Later
Farrah’s finally back in the room, but it was way more complicated than they thought. The tumor was much larger than it appeared in the PET scan or the reports from UCLA. Also, it was embedded in the muscle, very close to the vaginal wall. The surgery took much longer than expected, but they managed to get it all, they believe. The biopsy results will come back in a day or so to show if there are any cancer cells in the surrounding tissue. It just seems that with every step there’s an unforeseen complication.
It’s hard to see her in this kind of pain. After all she went through at UCLA, she said she didn’t want to go through any more pain, but that just hasn’t been possible. It all sounded easier and less complicated than it proved to be—the liver perfusion in Frankfurt, the ultrasound surgery. I can’t bear to see her suffer. Please, God, let this be the worst of it. I hope I’ve done the right thing by getting her to come here. What if I’m not right about this place? What if she doesn’t get well? But they didn’t have anything to offer at home, and here they are doing things that are only in trials in the United States, if even that. At least there’s hope here.
June 5, 2007
We’re back at the clinic now. The biopsy came back and they got all the cancer in the surgery! Thank you, God! We were so excited when Dr. Jacob told us. We were all jumping up and down, and Dr. Jacob even started crying. This was such a huge victory. Farrah’s still in pain from the surgery, but we all went for a walk to the beautiful little church in the village. I think we all wanted to thank God in person! The church was first built in the 1200s, then obviously refurbished at different times. We were awestruck by its beauty and magnificence. The ceiling was painted with powerful images of saints and angels almost as impressive as the artwork in the Sistine Chapel. We never expected to find something like this in the middle of this tiny village of Bad Heilbrunn.
Farrah knelt in one of the pews and prayed. She said the words silently, although I could see her lips moving. I know she felt very grateful for the good news she’d just had and wanted to thank God. Raised a Catholic, she has a very strong faith and prays often; she even crosses herself or says grace before every meal. I was filming this lovely moment, but somehow I ended up erasing the film. I probably wasn’t supposed to be filming in the church anyway.
That night we celebrated. Ryan, Farrah, and I curled up on her bed, ate spaghetti Bolognese—one of the few dishes Farrah liked at the clinic—and watched movies. Ryan had wanted to see some strange French art film with subtitles, but I insisted on lighter fare: Meet the Fockers. We needed something to lift our spirits and take our minds off the seriousness of this trip.
June 14, 2007
I’m having such an anxiety attack. My son Sean just got back to L.A. and found out the cops are issuing a warrant for his arrest over an altercation he was involved in. They’ve charged him with assault and battery along with several other things. It was actually one of his friends who started the whole fight, not him. Sean was the one who got singled out because he was more high profile. And Sean won’t rat out his friend, so he’s taking the rap for it. I’m frantically trying to find an attorney for him. This was another thing that Farrah and I could spend hours talking about: our boys. We never dreamed that one day we’d have this in common.
I was with Farrah and Dr. Jacob when Farrah got her first chemo treatment. Dr. Jacob explained that she’ll have the chemo once a week, and they mix it with liposomes to get into the cancer cells easier. At the same time, they do a local hypothermia (freezing) of the liver to destroy the cancer. At the end of next week she goes to Frankfurt for another liver perfusion and maybe the laser surgery. Tomorrow she gets a special injection that we hope will genetically rearrange the RNA of the cancer cells and cause them to die.
June 16, 2007
This past week has been crazy: Sean’s arrest, my frantic attempts to find an attorney for him, all the drama around Farrah, and now this situation with George. He’s here at the clinic for his annual checkup; he goes to the clinic like other people go for a facial.
This doctor from Düsseldorf arrived who has been treating him for his knees and shoulder. Farrah and I jokingly refer to her as “the stripper doctor” because she’s blond, curvaceous, and not at all what you’d expect a doctor to look like. She arrived to treat different people at the clinic and moved right into George’s room (next door to me, by the way, which I think is a little indiscreet). Suddenly I realized that the doctor is sleeping with George, a fact that he neglected to tell me. I know that George and I don’t have a romantic relationship anymore—it’s been over thirty years since we divorced—but we are close and, in some way, still very connected. I would never do something so insensitive to him.
