My Journey with Farrah - Alana Stewart [33]
May 18, 2008
My birthday. Because it turned out that we’re not leaving for Germany until later in the month, I was able to enjoy having my birthday in L.A. I stayed home all day, ostensibly to relax and enjoy myself. Ha! Instead I felt horribly anxious (I always do on my birthday). I worried about everyone having a good time at my party. Farrah wasn’t able to come. Ryan drove in from the beach to pick her up, but she was sick from having three consecutive days of scans. She called me while she was trying to get ready, but I could hear how weak she was.
“Don’t try to come, honey. I’ll miss you terribly, but I don’t want you to feel pressured to show up somewhere.”
The party was lovely and everyone had a great time. I decided to have my favorite lychee martini and eat everything I wanted, including the chocolate marble birthday cake, and hang the consequences. Carole and Bob Daly had organized everything beautifully in the upstairs room at Mr Chow, my favorite restaurant. Twenty of my friends were there, including Jaclyn Smith, Nicollette Sheridan, Raquel Welch, Tina, George, and my son Sean.
I feel so grateful to have such wonderfully generous friends, especially Carole and Bob. I got some really beautiful presents, including a Chanel bag from George and a beautiful Balenciaga pearl necklace from Carole and Bob, but certainly the most unusual present was from Tina Sinatra: an orphaned baby elephant in Africa. She made me his sponsor. Has she lost her mind? I have three kids that cause me enough stress—I sure don’t need a baby elephant. I mean, of all the things I could use! I asked her if I could make a purse out of it when it’s bigger (it was a joke, I swear). After she showed me his picture, I fell in love: his name is Shimba, and he still drinks milk from a bottle. I’ve decided I want to go visit him in Africa one day.
When I was driving home, I was smiling to myself, recalling all the laughs we had this evening. Then I remembered there was something blatantly missing: Farrah. She would have loved the food and the company and laughed at my crack about the elephant purse. It was a wonderful celebration…but it feels a little strange, a little hollow, without my sweet friend.
May 20, 2008
Farrah called this morning and I barely recognized her voice, it was so weak. She’d been up since six o’clock throwing up and in terrible pain. I called Dr. Piro to see if he could go to her house, but he wanted her to come to his clinic so he could do tests. Ryan bundled her up and took her there, and I hurriedly got ready to go meet them.
When I arrived, she was still throwing up nonstop. The medications they were giving her for the pain and nausea weren’t working yet. This was like a replay of the time in the Frankfurt clinic that she got so sick after the liver chemo perfusion and threw up seventy-five times.
God, it’s so hard to see her go through this agony. I almost have to detach from my body and go somewhere else in my mind, it’s so painful. That’s what I’ve always done. When my son Ash was in the emergency room with his fractured skull, I was there, but none of it seemed real. It’s the same with Farrah. I walk through it all, but often I feel like I’ve disassociated myself from the reality of it.
By around five o’clock, when the vomiting still hadn’t stopped, Farrah was still adamantly refusing to go to the hospital. She hates hospitals, plain and simple. It’s why we’re always rushing to get home from Germany: she can’t bear to spend one more minute in the hospital or clinic if she doesn’t have to. Something had to be done, though. Neither Dr. Piro or I was getting anywhere, and she needed medical attention. Finally, I called Ryan and said, “You have to convince Farrah that she has to go into the hospital. We’re having no luck.” I knew he’d get her to change her mind. He has a way with her; she trusts him and respects his opinions. So