t supposed to inspire, but this was bleak.

Click click click. Beep beep beep.

Sounded like I was still in the hospital.

The door opened abruptly.

“What are you doing here??”

Dr. Schroeder’s voice was sharp, confusion written all over his face.

I motioned towards the desk I had just passed,

“I called your secretary and made an appointment—"

“Tara, I’m married!”

My head snapped back, slamming the wall behind me.

Oh, the ring...in my drowning in sickness I hadn’t noticed a ring…in fact I hadn’t even looked for one. In the world of Hollywood, being thirty-something, single, without kids, wasn’t uncommon…I’d forgotten I’d crossed over to another species.

In the ugly overhead fluorescent lighting, there it was, glistening, like a firework display…t.h.e. r.i.n.g.

Tears streamed down my face hot and unrelenting…the five days of an antibiotic drip took an edge off my symptoms, but it still wasn’t enough to gain control over my unraveling emotions.

Tears flooded everywhere.

Dr. Schroeder stood there awkwardly, not sure what to do. He looked at me inquisitively up and down, it was the first time we were really seeing each other. I was so embarrassed, I couldn’t look at him, I was doing everything I could to get the stream to stop…sobbing like a baby over a dream that hadn’t had a chance to begin wasn’t my style.

The tears continued.

Dr. Schroeder didn’t say anything while I cried…awkwardly shifting in place, with a hand on the doorknob…

Then against his better judgement,

He slid into a chair next to the door.

“Okay, ummm...”

He shuffled a clipboard around.

Then took out a pen.

I wasn’t sure where to start…“This place is soooo not you…the energy, the feel here, nothing about this office seems to reflect you—"

He looked up from the clipboard, gazed knowingly,

And smiled,

“Nothing lasts forever.”

I smiled back.

The tears were finally slowing down.

Maybe there was hope.

“Okay so, why don’t we start at the beginning.”

I really didn’t want to deal with the doctor business.

Let’s cut to the chase.

“I really need to get back on this antibiotic drip. I remember it began with a C, it was a long word. I’ll look it up. It’s got to be written down somewhere.”

While in the hospital, I could barely make it out of bed to use the bathroom, let alone think to write something down. I’d have to research what it was called.

To explain the urgency,

“I’m in the middle of making a movie, I need to get back to the editing room….I just need to get back on this antibiotic drip, I think I’m gonna need it for a month, then I should be fine.”

He stiffened up. I didn’t understand why certain doctors would do certain things and wouldn’t do other things, but his stiffening told me he wasn’t gonna whip out his prescription pad and order it for me.

Dr. Schroeder looked into my face and saw that I meant every word I was saying. I was serious. I needed this antibiotic drip. I didn’t understand why I needed it, but the why wasn’t important to me as the fact that the antibiotic drip was alleviating my symptoms and therefore I needed it to continue. That’s what was important.

He shifted the clipboard a little,

then took a deep breath,

“What is your height?”

5’6

“What is your weight?”

“105. Which is extremely below what I’m supposed to be – this is what I’ve been trying to tell people, I’ve been losing weight against my control.”

He wrote something down.

“So..what about alcohol or drug use?”

I squirmed a little…not sure I wanted to talk about this…

He leaned towards me,

“this is entirely confidential, it’s just between us—”

I twitched in my chair…

“Yes alcohol, a couple times a week, and…um…I did crystal meth…once…”

He chuckled.

“Once?”

I don’t know if I was embarrassed or relieved.

He wrote something down.

“Smoking?”

He already saw me smoking on the Cedar-Sinai plaza, so there was no dodging this one.

“Ya..um…not as much since I’ve gotten sick, but…

“How many years?

Hmmm…dabbling since 12, but 18 to 30 full time…

“12 years.”

“And how many packs?”

“At least two a day…”

That raised an eyebrow.

“You know this is when I need to remind you of the importance of quitting smoking.”

We are in a lung doctor’s office after all.

Excerpt: Chapter 15 "Holy shit!"

CHAPTER 15: “Holy shit I’ve never seen anything like that before!"

I lay in the hospital bed at St. Joseph’s Hospital in Burbank listening to the sounds of the machines. The sounds of steps down the hallway. The sounds of cries from the room across the hall. There’s always sounds inside the walls of a hospital.

Sounds straight from a horror film.

Having just been diagnosed with C-Diff, the new antibiotics I started in the hospital were starting to work and my bowels were slowing returning to normal.

