My Journey with Farrah - Alana Stewart [4]
Whenever I was caught up in the stress and strain and agony of watching my friend go through this horrific battle, and I started to forget, all I needed to do was look at this photo…and I was back in the Bahamas with Farrah again.
HORRIBLE NEWS
October 6, 2006
I’ve been here in Germany now for two weeks, at the Leonardis Clinic, which is nestled in the foothills of the beautiful Bavarian Alps. I brought my son Sean here to get treated for his ADD and learning disabilities. We were soon joined by my ex-husband George Hamilton, my daughter Kimberly, and my friend Cher.
It’s a great place. The first time I was here, George sent me for my birthday in 2005 as a present. He insisted that I go—I didn’t want to—but he said, “No, you have to do this for yourself.” I was suffering from chronic fatigue and the accompanying depression. The clinic helped me a great deal. Leonardis is well known for cutting-edge cancer treatments, but it also specializes in other health problems. A few of my friends had seen what good results I had after coming here, and they decided they would try it as well.
Kim came into my room this morning, visibly upset. “Mom, does Farrah have cancer?”
“What? Where did you hear that?”
“I read it on the Internet.”
I was furious. “Of course not, that’s ridiculous. It’s just that bullshit stuff they always print about her.” The tabloids have been writing garbage about Farrah for as long as I’ve known her, but this rumor was too upsetting. I called Farrah just to make sure. I waited a rather long time for her to come to the phone, and I suddenly had a sinking feeling in my gut.
When she picked up, I said, “Honey, it’s Alana. Listen, Kimberly just told me she read something about you on the Internet. It’s not true, is it?”
There was a long pause as I held my breath.
“It’s true,” she said softly. “It happened so quickly.” Then she started to cry. She was trying to be brave, but with me, she could let it all out.
I was afraid to ask, but I had to: “Honey, what do the doctors say?”
Her voice took on a stronger, more optimistic tone. “The doctors tell me they have great success with this kind of tumor, but it’s very aggressive, and they have to start chemo and radiation right away.” No time to breathe or even to digest this horrible news; no time to waste. Is that how it works? One day you’re fine, the next day you’re fighting for your life? On top of it all, she told me she has a 50/50 chance of losing her hair. But I guess hair becomes secondary with what she’s going through. Still, the hair, her hair.
“I’m supposed to stay another week, but I’ll come back right away,” I said. “I’ll be there.”
After I hung up, I lay awake for hours with thoughts swirling around in my mind. How did this happen? Why? She’s been through so much—her son Redmond’s struggles with drugs the last few years, her mom dying recently, Ryan’s battle with leukemia. It doesn’t seem fair. I’ve been worried about her for a long time. She’s had so much stress in her life lately and she always takes care of everyone else at the expense of herself. She spent months in Texas at her mother’s bedside, neglecting her own health. Time and time again I’ve seen her ignore her own symptoms when someone she loves needs her.
I don’t want to watch my best friend go through this. I want to cry but I can’t seem to. I feel numb and scared. But this isn’t about me. I have to do whatever I can to help her.
October 10, 2006
It’s 6:30 A.M. and I got home from Germany the day before yesterday. I can’t sleep; I keep thinking about Farrah. Tina [Sinatra] and I spoke to her on a three-way call yesterday for a long time. She has started her chemo and radiation. She sounded a little weak, but calm and strong and accepting of what she has to go through.
“The doctors told me it’s not going to be easy,” Farrah said. “They told me, ‘You