My Journey with Farrah - Alana Stewart [64]
I just spoke to Marianne and she said a prayer for Farrah. I feel better. Sad still, but better. I called Ash and Sean to tell them I love them. I wish Kim had been here. She’s called a couple of times sounding sad and lonely. She told her dad she’d never spent Christmas without her mom and he said she lived in London now. It always astounds me that he can sometimes be so lacking in compassion.
December 26, 2008
Farrah called earlier and was on her way to the emergency room. Her right leg has swollen to twice the size of the other one, and Dr. Piro is concerned that it could be a blood clot. She was in tears and didn’t want to have to go into the hospital again. I told her I would meet her there, but she said she’d call as soon as they did the ultrasound.
She just called and it’s not a blood clot but they’re not sure what it is. The doctor thinks maybe the lymph system isn’t draining on her right side because the tumor is blocking it. Good God, doesn’t she ever get a break? Dr. Piro was so sure the chemo was working; we thought the tumors must be shrinking. How can this be? I don’t like the sound of this at all. They didn’t make her stay in the hospital, though, and she said she’ll call me as soon as she gets home.
December 28, 2008
Farrah and I both spoke to Dr. Jacob today. She thinks Farrah should have a scan right away to see if the chemo has been working and the tumors are smaller. She’s concerned about the swelling and that the tumors could have grown and therefore be causing the blockage in lymphatic drainage. She thinks we should come to Germany within the next two weeks. Farrah feels more comfortable being there in the clinic, and frankly, so do I.
The idea of leaving again makes me anxious, but if it’s what needs to be done, I’ll do it. After seeing that movie Marley & Me the other night, about the dog dying, I can’t bear the thought of leaving my dog Lolita. She’ll be nine in April, and although she still seems like a young dog, I know she can have only a few good years left. I’ve never felt this way about a dog—I’ve never been much of a dog person—but there’s some special connection between us. We love each other so much. I can just lie down next to her and look at her sometimes. Then she gets annoyed and moves away. I can’t believe I could be so obsessed with a dog. I remember when it used to be men!
January 1, 2009
It’s 2:30 A.M., the beginning of the new year! I went over to Farrah’s to spend it with her and Ryan, and I’m so glad I did. She was feeling and looking so much better. It was really a sweet, lovely evening. We had some smoked salmon, made Bellinis, and watched Clint Eastwood’s Gran Torino. We tuned in to see the ball drop at midnight and raised our glasses in a toast to good health—especially Farrah’s. Then we made two piecrusts for tomorrow, and by that time it was almost two.
She has a scan on Monday and we’ll know where everything stands then. I feel like it’s going to be much better, but I’ve felt that way the last few times, and I’ve been wrong. I hope I’m not wrong again.
January 5, 2009
I’m sitting in the waiting room at Dr. Piro’s office, where Farrah will be having her scan in a few minutes. She’s in an isolated room now, with the radioisotope substance in her veins, and they’ll do the scan after forty-five minutes. She can’t move or talk or read, and no one can be in the room with her because of the radioactive material in her veins.
She’s feeling very hopeful, but I’m almost afraid to get too positive. Every time we have, we’ve gotten bad news, it seems. So I’m not going to jinx us. We’ll know within the next