And my ex Rod Stewart’s getting married again. I suppose he’ll be having more children; he collects them like he does Galle lamps. I’d never want to be with him again, that’s for sure, but it’s just that everyone seems to be able to find new relationships and move on with their lives except me. I feel overwhelmed with my children’s problems (even though they’re grown), my best friend’s cancer, and my own fears of the future. I’m uncertain about how I’m going to survive physically, emotionally, and financially.
June 23, 2007
Yesterday, Farrah had to go to Frankfurt for her second chemo perfusion, and Ryan decided that he would take her. He knew she’d had a relatively easy time with the procedure the first time we’d gone, so he anticipated it being a piece of cake. Farrah was a little nervous about him accompanying her, since I was the one who knew the routine. But beyond that, I know Farrah didn’t want to have to worry about Ryan worrying about her.
“Don’t you want Alana to come, too?” she asked him tentatively.
“No, it’s okay. I can handle it,” Ryan replied in a very manly, take-charge kind of way. Famous last words.
I only found out what happened this morning when I woke up. Dr. Jacob said Farrah was up all night sick from the chemo they put in the liver perfusion in Frankfurt. The procedure with Dr. Vogl had gone well, and after she’d spent a few hours in the recovery room, they got into the van to head back to the clinic. She started throwing up shortly after they left Frankfurt and continued for the entire six hours that it took to get back to the clinic. They had to keep stopping by the roadside because all the containers kept filling up. Even the doctor from the clinic, who accompanied them, was at a loss for what to do. Nothing seemed to work. She threw up until the wee hours of the morning, when finally she fell into an exhausted sleep. The good news is that the tumors have shrunk considerably, though still not enough to do the laser surgery on this trip.
I went in to see Farrah around noon, when the nurse said she was finally awake. She was feeling weak and shaky, which was to be expected. Then Ryan came into the room with a bacon sandwich he’d brought her from the dining room. He was so proud of himself. A bacon sandwich! We laughed the rest of the trip about Ryan’s choice of food for her still delicate stomach. Such a typical man!
There are so many different energies going on here: Redmond, Farrah and Ryan’s son, arrived a few days ago with Mel and Bren Simon on their plane; my daughter, Kimberly, flew in from London; Ryan; Joan; George and his girlfriend, Barbara—I can’t call her “the stripper doctor” anymore because she’s actually very nice. And she did a little Botox and filler on me yesterday. It’s kind of made up for her sleeping with my ex-husband. I’m not sleeping with him, so I guess he has to sleep with someone eventually or be a monk. It might as well be someone who’s nice (and who does wonders with Botox). She didn’t even charge me. Yes, I can be bought.
As for my lips, I can’t quite decide if they’re great or not. I asked Farrah if they’re too big. “No, Mick, they’re not too big,” she quipped.
July 1, 2007
Home again! I can’t believe June is over and I have spent the entire month at the clinic. Now it’s back to reality and what comes with it—uncertainty. I’m nervous about Sean’s hearing on Tuesday—the arraignm
ent. And Farrah. I know I just got unpacked, but I have this sudden impulse to run away back to Germany and that lovely, peaceful little village.
On our first trip to the Leonardis Clinic, it was just about summer when we arrived in late May. In the morning you’d open your windows and you could hear the cows softly mooing and smell the sweet scent of newly mowed hay. The scenery was almost too perfect, like something from The Sound of Music.
On one of the days when Farrah was feeling pretty good, we took a long walk through the picturesque countryside. Everything was lush and in bloom, and the ground was covered in a layer of fresh green. I thought that if ever there was a place and a time to get well, surely it was here.
We found some horses, and Farrah kept talking about “what a big ass” one horse had, which made us both laugh no end. The funniest thing was that she was right: it truly was the biggest ass you’ve ever seen! We decided we’d take a picture and make a card of it, and send it to anyone we knew who was a horse’s ass (the list was endless!).
