My Journey with Farrah - Alana Stewart [57]
I think I don’t allow myself to fully accept that she’s truly fighting for her life, and if this trial doesn’t work, there may not be a next step. I can’t conceive of it; it doesn’t seem possible. She looks so good—you would hardly know she was ill. She’s just the same Farrah I’ve always known; we’re two girlfriends talking about our lives, our children, our clothes. Yet now a lot of our conversation revolves around cancer. She still maintains her sense of humor, though. Today she was joking about filling in the order forms to renew her magazine subscriptions. She said, “You have to check one year, two years, or three years. Hmm. I always wonder which one I should put.” Again, she finds the humor in almost every situation.
As for me, it’s hard for me to believe all this is real. We both said we feel like Alice in Wonderland. Nothing is real and we’re walking through a dream. I wish we would wake up and it would all be gone.
P.S. I have my own medical update. My Pap test came back from UCLA and it’s not normal again. I’m still trying to understand Dr. Rapkin’s very complicated explanation. I have to do a test every four months, and if it goes to the next stage, then I have to have another biopsy. Then, if it turns into cancer, a radical hysterectomy! I can’t quite believe all this is happening again. Of course she said that in only 10 percent of women does it actually turn into cancer. God, I feel like I’m living with a possible time bomb inside me. Maybe I’m being overly dramatic, but just thinking about it terrifies me. So I guess I won’t think about it. I can’t do anything about it now anyway.
September 27, 2008
I was finishing baking my cake to take to the movie tonight at Carole and Bob’s when Farrah called. She could barely speak. She’s been throwing up nonstop since six this morning. I said I’d come right over and take her to the hospital, but as usual she resisted.
“Okay, but I’m going to call Dr. Piro,” I said. When I reached Dr. Piro, I told him she sounded terrible and asked if he would call her right away and then call me back. He said that he told Farrah to dissolve two Ativan under her tongue and that would relax her, put her to sleep, and hopefully stop the vomiting. I tried to reach her afterward, but there was no answer, so I assumed she was already sleeping.
I left for Carole and Bob’s house, but I was worried because I still hadn’t heard from Farrah. I was relieved to see Dr. Piro there, who was a guest for the movie as well. We tried to call her together, but once again there was no answer.
“She’s probably just sleeping,” he said, and I agreed with him. But I still hadn’t heard from her when I went to bed later. I couldn’t sleep; I kept tossing and turning. I was worried out of my mind. I thought about going over there, but the doorman probably wouldn’t have let me up without calling and she wasn’t answering the phone. Maybe I was just being silly. She was probably sleeping soundly. It’s just that I can’t get the memories of my mother out of my head. Many years ago, when I was married to George, I had kept calling and calling her and she didn’t answer. I just assumed she’d turned off her phone as she usually did when she wanted to sleep and didn’t want to be bothered. But that wasn’t the case this time. She died of an overdose of drugs, and I wasn’t there to save her.
Finally, I fell into a fitful sleep, making sure I’d left the phone right next to my bed.
September 28, 2008
Farrah finally called this morning. She had been up and down all night throwing up. She was still weak, but finally the vomiting had stopped. I told her she can’t stay in that apartment alone like this. Someone has to be there with her. She’s so independent and doesn’t think she needs it, but I see