She was in her private office, meeting with two associates, when she was told her doctor had been waiting some time to see her. It wasn’t exactly that she’d forgotten he was due, just that she’d been so determined to carry on business as usual.
“We’re going to need some privacy,” she said, dismissing both women with a curt nod. “I hope this won’t take too long. Why don’t we plan on resuming around five?”
The younger of the women, fairly new to the job and eager to impress, quickly gathered up her things and headed for the door. But the other, Beverly, her chief of staff, lingered a moment and gave her hand a squeeze. “Good luck.”
Having given up smoking nearly fifteen years ago, she rarely even craved a cigarette anymore. But suddenly, now, she did.
There was a knock at the door.
“It’s open.”
As soon as she saw his face, she knew the news was bad.
“So,” she said, forcing a smile, “they got it done in less than twenty-four hours. Tell them I’m impressed.”
“I will.” He offered a small smile of his own—a doctor’s smile, not nearly so sincere as a competent politician’s. “Mrs. Rivers, I hope you’ll forgive me, I’ve taken the liberty of—”
Abruptly, John entered the room. He was ashen faced—not a politician now, but an ordinary husband. My God, she thought, he knows too!
Wordlessly, he took a perch on the arm of her chair and kissed her cheek. “I love you, Elizabeth,” he said.
“That bad?” she said, glaring at the doctor. Lord help me, she thought, I’m not prepared for this! Why didn’t I prepare?
“I’m afraid that the biopsy shows there is a malignancy present.”
There it was: the death sentence.
“Could you be a little more specific?”
But as he launched into a jumble of medical jargon, she scarcely even listened.
“So you’re saying this is bone cancer?” asked John.
“No, sir. Based on what we see, the disease originated in the breast and metastasized to the bone.”
“Then what are we talking about”—he hesitated—“breast surgery? I don’t understand.”
The doctor shook his head sympathetically, secretly surprised that a man renowned for his wide-ranging knowledge could know so little about something that in his own circle was regarded as elementary. “I’m afraid, sir, that at this point surgery on the breast would only eliminate a small portion of the disease.”
“I see.” Briefly, he glanced out the window at the vast expanse of lawn. “I take it this is certain? No chance of a mistake?”
“No, sir. I’m afraid not.”
He placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “What is the next step? Can you give us any kind of realistic prognosis?”
“Look, we’ve come a long, long way. There are some very effective treatments. I recommend the first thing we do is call in Dr. Markell from the ACF.”
“How dare you?” she suddenly erupted.
They both turned to her in surprise. She was in a rage, glaring at the doctor.
“This is MY life! What in hell do you think gives you the right to supersede my wishes?”
“Mrs. Rivers, I’m sorry, it just seemed to me that your husband had the right—”
“Well, that’s not your call to make! How DARE you!”
“—that your husband had the right—”
“That’s crap, you were worried about your own ass!”
“Elizabeth, please, you’re upset.”
“Damn right I’m upset! I’ve got cancer! And his only thought is how he’s going to look in front of the President!”
“Mrs. Rivers, I assure you that’s not true. I’m sorry, perhaps I did use poor judgment.” He looked to her husband, then back at her. “I can only tell you I’ve known many patients with metastatic breast cancer who have done very well. That’s what you must focus on now.”
But her fury was spent. Suddenly, there were tears in her eyes, and a moment later she was sobbing. “I don’t understand it, I’ve done everything I’m supposed to. Self-examinations. Mammograms.”
Her husband took her in his arms. “It’s not your fault, darling, it’s nobody’s fault. The doctor’s right—what we’ve got to think about now is fighting it.”
With his free hand, he snatched up a phone from the table and punched in three numbers. “Diane, cancel my appointments for the next couple of hours. I’ll be reachable upstairs in the private quarters.”
The doctor shifted uneasily. “I understand you want to be alone. You’ve got a lot to talk about.”
“Yes, well …” President Rivers rose to his feet and extended his hand to his wife. Slowly, wearily, she drew herself from the chair. “We should probably talk tomorrow.”
“I just want to say in the strongest possible terms that there is every reason for optimism.” He nodded out the window, in the general direction of the ACF, across the river in Virginia. “They’re doing remarkable things there, just remarkable.”