My Journey with Farrah - Alana Stewart [37]
June 1, 2008
Mimmo called last night. He asked if I wanted to have dinner, so we went to this place up in the mountains with a magnificent view of the lake and the surrounding villages. Then we went back to his house and spent the night making love. I really enjoy being with him. I hate to be so superficial, but part of it is that he’s so handsome, so chiseled, like a Roman statue. That and his phenomenal body. God, I sound like one of those old guys that are always with young women because they’ve got tight asses and big boobs. But he’s very smart, has a good sense of humor, and is sweet as well. He adores me and always tries to please me. What could be bad about this? I know it’s not forever, but it’s nice for now.
Still, I’m shattered today. I never sleep well at his house. It’s too bright and I forgot my sleep mask. And I can hear cars on the road outside. Then his damn alarm went off at seven thirty by accident. I had him drive me back to the clinic in hopes I could sleep a little more, but no such luck. Dr. Jacob came in, and I talked to her privately about my conversation with Dr. Vogl.
She pointed out that Farrah had made it through this year, which was a great accomplishment considering how ill she’d been when she first came to Germany, and she said she had some new ideas she wanted to go over with us. We went to Farrah’s room, and Dr. Jacob went over her new plan.
“I want to change from herbatox to thalidomide,” she explained. “This will stop the growth of cancerous cells.”
She also wanted to use another form of stem cells that the Israelis are experimenting with; they supposedly go right to the cancer cells, like a torpedo aiming at a target, and kill them. She’s brilliant and always on top of the latest cutting-edge treatments.
Farrah’s feeling positive about the game plan. She has this incredible ability: she doesn’t see anything as serious as it is until after the fact. When Dr. Vogl told her that she could easily have died from the laser surgery a few months ago (he’d never lasered such a large tumor before), or that no one looking at her X-rays a year ago would believe she’s alive today, she was shocked. I felt the same way. We knew things were bad, but we had no idea they were that bad. Or maybe we just blocked out those thoughts from our minds? That’s how we’ve approached this disease all along. One step at a time, do what you have to do, don’t allow yourself to actually wonder “What if…” Dr. Vogl calls Farrah his “living experiment,” and Dr. Jacob says Farrah is her “little miracle.” Please, God, let it be so.
I’m not sure I could have gone through what Farrah has, and I’m sure that’s why a lot of people give up. But her will, the same one that can make her controlling and a perfectionist, also pulls her through. As weak and sick and frail as she can seem at times, she’s still Farrah with the fighting spirit, the sense of humor—the no-nonsense, no-BS Texas spitfire.
Farrah has never been one to back down from a confrontation. I remember one time when she was performing in Extremities on Broadway, and she and her assistant hopped into one of those New York City gypsy cabs. They weren’t going far, just from the hotel to the theater, and when she got there the cabdriver pulled over to the curb.
“Gimme fifty bucks,” he demanded.
Farrah looked him straight in the eye and said, “Absolutely not.”
The driver, who didn’t really care for her answer, pulled a knife on her. Her assistant begged her to hand over the money.
Never one to sit idly by and play the victim, Farrah responded in kind. Without hesitation, she took off her high-heeled shoe and threatened him right back with it. Then she grabbed twenty dollars out of her purse, threw it at him, and jumped out the door. Typical Farrah.
June 2, 2008
I decided to go ahead and have the colposcopy here. The procedure is scheduled for tomorrow in Munich with Dr. Rotorooter, and