Then Farrah spotted this sweet baby horse lounging with his parents by an old farmhouse. She petted his mane and fed him; she whispered a few gentle words in his ear. After a few minutes she turned around and walked toward me, and together we headed back in the direction of the clinic.
FIGHTING THE TERRORIST
September 9, 2007
Farrah and I left Los Angeles tonight for Frankfurt and her next visit with Dr. Vogl. When we left Germany at the end of June, Dr. Jacob had said Farrah needed to come back in about two months. The tumors in her liver that Dr. Vogl had treated with the chemo perfusions might be small enough for him to perform the laser surgery to burn them out.
I haven’t been feeling well the last couple of weeks myself. I think it’s probably due to stress and anxiety about leaving again for a long trip. I had to cancel a trip back to Houston, where I was supposed to be the guest of honor and featured speaker at the fiftieth anniversary celebration of the high school that I graduated from, Stephen F. Austin. I felt it was quite an honor that they had asked me, considering that Mrs. LeGros, the dean when I was a rather rebellious senior there, had once said that I would never amount to anything more than a carhop (well, I was a stewardess for a while!). I had also made plans to visit my eighty-five-year-old uncle in Nacogdoches, Texas, my hometown, and I was feeling terribly guilty about disappointing him. But this trip is about trying to save my friend’s life, so it has to take priority.
September 10, 2007
We landed and came straight to the hospital to meet with Dr. Vogl about Farrah’s surgery tomorrow. She had an MRI, and afterward he showed us what size the tumors were now and which ones he would laser. Some of them were already dead or dying from the chemo treatment she’d had on the last trip. Farrah wanted to know why he couldn’t laser all of them, but he said that it was dangerous to do too many at one time. It can cause severe bleeding. That was so typical of Farrah. She didn’t want to mess around; she wanted to face them head-on and burn the suckers out. All of them!
Afterward we went to check into the hotel, a small, modern structure with colored neon lights in the lobby. We dubbed it “the disco hotel.” We ate, showered, and went to bed, exhausted from the long trip and our afternoon with Dr. Vogl.
September 11, 2007
I’m lying on the other bed in Farrah’s hospital room, watching her sleep. We’ve been here all day and I’m dying to go back to the hotel and shower and eat, but I don’t want to leave her until the private nurse gets here. God, she’s had the day from hell. We arrived at the hospital around nine and they began preparing her for the laser surgery. I was nervous because Dana, my astrologer, had said they mustn’t do the surgery between 10 A.M. and 2 P.M. She said that if they did it during those hours, it might have to be repeated. Farrah has probably never consulted an astrologer in her life, but she knows I put a lot of stock into it, so she goes along with it. Especially about something like this.
I told Dr. Vogl what the astrologer said, but I prefaced it by saying that I knew he would think I was a crazy American. Dr. Vogl is very rigid and Germanic, but now that we know him better, Farrah and I both get a kick out of giving him big hugs when we see him. I think we enjoy it because he receives our hugs with a kind of embarrassed stiffness, patting us on the backs like an uncomfortable father. Farrah thinks he likes me because I always flirt with him a little so he’ll let me film.
He promised they’d be through by ten, but I have my doubts. The first part of the laser procedure ended up being excruciatingly painful. Dr. Vogl didn’t tell Farrah about this part. She was given pain medication by IV but was not out completely, and they inserted these thin metal skewers, for want of a better word, that were about eighteen inches long, through her skin and her rib cage into her liver. The pain was almost unbearable for her. I had been filming it, but I had to stop and go to the anesthesiologist. I demanded they give her something stronger to knock her out. This guy looked like an SS officer and spoke with a German accent that was right out of a Saturday Night Live skit.
“We cannot do that. She must be awake so she can breathe when Dr. Vogl says. The instruments must be inserted very precisely.” Then, with a sadistic little smile, he said, “Dr. Vogl is the master of the puncture!”
“This is inhuman. You can’t let her be in this kind of pain. Can’t you give her stronger pain medication?” I pleaded.
“I will give her something more,” he relented. Then he explained, “When she goes into the other room for the laser surgery, she will be completely out.” Well, thank God for some mercy.
