“Oh, she’s in good shape,” he said. “She can live quite a while.”
“You mean like three to five years?” I asked, hoping for more. He looked pensive.
“That’s long,” he said. I didn’t try to question him further. I guess I didn’t want to know anymore.
Farrah got quite sick from the chemo, so Dr. Vogl decided to travel in the car with us. He had to go visit his ailing mother near Munich, and it was on our way (or so he said). In any case, he’d be in the car with us in case she got worse. The driver made a bed for her in the backseat of the van where she was able to sleep most of the way. I wasn’t so fortunate. The two middle seats, where Dr. Vogl and I sat, were incredibly uncomfortable. I was so tired and so jet-lagged, I would have killed to lie down, but there was no place to put my head. Even so, I kept falling asleep and waking up with my head falling over in some weird, cramped position.
The trip seemed endless. We stopped at some awful roadside café to eat something, and Farrah woke up and gamely came with us. She wanted to order a Whataburger, but Dr. Vogl insisted on soup. It looked like the dishwater. I know she would have eaten a huge greasy hamburger if he hadn’t been there.
Then we got back in the van only to find out that, after having already driven several hours, we were still three hours away from the place Dr. Vogl was going, which really wasn’t directly on our way after all. When we had dropped him off, we were still two hours away from the clinic. Truly the trip from hell! We finally arrived there at 2 A.M. We checked into our rooms but were wide awake, so we talked until 5 A.M. I finally took an Ativan and went to sleep. I woke up and looked at my watch, which I thought read 8:30. I’d only slept three and a half hours, so I took another Ativan. Then I looked closer at my watch and saw that it was actually 2:30 in the afternoon. I couldn’t believe I’d been so stupid, but then the Ativan started to kick in and I couldn’t stay awake even though I wanted to. I fell back into a drugged sleep until 6:30 P.M.
P.S. I’ve been calling UCLA every day to see if my test has come back. Finally, I called one more time. I got the nurse on the phone and she looked it up on the computer and the Pap smear was still abnormal. I almost fell through the floor. Now I was freaked. I paged the doctor and finally got through to her. She reassured me that it wasn’t that big of a deal and that there was no immediate rush. We could wait until I get back for the next step, which is the colposcopy, but it might make more sense just to have it done here. I’m going to talk to Dr. Jacob about it and possibly see a doctor in Munich, Dr. Rotorooter. I call him that because I can’t remember his real name. Anyway, it’s close enough.
June 1, 2008
Mimmo called last night. He asked if I wanted to have dinner, so we went to this place up in the mountains with a magnificent view of the lake and the surrounding villages. Then we went back to his house and spent the night making love. I really enjoy being with him. I hate to be so superficial, but part of it is that he’s so handsome, so chiseled, like a Roman statue. That and his phenomenal body. God, I sound like one of those old guys that are always with young women because they’ve got tight asses and big boobs. But he’s very smart, has a good sense of humor, and is sweet as well. He adores me and always tries to please me. What could be bad about this? I know it’s not forever, but it’s nice for now.
Still, I’m shattered today. I never sleep well at his house. It’s too bright and I forgot my sleep mask. And I can hear cars on the road outside. Then his damn alarm went off at seven thirty by accident. I had him drive me back to the clinic in hopes I could sleep a little more, but no such luck. Dr. Jacob came in, and I talked to her privately about my conversation with Dr. Vogl.
She pointed out that Farrah had made it through this year, which was a great accomplishment considering how ill she’d been when she first came to Germany, and she said she had some new ideas she wanted to go over with us. We went to Farrah’s room, and Dr. Jacob went over her new plan.
“I want to change from herbatox to thalidomide,” she explained. “This will stop the growth of cancerous cells.”
She also wanted to use another form of stem cells that the Israelis are experimenting with; they supposedly go right to the cancer cells, like a torpedo aiming at a target, and kill them. She’s brilliant and always on top of the latest cutting-edge treatments.
