Rawhide Down_ The Near Assassination of Ronald Reagan - Del Quentin Wilber [86]
As Air Force Two streaked toward Washington, Ed Pollard and the military aide entered Bush’s cabin to lobby the vice president to take a helicopter from Andrews Air Force Base directly to the South Lawn of the White House. Security was paramount, Pollard and the military aide argued, and therefore flying to the White House was the safest thing to do. Besides, there was no time to waste, and it was far more efficient to land on the South Lawn than to fly to the Naval Observatory and then fight rush-hour traffic to the White House.
But Bush wasn’t sure. Yes, it would make great television, but he worried that landing on the South Lawn would send the wrong signal to the country and seem disrespectful to the first lady, especially since the helicopter would touch down right outside her bedroom window. Landing at the White House might heighten alarm; it might also suggest that he was usurping power. Bush decided to follow his usual routine and fly to the observatory. “Only the president lands on the South Lawn,” he told Pollard and the military aide.
Bush then dictated a secure message for the officials in the Situation Room: “We will touchdown at 1835 local at Andrews. I plan to helicopter to the observatory and motorcade to the White House. Approximate arrival there at 1900. Feel strongly about proper mode of arrival unless situation dictates more immediate route to White House.”
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THE CROWD OF doctors, nurses, and agents made the normally chilly operating room warm and humid. Aaron’s headlamp threw off a good deal of heat as well; a nurse occasionally dabbed his forehead with a towel to prevent sweat from dripping into the president’s open chest. From time to time, Aaron eyed a clock on the wall. He hadn’t given himself a deadline, but he didn’t want to keep Reagan under anesthesia for any longer than necessary.
As Aaron worked, others on the surgical team continued to transfuse Reagan with red blood cells, as well as with plasma and platelets, blood products that promote clotting and slow bleeding. They pumped several other fluids through the IV lines, including lactated Ringer’s, a water solution of calcium, potassium, lactate, and salt that helps rehydrate patients and keep their blood pressure up. They also gave the president an antibiotic to prevent infection, and a diuretic to help him flush all the fluids they had given him. Using blood samples drawn from the arterial line in his left hand, they carefully monitored his oxygen levels. At the start of the operation, the doctors had adjusted the flow of air into Reagan’s lungs so that it was 100 percent oxygen; by now, with his readings improved though still far from optimal, they had reduced the flow to a steady 50 percent.
To accommodate Aaron’s work, an anesthesiologist carefully worked the respiration bag to inflate and deflate Reagan’s lungs. To give Aaron more room to manipulate the left lung as he began searching for the bullet, Cheyney and Adelberg took turns reaching into the six-inch hole in Reagan’s chest and cupping the heart and gently nudging it aside. For Adelberg, holding the president’s beating heart in his gloved hand was a galvanizing experience; he had never felt so focused in his life.
Massaging the lung with his fingertips, Aaron felt for the piece of metal he knew must be nestled in the spongy tissue. The hemorrhaging was tapering off, likely stanched by the pressure of his fingers and the air flowing from the respirator. But ten minutes of squeezing and probing the lung yielded nothing, and Aaron began to imagine the next day’s New York Post headline: “Doc Leaves Bullet in President!”
After a few more minutes of fruitless searching, Aaron voiced his doubts. “I think I might call it quits,” he said. But speaking the thought