I couldn’t film the actual laser surgery because they said it would destroy the tape in the camera, so I waited outside. Dr. Jacob had just arrived, so we went to see Farrah in the recovery room when she came out, still under the anesthesia. Dr. Vogl came out and said that he had removed one tumor close to the wall of the liver, two small inactive ones on the left lobe, and one larger one. There was another tumor that was still too large and too close to a blood vessel to laser, so he wanted to wait a couple of hours and then do a chemo embolization and perfusion to further shrink the tumor.
Unfortunately, Farrah will need to have another laser surgery in a few weeks. I can’t believe what she’s been through this year. Nobody deserves to have to suffer like this. But somehow she manages to retain her sense of humor. Later, when Dr. Vogl came into the room to see her, she asked him if she could have a set of the “skewers” that he uses to puncture the liver. She said she wanted them so she could practice on other people! He smiled. By now he’s getting used to her sense of humor.
Dr. Vogl examined her briefly, declared the laser surgery a success, and swept out of the room without further conversation. Farrah nicknamed him “Dr. In and Out.”
September 12, 2007
We were picked up by Dr. Jacob’s driver and began the five-hour drive to the new clinic where Dr. Jacob has moved her practice. It’s in a little town called Bad Wiessee on Lake Tegernsee, one of the most beautiful areas in Bavaria. Each of the surrounding towns and villages is right on the lake, surrounded by the Bavarian Alps. It’s quite breathtaking. We arrived at the Alpenpark, the new clinic, and were taken to our rooms, which were up two flights of stairs. No elevator in sight. But they had a beautiful view overlooking the lake and the mountains. The clinic itself was very different from the Leonardis, which I loved because it was small and the service was very personal. This clinic was a large, sprawling facility that treated mostly older German patients recovering from orthopedic surgeries and needing rehabilitation. Dr. Jacob had rented a small area of the clinic for her practice. It felt big and impersonal and slightly confusing, and the hallways at night had an eerie feeling. The first night I told Farrah I felt like we were in The Shining. I expected Jack Nicholson to leap out of one of the rooms with a knife. Here we were again, beginning a brand-new chapter in our adventure.
September 20, 2007
I went to sleep while Sean’s preliminary hearing was still going on back
home. This would determine whether his case would go to trial, and I checked my e-mail for the results the minute I woke up. I was disappointed to learn that the judge hadn’t thrown the case out but had sent it to trial, which will take place in a few months. I was pretty upset, but I couldn’t reach anyone until later because it was the middle of the night in L.A. Then Farrah and I had to leave the clinic to go to Frankfurt on our friends Bren and Mel Simon’s plane, which they very kindly gave us for the day. Farrah was to have the final tumor in her liver lasered, unless it hadn’t shrunk enough, in which case Dr. Vogl would do another embolization.
We got off to a rocky start when the driver waiting for us outside the clinic pointed out two paparazzi hiding in the bushes. Apparently the groundskeeper of the clinic had just chased one with a pitchfork. Way to go! I made Farrah stay inside while the car went around to the back entrance. I tried to photograph the paparazzi with my camera, but they slunk away deeper into the woods. We got to the plane (a beautiful G5), took off, and landed in Frankfurt without incident. But when we arrived at Dr. Vogl’s clinic there was another paparazzo waiting, and he got a picture before we realized what was happening.
Then, when we arrived in Dr. Vogl’s office, he explained that he couldn’t laser the tumor because it was too soon after the other laser treatment. “It could be dangerous,” he said. “So I will embolize it.” Farrah was surprised and quite disappointed because she’d hoped he was going to do the laser treatment and then the tumors would all be gone.
She was really nervous and crying a little when they put her on the operating table, but by the time the IV started to take effect, she was chatting and joking with Dr. Vogl as he performed the intricate procedure. I’ve never seen anything quite like it. This man is a true scientific genius. He let me stay in the operating room filming it, as I’d done before. I know I’ve said it before, but they would never allow this in the States.
My Journey with Farrah Page 4