Farrah’s feeling positive about the game plan. She has this incredible ability: she doesn’t see anything as serious as it is until after the fact. When Dr. Vogl told her that she could easily have died from the laser surgery a few months ago (he’d never lasered such a large tumor before), or that no one looking at her X-rays a year ago would believe she’s alive today, she was shocked. I felt the same way. We knew things were bad, but we had no idea they were that bad. Or maybe we just blocked out those thoughts from our minds? That’s how we’ve approached this disease all along. One step at a time, do what you have to do, don’t allow yourself to actually wonder “What if…” Dr. Vogl calls Farrah his “living experiment,” and Dr. Jacob says Farrah is her “little miracle.” Please, God, let it be so.
I’m not sure I could have gone through what Farrah has, and I’m sure that’s why a lot of people give up. But her will, the same one that can make her controlling and a perfectionist, also pulls her through. As weak and sick and frail as she can seem at times, she’s still Farrah with the fighting spirit, the sense of humor—the no-nonsense, no-BS Texas spitfire.
Farrah has never been one to back down from a confrontation. I remember one time when she was performing in Extremities on Broadway, and she and her assistant hopped into one of those New York City gypsy cabs. They weren’t going far, just from the hotel to the theater, and when she got there the cabdriver pulled over to the curb.
“Gimme fifty bucks,” he demanded.
Farrah looked him straight in the eye and said, “Absolutely not.”
The driver, who didn’t really care for her answer, pulled a knife on her. Her assistant begged her to hand over the money.
Never one to sit idly by and play the victim, Farrah responded in kind. Without hesitation, she took off her high-heeled shoe and threatened him right back with it. Then she grabbed twenty dollars out of her purse, threw it at him, and jumped out the door. Typical Farrah.
June 2, 2008
I decided to go ahead and have the colposcopy here. The procedure is scheduled for tomorrow in Munich with Dr. Rotorooter, and I’m getting a little nervous. Dr. Jacob insisted I not wait till I get back to L.A. She feels it’s more serious than my doctor at UCLA does. Dr. Rotorooter wants to biopsy and laser my cervix to prevent me from getting cervical cancer. He said it would take four weeks to heal—no baths, no hot tubs, and no sex! Well, it just seems a little radical. Farrah insisted on coming with me, but I said she should see how she feels. Boy, it just doesn’t end. I’d like a little down time without a crisis, thank you.
June 3, 2008
Farrah went with me to Dr. Rotorooter in Munich. Now I’m the patient, and she’s the support system. Crazy how the tables have turned. As concerned as I am about her not being strong enough to make this trip, I’m so glad she came. I would be really terrified if I had to face this alone. And she would never let me.
The clinic was unlike any I’ve seen in the States. It’s actually quite impressive—very modern, lovely art on the walls, a small dining area, a trolley with tea and cookies. It sure put UCLA to shame with its crowded waiting room, busy nurses whose attention you can never get, and tiny examination cubicles. The girls who worked at the Munich clinic were all dressed in white jeans.
“Look at that one,” Farrah whispered mischievously. “She’s got on black panties underneath…” We giggled. A gyno office staffed with sexpots!
They took us down a hallway and into one of the large private rooms where you get undressed and prepared for surgery and where you return for the recovery period. All very lovely. They brought in a beautiful vase of fresh flowers. I was mentally ticking off all the costs (probably another gran
d for the room and the flowers).
Then Dr. Rotorooter came in (his real name is Dr. Phutzenreuter, but since he’s a doctor of female plumbing, Rotorooter seemed apropos). He reminds me of a cross between Gene Wilder and Peter Sellers. Not sure if that’s a good likeness for a doctor to have. I told him I didn’t want to do the more radical surgery, just the biopsy, and then I’d come back later if I needed the more comprehensive one. I figured the biopsy would be fine. Only 5 percent chance of anything being wrong, according to the doctors in L.A. He really pressed for the complete procedure, but I insisted, so he relented.
Then the anesthesiologist, a tall, dapper, balding man, came in and introduced himself: Dr. Peter Wagner, “like the composer,” he informed us. He immediately turned to Farrah and asked her if she’d ever known Steve McQueen, who was his favorite actor.
“No, sorry,” she replied.
I figured I might as well score points with my anesthesiologist, so I piped up. “Hello? I knew him.”
“Really?” he asked, lighting up and turning all his attention to me.
