GOOD NEWS…BAD NEWS

February 10, 2008

Finally! A good-news trip! We’ve been gone from L.A. for over three weeks now. I haven’t written this entire trip and I don’t know where to start. I haven’t had a free minute, it seems.

When Farrah and I arrived at the clinic, our driver pointed out that two paparazzi had followed us and were taking pictures from their car. I ran to film them and they took off. Now they knew we were here, so we’d have to keep a constant watch for them every time we went out.

Sean, his girlfriend Caleigh, and his friend Elijah, Cher’s son, are also here, as well as George and Barbara and our friend Lili Zanuck. It’s like one big party.

The day after we arrived, Farrah and I had to go to Frankfurt so she could have one more laser surgery with Dr. Vogl. “I feel like a dog being taken to the vet,” she said en route to the surgery. “A dog always starts to shake when it nears the destination because it remembers the last visit.” And yet she pushes through the fear and the trepidation because she wants to live. Such courage.

This surgery was not as difficult as the last one, although the procedure was just as painful. We spent the night in the hospital, and the next morning I accompanied her as they wheeled her to the MRI. Afterward we went into Dr. Vogl’s office, Farrah still in her hospital gown and in considerable pain. “Dr. In and Out” sat with us for an unusually long time.

“The last laser surgery in December was really dangerous,” he said. “It was difficult to decide what to do. You could have died from it.” We sat there in stunned silence.

Then he went on to say that he was able to get the rest of the tumors today and that the remaining ones were already necrotic (meaning they’re dying or dead). “So you are now tumor free,” he said matter-of-factly.

I wanted to be perfectly clear: “You mean she doesn’t have any more tumors?” I asked incredulously.

“She has no more active tumors.” Then he quickly added, “In the liver.”

Farrah and I hugged each other in celebration; this was the greatest news we’d had in a long time. We supposed afterward that he only wanted to go on record in the area he was certain about. But nevertheless, we were over the moon.

When we arrived back at the clinic, Dr. Jacob met us and explained that, while Farrah has no active tumors in her body, she still has cancer cells in her blood, and that’s where the other treatments come in: the special antibodies and anticancer drugs, even some plant derivatives that are known to kill cancer cells. The war is far from over, but a major battle has just been won.

We all celebrated Farrah’s birthday at Mimmo’s restaurant at a little birthday party I organized for her. It was a true celebration, and she was elated. “This is the best birthday I’ve ever had,” she announced, “because I’m alive.” It was an incredibly meaningful and special evening.

It sounds crazy that someone would be thankful for being sick—but that’s what Farrah said to Dr. Jacob earlier today. “I’m grateful that I got cancer…because now I see that I can make a difference.” I wasn’t surprised that she said this. She’s been so moved by how many people have reached out to her, not just with get-well wishes, but with questions, requests for information, and gratitude. For the last year and a half that this has been going on, I’ve never seen Farrah once question the fact that this was happening to her or feel sorry for herself. She just accepts this for what it is and pushes forward; she deals with whatever is on her plate very methodically and doesn’t waste time wallowing in self-pity. But this brutal disease has to have happened for a reason. There had to be some purpose God had in mind for Farrah Fawcett. She’s been thinking about that a lot these days, especially now that her cancer is technically “in remission.” She has a new lease on life, and she’s realizing how much she could help others who are also battling a life-threatening illness. She could open people’s eyes to other forms of cancer treatments that aren’t yet available in the United States. She could start a foundation for research and use it to help people who can’t afford to try other methods. She’s even started to think that what we’ve been filming all these months could be an impactful documentary. The possibilities are endless. And for this, she is grateful. It has given her life a new mission, a new definition.

During this whole trip, I’d been filming, not only for us, but also for a piece on Farrah to be aired on Entertainment Tonight. During the last trip to Germany, I came up with the idea to do our own footage, so that we could show how great Farrah was looking and feeling. I wanted to put a stop to all the horrible tabloid articles saying she was dying. Take that! She was angry and fed up with being stalked all the time by the paparazzi. They would try to get the worst possible shot of her and then sell it to the tabloids or get video footage of her coming out of her doctor’s office and sell it to the entertainment programs for big bucks. The National Enquirer came out with one headline that blared on the front page: “Farrah Given Weeks to Live!” The article said the cancer had spread to her pancreas and she was dying. It was completely unfounded. There wasn’t a word of truth to it and she was furious.

