A Singular Woman - Janny Scott [147]
Ann requested a review of the denial and informed CIGNA that she was turning over the case to “my son and attorney, Barack Obama.” Years later, during the presidential campaign and even after his election, Obama would allude to his mother’s experience, albeit in an abbreviated form, when making the case for health care reform. Though he often suggested that she was denied health coverage because of a preexisting condition, it appears from her correspondence that she was only denied disability coverage.
Ann, characteristically, had hoped for the best. If all went well, the chemotherapy would be completed by the end of August, after which it would take two months for the side effects to abate. “Then, assuming that I go into remission and there is no recurrence of the disease, I should be able to return to work in November,” she had written to CIGNA in May. Because she would need monitoring and regular blood tests, it would be difficult to take a long-term overseas assignment again. “Instead, I plan to do short-term assignments for DAI which will allow me to return to Hawaii for checkups in between,” she wrote.
When friends called on the telephone, Ann often sidestepped the subject of her illness. In a series of conversations with Madelyn’s youngest brother, Jon Payne, they sparred jokingly for the title of black sheep of the family, wondering why they had allowed themselves to fall so far out of touch. To Made Suarjana, calling from Bali, Ann insisted she was fine. He began to notice, however, that her voice sounded different. Slamet Riyadi, a colleague from Bank Rakyat Indonesia, was uncomfortable even asking about her health. Instead, he told her he would pray for her. Dick Patten came away from one telephone conversation believing that Ann had beaten the cancer. Julia Suryakusuma received a letter from Ann, which she allowed herself to understand, only later, had been intended to let her know that her friend was dying. When Rens Heringa called from Los Angeles on a visit from the Netherlands, Ann implored her to fly to Hawaii, but Heringa could not. Ann made it clear to Heringa that she knew she would never get better. Why was she forcing herself to continue with chemotherapy? Heringa wondered. Ann refused to give up hope. “Even when she knew she was seriously ill, it was probably not a matter of denial but really believing she was not ready to die,” Suryakusuma said.
Ann Hawkins, whom Ann had first met fifteen years earlier in the mountains above Semarang on the north coast of Java, understood that Ann was extremely ill. With some people, Ann seemed to keep the conversation light so she could think about happier things, Hawkins told me. But she spoke honestly with Hawkins. “She didn’t really talk about her life,” Hawkins remembered. “Except that I always had the sense that Ann felt very privileged. She felt, yeah, of course her life was cut short. But at the same time she had an extraordinary life. . . . And I think she knew that. I think she showed it, in how she treated other people. She felt such abundance—that’s the word—in not only her own life but life all around.”
Hawkins extended her arms out in front of her, palms turned upward.
“I see Ann sort of like this, with her hands out, giving,” she said. It was a gesture, she said, of generosity, perceptiveness, and compassion.
In early September, Ann said good-bye to her friend Georgia McCauley, whom she had known since her days at the Ford Foundation with McCauley’s husband, David. In their weekly visits over the previous months, the two women had talked often about their children, rarely about Ann’s illness. Now the McCauleys were moving. “It was difficult, because we both sort of knew that we wouldn’t be seeing each other,” Georgia McCauley remembered. Ann indicated that she believed Barack would be fine: He was happy, and Ann thought Michelle would be a good partner. “She was just worried about Maya,” McCauley remembered. “‘Will you take care of Maya? Keep an eye out for Maya.