My Journey with Farrah - Alana Stewart [83]
Are we keeping her selfishly? Ryan said yesterday he would keep her like this forever, just to have her. I feel the same, but is it fair to her? What does she want? I don’t think she’s given up. She’s a fighter and she’s still so strong, it’s as if none of these setbacks is enough to take her. I’ve never looked at this whole side of it. Maybe she’s just tired. I know I am. A deep-to-the-bone emotional and spiritual exhaustion. It’s hard to see my friend lying there unable to move, struggling for breath, unable to eat, and seemingly wasting away. It’s heartbreaking. I wonder what she thinks, what she wants…
June 14, 2009
I went to the hospital this evening. Ryan and I had arranged to go at the same time; I think we probably need each other for strength right now. When I walked in he was leaning over and whispering tenderly to her. When he saw me, he said, “Darling, look who’s here.”
I stroked her head gently and said softly, “Hi, honey…” She stared at me with her large luminous eyes, but didn’t speak…The look in her eyes was almost haunted. She was frail and gaunt, her tiny arms lying outside the covers but not moving. Often she takes my hand, but it was clear she didn’t have the strength tonight. Ryan sat on the window seat next to Jennifer, the nurse, and they talked about the Lakers game. We had just won the championship. The television was still on, and we could see people celebrating. Jennifer said she and Farrah had watched the game and when the Lakers beat the Orlando Magic to take the title, Farrah managed to lift her fist in a gesture of victory. It’s evident she understands what’s going on but is so weak that she can barely speak. She rubbed her lips together in that gesture she always makes when they’re dry. I asked, “Honey, do you want some of your lip cream?”
“No, thank you,” she answered in a whisper, slowly forming the words. I didn’t want to tax her by continuing to talk. I went into the bathroom and braced myself against the sink. I stared into the mirror, tears forming in my eyes. I needed to escape, to pull myself together. I didn’t know what to say or how to act. After a few moments, I flushed the toilet and came back out. Ryan was leaning over her again, talking softly. I sat with Jennifer and asked mundane, meaningless questions. “Did she eat today?” “Did Dr. Piro say when she can come home?” I’d spoken to him this morning and he’d said hopefully midweek, so I already knew the answer, but I felt compelled to make some kind of small talk.
Farrah’s eyes were starting to close, so Ryan kissed her tenderly and said, “Go to sleep now. I’ll see you tomorrow.” He made a heart gesture and mouthed, “I love you,” to her. I could feel the tears starting to form again.
I kissed her forehead and whispered, “Goodnight, I’ll see you tomorrow. I love you,” but her eyes were already closed. Ryan and I walked out to the parking lot together. I gestured to the bench by the attendant’s booth.
“Do you want to sit for a minute?” I asked. I needed to talk about Farrah, to stay there close to her for a while longer. We sat on the bench, discussing possible scenarios. I’m the one who’s usually the cheerleader, but after seeing her tonight, I felt sort of resigned.
“She’ll never leave here,” Ryan whispered sadly.
“But maybe she’ll rally?” I said. “She has before, you know…” I said it without much conviction this time. We sat there, sometimes talking, sometimes in silence. I told him the story about going shopping for her Mercedes after one of the bad-news scans, and how, when the man asked her if she wanted a two- or three-year lease, she’d made a kind of joke about it. We talked and even laughed