So we decided to fight fire with fire. ET aired our footage of Farrah looking radiant and energetic, walking by the lake, celebrating at her birthday party, and even having a snowball fight on a snow-covered mountain. Would a dying woman be having a snowball fight? Farrah, always competitive, pounded me with snowballs, one after the other. She was full of strength and verve. Of course, she had an unfair advantage—I was trying to film! Finally, in self-defense, I handed the camera to Mimmo, who had driven us. I got a few good shots in myself, but she was clearly the winner…in more ways than one. We felt that maybe this would shut the rags up for a while, and it succeeded, at least momentarily. Another win for our side!

Mimmo and I are still going hot and heavy. I really like him, and he’s very sweet to me and to my son. Sean adores him, and loves his food. He, Caleigh, and Cher’s son, Elijah, go over to his restaurant every day for lunch, and Mimmo cooks them Sean’s favorite pasta: baked penne with prosciutto, tomato sauce, and mozzarella. Sometimes I join them. Mimmo keeps telling me he’s in love with me, and finally one night, in the heat of passion, I said (faintly), “Me, too.” I’m not even sure he heard me, and it’s just as well because I’m just not sure if I’m really in love with him. It’s great for now, but the bottom line is, I know it’s not forever.

All in all, it’s been a positive trip—but I’m exhausted and emotionally drained. Right now I feel like I want to cry and have someone take care of me—like a little girl that wants to curl up in her parents’ arms and have them tell her everything will be okay. I feel like I always have to be the strong one and take care of everyone else—it’s overwhelming sometimes. It’s been that way all my life. I had to grow up too fast, too soon, and take care of my mother, who was a prescription drug addict and suffered from depression and ill health. Then it was husbands and children. I guess everyone dealing with a loved one who has a serious illness feels this way from time to time. It’s human. It’s impossible not to.

And yet I feel guilty even thinking about myself, or complaining, when Farrah is fighting for her life. I’m not the one battling cancer. Ever since this started I’ve been working to let go of my fears and get out of my head—get outside of myself. During the moments when everything feels like it’s piling up, I’ve been trying to remember the words of Rabbi Eitan that I heard all those months ago, around the time that Farrah was first diagnosed. I need to be thankful, get past myself, and do things for others.

He’s right. There’s no two ways about it. This experience has been truly life-changing for both Farrah and me. A year ago I would have been a wreck, but now what I really feel is gratitude. There is so much to be grateful for now. Farrah has no active tumors and her future is looking very optimistic, my children are all okay for the moment, and I have to surrender the future to God. What I’m doing to help my friend is the most important thing I could do right now, and I have to trust that everything else will be taken care of.

April 20, 2008

Mimmo is arriving in Los Angeles tonight. I’m really nervous. I don’t know how I’ll feel with him being in my house for over a week. Will I feel crowded? Eight days is a long time in close quarters, and it sure brings up my fear of intimacy and feeling claustrophobic. What if I’m not as attracted to him here on my home turf? I guess I just have to be open and not be judgmental or worried about what my friends will think about him. That’s the superficial part of me, and that’s not who I want to be. Also, I don’t need to try to make this fit into a certain mold. Even though it’s probably not forever, I can enjoy it for now.

April 23, 2008

I went with Farrah and Ryan today to get her scans. I felt sure it was going to be okay, or at least I didn’t allow myself to think otherwise. She seemed really calm, but I’m sure she was nervous. Who wouldn’t be? This would be the first scan since she was pronounced tumor free in February. Ryan was the worried one. It was almost as if he expected bad news.

Afterward Dr. Piro explained that one of the old tumors appeared to be active again, and two other tiny new ones had also shown up on the scan. On top of that, there appeared to be some activity in the rectal area, where the original cancer had started. He took us into a room where the technicians showed us the scans. It was kind of surreal. We were all in this dark room, watching these screens of her body while they pointed out the various places they thought were possibly active tumors. She started to cry softly. I was filming it all, although it was so dark you could only see the screens and the outline of everyone in there.

The last trip to Germany had been so positive; we were so jubilant; but now our mood had shifted drastically. While we always worry whenever there’s a new scan, I don’t think any of us had expected this news. Ryan pulled her close and said, “It’s okay. We’ll beat this.” Farrah pulled herself together, and before leaving the room even turned to thank the doctors who had given her the bad news. She and Ryan went outside into the hallway and he held her while she nestled her head on his shoulder. You could see the pain and fear in his eyes, but he was being brave for her.

We went downstairs, got into our cars, and left. Farrah and Ryan went back to her place to try to find the last scan from Dr. Vogl. All the scans they did today will have to be sent to him in Germany for the ultimate interpretation, since what appeared active could be the old dying tumors or inflammation. I pray that’s all it is, but I have a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach.