A few weeks earlier when I was dosing myself up with handfuls of amoxicillin tablets I knew I was gonna pay a price, and C-Diff was the price. As much as a C-diff infection presented an entirely new set of problems, I didn’t once regret the mounds of mouthfuls of amoxicillin I took leading up to my first hospitalization at Cedars-Sinai from September 17th-30th, 2005.

That amoxicillin kept me alive.

As I lay in the darkness pondering my new stew of misery, the door creaked open.

“Sorry I’m so late.”

It was Dr. Hanberg. I liked late night visits. I’m usually up all night when I’m at the hospital. (And at home too.)

“No problem, thanks for coming by.”

I meant it.

“I’ve just spent the last few hours reviewing your case and—”

Normally I would think a doctor was full of sh*t if they said they had just spent a few hours reviewing my case, but I believed her. She sounded determined to find a way out of this medical maze of hell I was living in. I appreciated that more than I could express.

“after going over your records…the turbulent last few weeks…and I spoke with Dr. Schroeder by the way...”

Hearing his name made me happy.

I sat up a little.

“—and I like him—”

I hope not in the way that I like him.

I watched Dr. Hanberg swirl my case around in her mind…like someone close to putting their finger on something that that they can’t quite reach.

“Your case is complex, there’s a lot of things going on…autoimmune, infectious…”

She looks at me closely, like she’s taking a fresh look to see if there was something she might have missed.

She paused, after careful deliberation she was sure we should take this turn together.

“Have you heard of IVIG?”

Hmm…I’d never heard of IVIG.

“IVIG is immunoglobulin, it’s effective in helping patients with immune disorders, both infectious and autoimmune disorders…I think it could help you. Would you be interested in trying it?”

While I wasn’t convinced I had multiple sclerosis – in fact I thought the MS diagnosis was a big distraction from the issues truly plaguing me – but if IVIG could work for both infections and autoimmune problems, then maybe I could make the people who think I have MS happy while I also help myself recover from the infections truly retching my soul by trying this IVIG.

“Yes, sure, I’ll try it.”

She nodded, I’d heard her. I could tell she hadn’t come to the decision to order IVIG lightly, she'd put a lot of thought into it. I was grateful that she understood how bad my infections were, in spite of the fact I didn’t ‘look sick’.

Dr. Francine Hanberg was listening.

The Odyssey Begins: Brain MRI @ Cedars-Sinai

Collapsing into Psychosis

September 16, 2005 is the first time I set foot on Cedars-Sinai soil.

When I was pregnant with my son, many people at Warner Bros. recommended Cedars-Sinai Medical Center but I was also still a student at USC School of Cinema-Television (where I had health insurance) so I went to Good Samaritan in downtown Los Angeles instead.

When I stepped frazzled into the hallway of the East Medical Tower on September 16, 2005, little did I know I was about to spend the majority of my adult life chained to the hospital like an oxygen tank to breathe.

September 16th was the first day of my journey at Cedars-Sinai,

but September 17th, 2005 was the first action.

Hours after this MRI, I headed to the Emergency Room to be admitted directly into the hospital for my first inpatient experience;

A screaming train wreck in motion.

Outpatient Brain MRI Radiology Report from Cedars-Sinai Medical Center. Dated September 17, 2005

Tara Leigh Kittle Brain MRI report September 17, 2005

About Tara Leigh Kittle

Behind the Memoir

The first time I walked through the doors of Cedars-Sinai on September 16, 2005, I had no idea how much a hospital would come to define the years ahead.

In the fall of 2005, I was in the midst of writing and directing my first feature film when I was bit by a tick then developed Lyme Disease, which sent me crashing into the United States medical system.

Hard to believe that was twenty years ago because when I close my eyes to fall asleep at night it feels like yesterday.

Now I’m telling the whole story...the good, the bad, and the magical synchronicity. My memoir launches on September 16, 2025, marking two decades since that fateful first step onto Cedars soil. The road has been long, brutal at times, but I’m still here, still standing, and endlessly grateful for the people who carried me through it.

The key person I owe everything to is Joe Dante.

For nearly twenty-five years, I’ve had the honor of working for him. His films are legendary, but his heart is even bigger—it's a previously untold side of him I’ll be diving into these pages.

There’s a lot to uncover regarding what happened to me in the fall of 2005, there's a lot to say. A lot of people I'm very grateful for playing a role in saving my life. (And some who deserve to rot in hell.)

All to be covered in this memoir.