Monday, May 25, 2009

FARRAH'S STORY

In the middle of my Alaska posts--I must interrupt with the news that for the days that I have been home, I have been catching up on my DVR. Farrah's Story was there in the queue. I kept avoiding it, last night I started watching it.

For anyone of my generation, Farrah was the golden girl. Was there nothing she could not do...she was beautiful, that hair, that smile, she was sincere, athletic, charming...she symbolized perfection. OK, I told myself she was not very bright--but let's face it--how would I know?

The parallels between my sister and Farrah are amazing. In my eyes, they were close to identical. My sister was perfect, sincere, athletic, charming. My sister died at 62. Farrah is 62. Cancer.

Cancer is insidious. It takes over your life as well as your body. Your life becomes hospitals, doctors, treatments, assessments, radiation, chemotherapy, tests.

When my sister became ill, I was in Massachusetts, she was in Orlando. I came down every three weeks for a week. She never said she was dying. She never talked about the stage of her cancer. She never talked about it at all. She never talked about anything. She kept no journals, nor did I.

She dealt with the illness with humor. She had an ironic, sharp sense of humor that was there until the end. It must run in the family.

I remember going to the Oncologist (trust me these people have no sense of humor) with her when the cancer had spread to her liver and it was hugely distended. She said: "Give me the good news Doc, tell me I am having another baby at 62." I laughed. He did not look remotely amused.

She had a group of friends with whom she played Cribbage. I took her to one of their cribbage parties. One of the ladies said how nice her hair looked--she said: "You like it? Here!" and pulled out a large chunk of hair and handed it to the shocked woman. I took her outside and said: Cynthia, come on. You think that that was funny, but your friends are horrified, and feel terrible that there is nothing they can do.

The parallel in the movie with the hair, reminded me of that fateful night which will be forever "hair night". She thought, as did Farrah, that her hair was OK. "Let's wash it, and see how it goes?" She said. As I was washing it, her hair was coming out in huge clumps, she said is it OK, I said yes and kept stuffing the hair in my pockets of my pants so that she would not see. I couldn't stuff fast enough. The hair changes texture as well, so it is a completely different experience.

When she took her head out of the sink and saw my face, she knew it was time to shave it. We called this her Mother Theresa look. Her little shaved head with a towel over it.

She was strong until the end. In the ed I had m own personal "Shirley MacLaine Terms of Endearment moment" in the hospital. I realize now what an incredible piece of acting this was...how could she know how you would feel at that moment.

The questions I had after watching Farrah's Story were:

  • Why did they never do the colostomy?
  • Why did they wait until the end to do anything that would cause her hair to fall out?
  • What if she had not been rich--or Farrah--who would have flown her to Germany a million times and pay for treatment.
In these ways I felt that all playing fields are not equal (as we know).

When her son climbed in bed with her and she did not know who her was was as honest as it gets.

I cried until my eyes closed up--for all of us.

We are all thinking that it is time for a miracle.

I am sorry...I just felt that I had to share.

Be well.




1 comment:

  1. Thank you for sharing, it must be painful to carry those memories/experiences around with you everyday.

    Jen

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