My Journey with Farrah - Alana Stewart [42]
We talked on the way over. She told me she’d asked Dr. Jacob what the prognosis is now that the tumors’ resistance to the anticancer drugs has gone up to 80 percent. She also asked if anybody had ever survived this particular cancer. Dr. Jacob said no. I know that inside, Farrah has to be sad and frightened by this statement—knowing that, without a miracle, there would be no happy ending. But neither one of us voiced it. She’s still determined not to give up—and so am I.
Shortly after Farrah’s surgery, I went down to the recovery room to see her, and I found her surprisingly alert. She was still a little stoned from the medication and had me in stitches. The Germans in the cubicle next to us were talking so loudly that they could have been in a beer garden or at a soccer match. I think that’s the only way they know how to talk. Farrah kept yelling at them to shut up and kept trying to get up and go back to her room, despite the fact that she was hooked up to monitors. I was afraid she was going to pull them out of the wall!
I walked into the little village to get some strudel, the only German dessert we like. Even though she’d just had a major operation, Farrah was ready to eat and asked me to bring some back for her. For the first day since we’ve been here, the sun was out, and everything was radiantly green and vivid. Beautiful flowers were blooming everywhere and the smell of freshly cut grass was in the air. After all the terrible weather, I felt hopeful and happy to be out in the fresh air, walking around the little town.
June 10, 2008
Where do I start? Everything seems to be coming at us so fast and furious that I can barely keep my head above water. Dr. Kiehling, who had performed the surgery, came into the hospital room around 4 P.M. on Monday afternoon, and from the look on his face I knew it wasn’t good news. His expression was so sad and so compassionate that I thought he was going to tell Farrah she was going to die tomorrow. She braced herself. Then he began to speak.
“The tumor is larger than I expected and in a very precarious position. I need to do another surgery in the next couple of days.”
Farrah started crying, and he put his arms around her and held her close. Before long, she was laughing and joking with him. She’s truly incredible. I don’t know how she is maintaining such a strong spirit and attitude. Most people would have crumbled. But she rallies. She picks herself up, dusts herself off, and goes on fighting.
I’ve been joking about my own brush with cancer, my “cancer for a day.” Let’s hope it’s only a brush. I still have to do the PET scan to make sure it hasn’t spread to the lymph or anywhere else. Part of me feels sure it hasn’t, but after all this, God only knows. Deep down I’m scared. I don’t really believe it’s anywhere else, but then, I didn’t believe this would happen to Farrah, either.
Dr. Jacob came in and said that even with this new setback she feels very hopeful because there are some new antibodies, available only recently, that have tested very strongly against Farrah’s kind of cancer. This is the most impressive thing about Germany. They’re using these cutting-edge treatments years before the States. It seems like the FDA and all the rules and regulations keep us far behind them. What I’ve seen here is eye-opening.
Dr. Jacob said she feels very positive about Farrah’s chances now. She was very honest. She said, “Farrah, I will never give you false hope, but I will never give up on you, either.” This made Farrah smile. We had planned on staying at the hospital that night,