April 26, 2008

I haven’t had any time to write with Mimmo here. He came for an eight-day visit this time. I was really nervous that eight days would be too long—maybe just a little too much togetherness. Would I be able to handle it? Actually, I’ll miss him when he leaves, but I think I’ll also be a little relieved to get back to normal. God knows I need to recuperate from having so much sex! Also, I find myself keeping him at a distance. He continues to tell me he’s in love with me, but I’m not “in love,” whatever that means anyway. I’m just trying to stay in the moment and not analyze it too much, but most of all not judge. He’s not the stable, mature man I’d like if it were to be permanent. But this is who God has put in front of me in this moment. He’s sweet, intelligent, sexy, handsome, and hardworking. And he’s very good to me. He cooks great food for me; he washed all my windows; he’s great to my kids and my dogs. It’s kind of like having a wife, in a way. And on top of it he makes me feel safe and protected, strangely enough.

Farrah’s scans still haven’t reached Dr. Vogl. It’s ridiculous that she should have to wait until Monday to know what’s going on. I know she’s anxious and scared. She was starting to feel well and exercise a little. We have been going to Pilates together and she was starting to get stronger. In fact, it annoys me no end that she’s way stronger than me on the machines. Her attitude is “Look at me! Even with cancer I can kick your butt!”

April 30, 2008

So much is happening—too fast. It feels like life is spinning by so quickly I can’t catch my breath. Farrah’s results came back from Germany, and she does have two or three new tumors in her liver. The primary one, the original site, shows some activity and needs to be biopsied.

We have to go back to Germany within the next two weeks. Of course, I’ll go with her. Having said that, I feel a little depressed about leaving my home and my dogs again so soon. I can’t seem to get caught up. And I’ll be missing my birthday. Am I avoiding reality by continuing to go to Germany? My heart tells me I have to be with my friend, no matter what, and just trust that God will take care of me.

Mimmo left Monday night. I was sad to see him go but relieved in a way. On the one hand, he’s taking my mind off how things are with Farrah; on the other, I feel like I can’t get anything done when he’s here. I’m just confused as to how I feel about him. Very confused. He’s very hardheaded and states his opinion as though it’s absolute fact—silly things like which car is better than another—and yet I find myself disputing it. I guess I’m pretty stubborn, too. I do the same thing with George. He and Mimmo are similar in that respect. It must be the Leo in them. But why do I feel the need to challenge them and to be right? Why can’t I just enjoy Mimmo for the fun of it, like Farrah suggests? Again, it’s a way of deflecting closeness, pushing him away like I did with that little boy who brought me flowers when I was three. I shoved him down and he hit his head on the pavement. Poor little guy. He’s probably still on some therapist’s couch somewhere.

I just spoke to Marianne. How serendipitous that she would call at this instant. She said what I’m doing with Farrah is a holy thing, that being a friend and going with her is the highest form of love. And that I have a great guy there who loves me. God will take care of the rest. Be in the moment. She said the future is in your head and so is the past. It’s about being in the present moment and placing the future in the hands of God.

May 2, 2008

Good news, finally! Sean’s case was dismissed. I’ve never felt so relieved. Over the last couple of days, I’ve been sick with this virus from hell, so maybe now I won’t feel as stressed and I’ll get healthy. Tonight I went to a dinner at Lili and Dick Zanuck’s house for Dr. Jacob, who was in L.A. to see Farrah and some other patients. I’ve introduced her to all these people who now just love her: Lili, Cher, Farrah, Carole Bayer Sager, and a few of my other friends and acquaintances as well. Dr. Jacob is so busy with patients, I’m lucky if I can get her attention these days. She thinks a lot of my problems are in my mind. God knows maybe they are, but they sure seem real enough to me!

The dinner was really lovely, although four members of the Germany group didn’t show up because they got lost. George and Barbara were there. I still have some mixed feelings about that. It’s nothing against Barbara; I really like her. It’s just that I have some strange sense of abandonment now that George is actually in a relationship with someone. I always wondered how I would feel if it ever happened, but somehow I didn’t think it would. I think, in some weird way, our connection has kept me from being fully open to being with another man. I’ve always felt such loyalty toward George. I guess it’s like a brother or a father, but it’s even more than that. I’ve always felt like we’re soul mates, and I feel a little thrown by the whole thing with Barbara happening out of the blue

Complicating all this was the fact that Mimmo is still in the picture. I’m still confused about that, too. I want to be open to being with him, but although I’m ashamed to admit it, I feel like I want more. More what? More stability, more security, more of a feeling of safety? Is that so terrible of me or just totally honest? Am I being superficial or just clear about the kind of life I want to live at this point? Marianne says I can have the “more” on my own; I can create my own security. But how in the world could that happen? I guess anything is possible. Miracles can happen, right?