“Yes,” I replied. “In fact, I dated him for a while in the seventies.” That really impressed him. In fact, I think it even impressed Farrah, who hadn’t known it before. I was never one to kiss and tell. Until now. It’s funny that you can be such good friends with someone and still not know everything about them.
I’ve never seen anyone so interested in someone who’s been dead so long; the doctor peppered me with questions about him. I finally had to fess up that I hadn’t dated him for that long, and try to get him back to the subject at hand: sleep-inducing drugs. I said I didn’t want to be put out for long and asked if he could give me Versed and Demerol, the combo they give you in the States when you have a colonoscopy. After the first time I had it, I understood why people do drugs. It was the most incredible sense of well-being and joy I’ve ever experienced.
Unfortunately, he didn’t have them, so I had to settle for the one they use, which served its purpose but without the euphoria.
As the drugs were starting to take effect, a funny thing happened that Farrah took great glee in recounting later on. The nurse came in to put the green paper surgical cap on my head.
“Oh, don’t put that thing on me,” I protested. “My hair looks so beautiful.” And then, according to Farrah (this part I don’t remember), just as I was fading out, I looked at the doctor and said, “Wow, this feels great. Let’s party!” That cracked her up.
I was only out a short time, and when I woke up, I was back in my room with Farrah. When the doctor finally came in, he said it all went well and that the results of the biopsy should be back in a day or so.
As I was preparing to leave, I went to the front desk, and the bill they gave me was for twenty-five hundred Euros, or about four thousand dollars. That seemed a little high to me for a biopsy, so as uncomfortable as it is for me to question a doctor about money, I summoned up the courage to ask him about it. He explained that it was for the anesthesiologist, the biopsy, and the laboratory. He added that I would need “no further therapy.” I wasn’t sure what he meant, so I asked, “You mean I won’t have to do anything more in the future?”
He repeated, “You will need no further therapy,” kind of mysteriously, I thought. I didn’t have a clue what he meant, so I just paid the damn bill and left, hoping my insurance covered it.
When we got back to the clinic, I told Dr. Jacob what had happened. She called my doctor to get to the bottom of it and found out what had happened. Apparently, during the procedure he had used a special kind of new ultraviolet light that can detect precisely the area of the abnormal cells. There was only a small, isolated area, and he was able to burn it out with the laser, which is what he meant when he said “no further therapy.” So basically, he either didn’t understand that I didn’t want to do the laser treatment…or just plain ignored me. Either way, it was done, and I couldn’t freak out about it. Dr. Jacob was really excited about it and said I was very lucky. I was so happy and relieved. Farrah and I were practically jumping for joy.
June 4, 2008
I just had one of those moments where your life changes in a flash. This morning I was getting ready to go with Farrah for her biopsy, not having slept well even after taking three Ativan, when Dr. Jacob came into my room with her medical chart.
She said, “Alana, come and sit,” motioning me to sit on the bed across from her. “We must talk,” she continued. “I have some news from Dr. Phutzenreuter. There is good news, and some not so good news. The first biopsy came back from the tissue he lasered out, and it is stage one cancer.”
It happened so quickly and unexpectedly that I don’t remember what I said. Probably “Are you kidding?” As if this would be a joke. I suddenly heard Farrah’s voice in my head as I remembered what she had said to her doctors when they told her she had cancer: “No, I don’t. I couldn’t have cancer!” My reaction was the same. Total and complete denial that this could be happening to me.
Dr. Jacob continued: “The good news, Alana, is that he’s fairly certain he removed it all. Now, we will know for sure when the rest of the biopsy report comes back. If there are any cancer cells in the surrounding tissue, then you will have to go back and he will remove them. It’s a very good thing you went yesterday. You are lucky.”
I didn’t feel lucky—or even scared. Just kind of practical and businesslike. “How do we know it isn’t anywhere else?” I asked.
“We could do a PET scan. In fact, we probably should,” she replied.
“Yes, let’s do it right away. Body and brain? Do I still have to go to Stuttgart?” The trip from hell.
“Yes, they’re still the best,” she replied.
“Okay. The sooner the better. I don’t want to sit around on pins and needles.”
