My Journey with Farrah - Alana Stewart [80]
Ryan just called in tears. The scans are terrible, he said. The cancer is rampant in her liver and she has fluid in her lungs and a bacterial infection. How much can she withstand?
I’m calling the doctor now. I’m in shock. I was so hoping that Howard had brought a miracle with him. There was so much healing going on in every other way, except in her poor body, apparently. I want to cry my eyes out, but I can’t yet. I have to get dressed and go see her. I have to think if there’s something else we can do. I won’t give up until I have to. How can this happen in this way? She’s seemed so much more present and alert lately. She’s been so funny. Last night I called the nurse to see if Farrah wanted any Mexican food, because I was going to stop at El Cholo, our favorite Mexican restaurant, near the hospital. I didn’t expect her to want anything, but I asked anyway.
“Alana’s going to El Cholo,” the nurse told her. “She wants to know if you want anything.”
In the background I heard Farrah say, very matter-of-factly, “Alana knows what I want.” Of course I did. I knew she would want a ground beef enchilada, a ground beef taco, and a green corn tamale. I got enough Mexican food for an army. She only ate a few bites, but she loved it. Our friend Mela arrived, and we had a little girls’ night in her room.
I said, “I started to bring margaritas.”
Farrah immediately said, “Why didn’t you?”
Yesterday afternoon, Ryan had gotten her into the wheelchair for the first time and taken her out on the balcony for a few minutes. They called me from there, and she left me a voice mail message in her weak little voice. “I love you very much. I love you very much,” she said. I got all teary when I heard it. I’ll save that message forever if I can figure out how.
I went over later, and the two of them were so funny together. I asked the nurse why Farrah’s knee was still so sore. She’d fallen and cut it several weeks ago and had a lot of stitches, but it didn’t seem to be healing. Farrah said dryly, “Ryan ran into me with the wheelchair.” We all had a good laugh. It was another “bacon sandwich” moment. Mela came over and we all lay on the bed with Farrah and talked. Howard arrived and did some of his healing work with her alone. I finally left, feeling really hopeful, around ten.
And now? I don’t know what to do. I feel like I should be able to do something. I should be able to save her: find someone, find a cure, call Dr. Jacob, get her back here, something! Another healer? I feel desperate. I feel like I’m failing my friend. I can’t just do nothing. There has to be more. There has to be something we haven’t tried. There has to be that miracle that we always talked about. Doesn’t there?
Maybe there comes a time when there is nothing more to do…I don’t know.
June 5, 2009
I spoke to Dr. Piro today. It’s not quite as bad as Ryan’s interpretation. He explained that the cancer has advanced somewhat, but that the pressing problem now is the fluid in her abdomen and lungs and the infection that still hasn’t cleared up. The newest development is that the port is infected, and they have to surgically remove it this afternoon and put something temporary in its place until the infection heals. He doesn’t feel any of these things are life threatening. It’s rather a matter of taking care of each of them in the hospital, and hopefully, she’ll be home early next week. He doesn’t see anything horrible happening in the very near future, but it all seems to be piling up.
Howard has been calling to find out the results. I told him about everything and said we were all very disappointed. I guess we’d expected this miracle healing. I asked him why Farrah hadn’t had an instantaneous healing, like so many others had experienced from his work. He said, “Sometimes these things take time. She