Lethal Trajectories - Michael Conley [155]
He had visited regularly with Clayton since entering the hospital and followed events as best he could. He even made a few calls on Clayton’s behalf, though he discontinued the practice after it became too exhausting. He was looking forward to an early afternoon visit with Elizabeth Cartright, one of his favorite cabinet members, to discuss tactics for what looked to be a contentious vice-presidential nomination process.
He was napping when he heard Elizabeth’s soft voice saying, “Mr. President, is this a good time for us to meet?”
“Hello, Elizabeth,” he said tiredly, with a big smile, “so nice to see you—please sit down.”
“Thank you, Mr. President, and thank you for your time. I’ll try not to take much of it, but I do appreciate your meeting with me. How are you feeling today?”
“I’m feeling much better except for this nagging headache.” He hit the remote to elevate himself to a seated position and then rubbed his eyes vigorously, trying to clear his blurred vision. Something wasn’t right—he felt clammy, and his mild headache suddenly erupted into a massive explosion in his head. His mouth refused to shape the words his brain was instructing it to say, as though the rest of his body was disconnecting from his brain. What’s happening to me? Why can’t I talk?
In one last futile act, he shook his head violently to regain his senses before collapsing back on his pillow. Staring wide-eyed at the ceiling, his last conscious thought was, I’ll be with you shortly, Karen my love. Then the deep silence of a coma relieved him of all pain and worldly cares.
Elizabeth Cartright shouted out in panic, “Mr. President! Mr. President!” A doctor appeared almost instantly and shone a light in Burkmeister’s eyes; in less than a minute more, a full medical team with a convoy of special equipment arrived on the scene.
Elizabeth stepped back and watched in horror as the medical team did everything in its power to reverse the catastrophic failures taking place throughout Burkmeister’s body, but it was soon apparent that this was a battle they could not win.
She moved to a corner of the room not occupied by frantic medical personnel and called Clayton McCarty, who dropped everything and left for the hospital. But Lyman Burkmeister had made it clear he was not to be kept alive by artificial means, and his brilliant and productive life soon slipped away as one bodily system after another shut down.
He was almost gone by the time Clayton arrived, and the doctors made it clear that he would soon die from a massive cerebral hemorrhage.
Clayton and Elizabeth gave each other a comforting hug as Clayton thought, Amazing, the cerebral hemorrhage will do what the pancreatic cancer had yet to do—take his life. He was already feeling a loss that would haunt him in the weeks to come.
The first news bulletin of the president’s medical emergency went out at 1:54 p.m. and dominated the news thereafter. About midway through the evening news, the White House issued an official release. It read:
President Lyman Burkmeister passed away at 5:49 p.m. today at Walter Reed National Military Medical Center. The cause of death was a massive cerebral hemorrhage. President Burkmeister was admitted to Walter Reed National Military Medical Center on Tuesday, October 10, for treatment of pancreatic cancer. He was 67 years old. Funeral arrangements will be announced.
Few events shock the national psyche more than the death of a president. The loss of a father figure and its subtle reminder of human vulnerability and mortality compounded the grief. Clayton McCarty grieved along with everyone else in the White House. While he’d known Burkmeister was terminally ill, he had expected him to live for at least a few