“And now I will take some blood to check your tumor markers and we will send it to Greece for a vaccine. I’m sorry, Alana, but it’s better to know now when it’s so early and maybe he has already gotten it all.”
I went straight into Farrah’s room to tell her, but Dr. Jacob had beat me to it. When I walked in, Farrah was completely in shock. She hugged me and said, “Don’t worry. It’s going to be okay.”
I replied, “It better be. Otherwise, you’re going to have to get well quick so you can take care of me.”
Later
Dr. Jacob came in with all my blood work results and the report from Dr. Rotorooter. The tissue around the area was negative. No cancer cells. She reiterated how lucky I was to have gone right away and that they found it so early. I felt pretty paranoid, so I asked if I should go back and get the rest of it burned out, but she said that wasn’t necessary because the rest of the tissue was cancer free. I just had to put it out of my mind for now. Almost like it hadn’t happened.
Now I’m lying on the other bed in Farrah’s room while she’s in surgery. They’re doing a deep biopsy of the anal area where the primary tumor was, and hopefully there will be no new growth or cancer cells. If there are, then Dr. Kiehling said he will have to remove it, but very carefully because it’s so close to the sphincter muscle.
This all seems like a dream and not a good one. To be going through all this with Farrah and find out I have cancer, too? But it was just a few cells in the cervix and they’re gone now, right? Do you spell cancer and cervix with a capital C? I don’t like giving cancer that much importance. It’s so odd. All my life I’ve been terrified of cancer, and now I find out I have or, if I’m lucky, had it. I feel kind of numb, but not particularly scared, as if it isn’t even real. Anyway, I can’t have cancer; I have too much to do.
June 5, 2008
It’s 3:30 A.M. and I’ve been awake for an hour, lying here in the dark, thinking…thinking…The tears have finally come. I’m confused and scared. Is this a wake-up call to stop living in fear, embrace my life, and enjoy every moment?
I can’t continue to live in this fear of the future: what’s going to happen when I run out of money?…how can I bear th
e pain of seeing my children struggle?…having watched my two sons almost kill themselves with drugs…seeing Sean’s frustration and pain and anger because of his disabilities and because of his relationship with his father…seeing my best friend suffer so much these past two years as she battles a tenacious, aggressive cancer…not knowing if she’s going to win this battle in the end.
I know I have a choice—to be a poor victim and run away from life or go forward with faith and confidence and still do something useful in the world. I forget I’m shooting this documentary with Farrah and she’s just made a deal with NBC to air it. So that’s no small feat. Maybe it will inspire and educate a lot of people and even save lives. I need to get off myself and thank God for all these blessings. Maybe I should try to shift my attitude and see the glass as half full, see the things I have to be grateful for.
Come on! Get off the pity pot and “be the fabulous woman you were meant to be,” as Marianne says. This is just another bump on the road.
God, give me the will and enthusiasm to live this life and let me find the joy and happiness in it. Let me start seeing that glass as half full, even three-quarters full.
Change my perception of my life, myself, my kids. Show me what you would have me do to be a light in the world, God, and walk with me each step of the way. Heal me completely, Father, that I might be an example, and let me be the woman you would have me be in order to do what you would have me do.
And heal my sister Farrah in body, mind, and spirit that she might also be the woman you would have her be and give hope and inspiration to others.
Thank you, God.
Amen
For a man who deals with deadly disease on a daily basis, Dr. Kiehling is one happy fella. We met him in May 2007 during Farrah’s first trip to Germany. Farrah affectionately referred to him as “the mad scientist” because he was always laughing and smiling.
Perhaps it was his kind and humorous demeanor, but at first we weren’t quite sure what to make of him. We’d been told that he could do what no other surgeon in the States had suggested: remove Farrah’s anal tumor with ultrasound surgery. The tissue around it had been so badly damaged from the radiation that none of her doctors seemed willing to try this approach. But Dr. Jacob said she knew a surgeon who could do it, and in walked Dr. Kiehling. With an introduction like that, I think that both Farrah and I were expecting someone a little more serious and intense. Instead, Kiehling was warm, friendly, and jovial and was soon chatting with Farrah as if they were old friends.
My Journey with Farrah Page 9