My Journey with Farrah - Alana Stewart [19]
Then, in the middle of all this, Sean called, very upset about the outcome of his hearing. My nerves were raw. We argued and he hung up on me. I was upset and called Dana Cole, his attorney, to try to make some sense of what was happening. He said it wasn’t as bad as Sean thought it was, that very few cases got thrown out in the preliminary, and that the other side didn’t have a strong case at all and we did. I felt slightly better and somewhat relieved, but still, every time I thought about it I felt weak in the knees. After all, he is still my baby boy.
Luckily, I’d brought a pair of pajamas in my carry-on case and even found my eye mask from the flight over, so I brushed my teeth and crawled into the tiny bed next to Farrah’s. I turned out the lights hoping for the best, but no such luck. Every time I’d hear her reach for the throw-up pan, I shot up in bed, turned on the light, and went to get the nurse. The poor nurse didn’t speak English and just kept throwing her hands up to the sky and saying, “Mein Gott! Mein Gott!” Pleading for God to intervene didn’t seem to be working. She was kind of crazy and very melodramatic. Farrah looked at me between sieges of vomiting and said, “Oh God, they’ve sent me a loon!” From that moment on, we officially called her “the loon,” and couldn’t stop laughing when she walked into the room. We always managed to find the humor, even in the most harrowing situations. All my life I practically fainted at the sight of blood or even a hangnail. And here I am holding Farrah’s head as she throws up and wiping her face. This gives a whole new meaning to friendship for me.
There wasn’t much I could do for Farrah except call the loon and try to make sure she was warm enough and as comfortable as possible under the circumstances. Finally, around 4 A.M., she fell into a deep sleep. Thank God, I thought it would never happen. I went to sleep as well, after taking two Ativan. I’d told the nurse on duty not to let anyone wake us under any circumstances; we both needed to sleep. She said Dr. Vogl usually came in at five thirty.
“Is he crazy?” I snapped at her. “Tell him I said that if he wakes us up, he’s risking his life. You got that?”
I’m not sure she understood what I was threatening, but I must have looked like I meant it. She was intimidated enough to leave us sleeping until eight thirty, when the orderly came in to take Farrah for an MRI.
Farrah was a wreck, poor thing, but at least the vomiting had stopped. I was holding my breath, hoping that it didn’t start again. We went for the MRI, where a mean technician yelled at me and wouldn’t let me film her. Funny that Dr. Vogl, the god of all doctors, let me film everything, but this woman ordered me out. I was cranky enough already from lack of sleep and I was about to get into it with her but decided to let it slide. Pick your battles.
Dr. Vogl came into the room afterward and said that the tumor had been destroyed by this second embolization and that Farrah was now free of any active tumors.
“It’s worth all you went through last night to have such a good result, yes?” he said.
That was for sure, we both agreed, and hopefully she’ll never have to go through such a horrible experience again.
After that, everything went smoothly. We were picked up by the driver, went straight to the waiting plane, and were even able to take off two hours earlier than the time slot they had given us in the tower. We arrived in Munich and got into the waiting van, and Farrah slept for the hour’s trip back to the clinic, as usual. Her eyes close the minute she gets into anything that moves. (I wish I could be so lucky.)
For years I’ve been trying to get Farrah to go on a road trip to Texas with me, just the two of us going back home. Whenever I bring up the idea, she always answers, “Why would you want me? You know I would just get in the car and go right to sleep and you’d be driving the whole way by yourself.” I guess the only way