May 18, 2008

My birthday. Because it turned out that we’re not leaving for Germany until later in the month, I was able to enjoy having my birthday in L.A. I stayed home all day, ostensibly to relax and enjoy myself. Ha! Instead I felt horribly anxious (I always do on my birthday). I worried about everyone having a good time at my party. Farrah wasn’t able to come. Ryan drove in from the beach to pick her up, but she was sick from having three consecutive days of scans. She called me while she was trying to get ready, but I could hear how weak she was.

“Don’t try to come, honey. I’ll miss you terribly, but I don’t want you to feel pressured to show up somewhere.”

The party was lovely and everyone had a great time. I decided to have my favorite lychee martini and eat everything I wanted, including the chocolate marble birthday cake, and hang the consequences. Carole and Bob Daly had organized everything beautifully in the upstairs room at Mr Chow, my favorite restaurant. Twenty of my friends were there, including Jaclyn Smith, Nicollette Sheridan, Raquel Welch, Tina, George, and my son Sean.

I feel so grateful to have such wonderfully generous friends, especially Carole and Bob. I got some really beautiful presents, including a Chanel bag from George and a beautiful Balenciaga pearl necklace from Carole and Bob, but certainly the most unusual present was from Tina Sinatra: an orphaned baby elephant in Africa. She made me his sponsor. Has she lost her mind? I have three kids that cause me enough stress—I sure don’t need a baby elephant. I mean, of all the things I could use! I asked her if I could make a purse out of it when it’s bigger (it was a joke, I swear). After she showed me his picture, I fell in love: his name is Shimba, and he still drinks milk from a bottle. I’ve decided I want to go visit him in Africa one day.

When I was driving home, I was smiling to myself, recalling all the laughs we had this evening. Then I remembered there was something blatantly missing: Farrah. She would have loved the food and the company and laughed at my crack about the elephant purse. It was a wonderful celebration…but it feels a little strange, a little hollow, without my sweet friend.

May 20, 2008

Farrah called this morning and I barely recognized her voice, it was so weak. She’d been up since six o’clock throwing up and in terrible pain. I called Dr. Piro to see if he could go to her house, but he wanted her to come to his clinic so he could do tests. Ryan bundled her up and took her there, and I hurriedly got ready to go meet them.

When I arrived, she was still throwing up nonstop. The medications they were giving her for the pain and nausea weren’t working yet. This was like a replay of the time in the Frankfurt clinic that she got so sick after the liver chemo perfusion and threw up seventy-five times.

God, it’s so hard to see her go through this agony. I almost have to detach from my body and go somewhere else in my mind, it’s so painful. That’s what I’ve always done. When my son Ash was in the emergency room with his fractured skull, I was there, but none of it seemed real. It’s the same with Farrah. I walk through it all, but often I feel like I’ve disassociated myself from the reality of it.

By around five o’clock, when the vomiting still hadn’t stopped, Farrah was still adamantly refusing to go to the hospital. She hates hospitals, plain and simple. It’s why we’re always rushing to get home from Germany: she can’t bear to spend one more minute in the hospital or clinic if she doesn’t have to. Something had to be done, though. Neither Dr. Piro or I was getting anywhere, and she needed medical attention. Finally, I called Ryan and said, “You have to convince Farrah that she has to go into the hospital. We’re having no luck.” I knew he’d get her to change her mind. He has a way with her; she trusts him and respects his opinions. So she stopped protesting and listened to him, and we were finally able to take her next door to St. John’s in a wheelchair, wrapped up in a blanket. Finally, the vomiting stopped. But we’re obviously not leaving for Germany tomorrow.

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Nothing like a change of scenery.

After our fourth trip to Germany, when they declared Farrah tumor free, we went to Mexico with our friend Bren Simon. It was March 2008, and this was our spring break. We flew down on Bren’s G5 and stayed at this incredibly beautiful house in Punta Mita. Farrah and I would lie in the sun, and there was a huge staff that would wait on us hand and foot. We ate every five minutes: they’d bring us watermelon juice, guacamole and chips, quesadillas, and margaritas at night.

There was this ATV, and I was determined to learn how to drive the thing. So I took one spin around by myself, then I pulled up alongside Farrah.

“Hop on!” I yelled.

She gave me a look like I was completely insane (which I probably was), crossed herself, and got on. At first it was kind of jerky, and I was going no faster than two miles an hour. Then I got the hang of it and we flew through the sand, laughing all the way. We went driving back and forth, up and down the beach. We drove past a wedding, and a guy came out and yelled at us for making too much noise. We sped away laughing.

We were there for a week, and it was a slice of heaven—the last time I remember Farrah really feeling good for a prolonged period of time. We talked so many times about going back there, but we never made it.

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