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By Root 1042 0

the other ideas had felt like holding patterns that were not so much efforts to accomplish anything real as decent ways of filling the time until he made the decision to run or not to run for office. But the mention of devoting himself to poverty swept away all the other ideas. It felt good and right to him, and to me. It was what he had been talking about in the campaign; it was what he had given time to in the years before he’d had any thought of going into politics. In that moment everyone in the room knew what John would do next. “I want to do something that makes a difference,” he said, “and if I never run for office again I will feel great about how I’ve spent my life.” I sat there, my knit cap covering my bald head, and I thought, This is why I married this man.

Between the end of chemotherapy in February and the surgery scheduled for March, we went to meet the radiation oncologist at Washington’s Sibley Hospital. Since radiation would be five days a week for six or seven weeks, we figured she planned to walk us through the daily routine. But it wasn’t what she wanted at all. Although she was in charge only of the radiation plan, she wanted to change our surgical plan. We had planned for Dr. Smith to do a sentinel node biopsy—testing the most likely lymph node to see if the cancer had migrated. If it was positive for cancer cells, more lymph nodes would be removed; if it was negative, no more would be taken. The radiation oncologist’s preference that we initially take more lymph nodes was clearly the most cautious course, but it was caution that came at a very high price. It meant the chance of a lifetime of lymphedema in my right arm, which would limit my activities from then on—and I hadn’t missed a side effect yet. For the first time in the process, I felt angry. Admittedly, she was saying something I didn’t want to hear, so I am sure that that elevated my reaction. She is a great radiation oncologist, but, I wondered, was she the right one for me? I thought it improper to have tried to undercut the surgeon without at least consulting her, and so I went home and called Dr. Smith. I told her about the conversation, and I made clear to her that I was going to do what she recommended, that I chose her as my surgeon because I trusted her.

The next day, the radiation oncologist called, ostensibly to see how I was doing. I was really frank with her that I didn’t think what she had done was right. She said she was just trying to make sure I had the best treatment, which I am certain was her motive, but I explained I didn’t like her doing it behind Dr. Smith’s back. Our frank conversation allowed us to move on. Honesty and transparency allowed the relationship to find a workable place, where I could have the confidence in her I needed and where she could have the appreciation she deserved for her great skill. In any case, it turned out that the sentinel node biopsy that Dr. Smith performed was positive, and I had to have the lymph nodes out, surgery that I had hoped to avoid.

The procedure was scheduled for March 7th, first thing in the morning, at Massachusetts General Hospital. Lexi Bar, who had worked with us for so many years, made all the arrangements for the trip to Boston, and she even came with us so if there were any problems she could handle them and allow John and Cate, who would both be there, to concentrate on me. I had insisted that John, who had to be in North Carolina that Sunday, stay for the UNC-Duke basketball game at Chapel Hill and fly up to join Cate, Lexi, and me later that night. He demurred, I insisted. Yell for all of us, I said, knowing of course that he wouldn’t. He claps, he doesn’t yell.

The original plans were for Cate to fly from New York and for me to fly from Washington, and we would meet at Logan Airport in Boston, go to the hotel together, have a late lunch there, and watch the basketball game on television. Everything seemed on track until Cate and I noticed that we were both scheduled to be in the air at tip-off. We called, frantic. No, no, we have to be on the ground, in the room,