My Journey with Farrah - Alana Stewart [48]
At the moment, we’re a couple of hours away from Frankfurt, and Farrah is sleeping. I’ve had to delay my PET scan until Tuesday. I’m a little nervous about it. God forbid they find anything. I need to get my thinking straight. I want to live, I really do, although I don’t think I could go through what I’ve seen Farrah go through this past year and a half.
Later
Thelma and Louise are back on the road again—the long drive back to the clinic. Fortunately, it was all a success. Dr. Vogl said the tumors had shrunk 30 percent from last time, which he was very pleased about. Thank God we came, and thank God for Dr. Vogl.
I’m so exhausted that I can’t wait to get into bed. Unfortunately, I won’t be getting into my own bed. I slept in Farrah’s room last night because I’ve got this horrible, musty odor in my room. I’m convinced it’s mold and it’s slowly killing me. The housekeeper thinks I’m crazy. I’ve had every piece of upholstered furniture taken out of the room. She couldn’t smell the odor, although Farrah smelled it immediately, and so did the night nurse. Finally, I dragged Dr. Jacob in this morning and she smelled it, too. I kept thinking maybe I was crazy or neurotic, and didn’t want to be any more of a pain in the ass than I’ve already been, but after sleeping in Farrah’s room last night, I felt much better.
Dr. Jacob said that the room next to me will be free on Sunday. I’ll sleep in Farrah’s room until then. It feels a little like a slumber party. Farrah said, “I like you sleeping in my room. You should just move in.”
“I’d love to,” I said, “but I don’t think we could fit all our clothes.”
June 21, 2008
Good news! Dr. Jacob came into Farrah’s room this morning very excited. She spoke to Dr. Vogl late last night. He’d just reviewed the scans and said that Farrah’s tumors had shrunk more than he’d originally thought. More than 50 percent, which he said was “amazing, better than anyone had ever reacted from one perfusion.” Dr. Jacob said the new treatment regimen has helped turn things around, and that the vaccines she’s now giving Farrah are changing the genetic makeup of the tumors and helping to destroy them. She feels much more positive about Farrah’s progress and is quite hopeful now. She was so happy that she had tears in her eyes. It’s great to have some good news after these very difficult four weeks.
We’re leaving on Friday, but I’m worried that when Farrah gets back to Los Angeles she will try to jump right into editing the documentary for NBC. I don’t want her to put too much pressure and stress on herself at a time when she desperately needs to focus on healing. But when her mind is made up about something, it’s tough if not impossible to stop her, so I’ll probably have to let it go.
This is where I have to detach from people I care about. I can’t make myself feel responsible for their decisions about their health or anything else. I have to be there as much as I can, be an advocate when it’s needed, and be a supportive friend, but I can’t control the decisions they make or the resulting outcome. It’s the same with my kids. I watch them make decisions that I know are going to have negative results, and eventually when that happens, they come to me, and it causes me pain to see them suffer. In the end, though, they are making their own choices.
June 22, 2008
I’m sitting on the terrace outside Farrah’s room, waiting to move into my new room. The musty odor in my room has gotten so bad now that all the doctors can smell it and they agree there is definitely something there. I’m in a state of paranoia about it. Farrah and I have dubbed it “the mold suite.”
Farrah is sleeping now. She was in such horrible pain that Dr. Jacob came in and gave her a pain IV. All she could do was just lie there and sob. God, it breaks my heart to see her in such pain. There’s nothing I can do but be there—and that makes me feel helpless.