My Journey with Farrah - Alana Stewart [7]
But one day, after she’d finished the radiation, she came out the door, and there sat an SUV with four paparazzi inside, videoing her and taking photos. Poor Sheldon watched frozen in surprise and disbelief as she walked right up and confronted them. She was exhausted and in pain, but her outrage gave her the strength to fight back.
“What is wrong with you people? Don’t you have any respect for someone going through cancer treatment?” she asked angrily.
But the cameras kept clicking away; she was giving them quite a show. Then she tried to grab the guy’s camera away from him and they struggled. “I couldn’t get him to let go, so I swear, I punched him right in the arm as hard as I could!” she told me later. She took great pleasure in telling me the story. I know that if she’d had a knife on her, she would have slit his tires.
That’s my feisty Texas friend!
“You go, girl!” I cheered as she told me the story. “The only thing I’m worried about is that the guy will slap you with an assault charge!”
“I don’t care!” she said defiantly. “Let him. That’ll look great. Harassing a woman when she’s coming out of radiation. I’d love to see that one go to court!”
We laughed. Nothing—not paparazzi, not pain, not the promise of a long road ahead—was going to knock Farrah down.
November 7, 2006
When I picked up the phone this morning, it was Farrah. For a minute I didn’t recognize her voice: she was crying and her voice sounded tiny and weak.
“What’s the matter, honey?” I asked, my heart jumping into my throat.
“I just feel so weak and so sick, and I’m in so much pain. I don’t know how I can make it to radiation.”
“I’m coming over right now,” I said. I’d never heard her sound quite like this before—and it scared me. I was used to Farrah being strong. I knew that at this moment I had to be strong for her. I needed to be there for her just as I knew she would be there for me if the tables were turned.
“No, it’s okay,” she sobbed. “You don’t have to. Mike can take me.” Just like Farrah: she never wants to cause anyone any inconvenience.
“I’ll be right there,” I insisted. Fortunately, I can be stubborn, too. I threw on my clothes and drove as fast as I could to her apartment. I went upstairs and into her bedroom, where she was trying to pull on her Uggs. She was in so much pain from where the damned radiation had burned her that she could hardly walk. Her assistant, Mike, helped me get her down to her car. I got into the backseat with her, and he drove to the secret underground entrance, which was obviously no longer secret.
Sheldon, from the doctor’s office, was waiting with a wheelchair. I looked around, making sure there were no paparazzi lurking about. The coast was clear. We went straight to the radiation room, where she lay down on the table for the treatment. It took about twenty minutes. Afterward we took her in the wheelchair back to the car and home, where I helped her back into bed. She winced with every step, but at least it was over. She’d made it for today.
“Just look at this,” she said with a sigh, showing me the skin on the inside of her legs and her buttocks where they had radiated. I was shocked. It was bright red and blistered to the point that it was peeling off. It looked like a second-degree burn, and it was so excruciatingly painful, she could barely lie down. She’d been given salve and medication, but it wasn’t even making a dent in the pain. It seems barbaric that this supposed cure is so ravaging.
I hope the doctors are right, that this will cure her cancer. After all this, they’d better be.
December 6, 2006
The tabloids are out of control. They print anything they want, even if there’s not a shred of truth to it. The National Enquirer has not let up on Farrah since she was diagnosed with cancer.
“You won’t believe this headline,” Farrah called