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off her table in a fit of rage. Everyone is afraid to go into her room. I think it’s a combination of the pain medication she’s been on for so long now and everything just building up in her over the past couple of years. She’s had to endure so many surgeries and procedures, so much pain, so many indignities. I can’t blame her for getting angry and having to release it all. I came when I heard the ruckus and tried to calm her down. “What’s going on?” I asked. She was in pain and she had been calling the nurses for an hour and couldn’t get their attention. She just lost it, understandably so. “Just don’t throw anything at me, Blanche,” I teased. I’ve been calling her that since one of our earlier trips here when she was hooked up to an IV and couldn’t move off her bed. After asking me to get her about ten different things, I finally turned to her and said, “You’re skating on thin ice, Blanche. Don’t be surprised if you find a rat on your dinner tray tonight.” It became a running joke for us: I called her Blanche and I was Baby Jane.

March 22, 2009

I feel like I’m in Groundhog Day. Each day just melds into the next. Over a week has passed and nothing has changed that much. Farrah has had ups and downs, and seems a little better today, but she’s still not well enough to fly home. She’s so weak and frail, and barely eats anything. They’re giving her liquid nutrition through the IV now.

I’m feeling unbelievably depressed, like there’s no end in sight. I don’t want to focus on myself when she’s so ill, but I’m desperate to get home. I miss my kids and my dogs so much, but most of all, at this moment, I miss Farrah. This has been the worst trip of all. At least during the others we were able to hang out, laugh, and have some fun times in the midst of all the seriousness.

Every week now is a roller coaster; one day she’s better, the next she’s worse. I never know what the day will hold when I wake in the morning. All I can do is pray.

March 27, 2009

We’re leaving tomorrow, finally! A real blizzard came in on Tuesday and it snowed like crazy for two full days. I was in heaven. Everything looked just like a Christmas card. The Germans are fed up with snow, but Farrah and I just sat and watched it coming down.

Growing up in Texas, we never had snow except for once on Christmas Eve in Nacogdoches when I was five. I remember standing at the window, waiting for my mother to arrive, and watching these beautiful snowflakes with awe. Farrah and I didn’t say much as we sat there watching the snow; we were sort of hypnotized. I’ve never seen such large snowflakes, big lacy doilies floating down for hours on end.

At one point, she said, “You’ve given up so much of your life to do this for me. I don’t know how I can ever thank you.” I replied, “If I had a sister, I’d do it for her, and you’re like my sister.” I made my way through the lines hanging from the IV pole to hug her. It was one of the most intimate, tender moments we’ve ever had.

Later

I went over to Mimmo’s for lunch and he was very sweet. He had his lunch with me after everyone left, and I told him I was leaving tomorrow and that I probably would not be coming back. I also told him Dr. Jacob is moving the clinic to the Black Forest near Stuttgart. I said it might be the last time we saw each other and he said, “No, it won’t be the last time. You will either come back or I will come to L.A. in November.”

I asked him what about his girlfriend and he said something I didn’t quite understand, like he would simply tell her he was “going on vacation.” He also said he’d never get married. He said he was fed up with working so hard and he was going to sell the restaurant and live somewhere else, where it was warm. I get the sense that he’s still in love with me, and he works very hard at being strong because we’re so far apart. But the bottom line is that it’s over. And although I’ve been affected by it much more than I thought I’d be, I need to let it go. Sad…

Farrah had an ultrasound late this afternoon and Dr. Jacob said there was fluid in her liver and it had to be removed.