POV: Donna
Spoilers: None
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: The only character I created is Doctor Raniero. The rest are
the property of AS. Thanks for letting me use them.
Love's Creation - Chapter Three A West Wing Story
by MAHC
Life was funny, in many ways, actually. Funny ha ha sometimes; funny strange, sometimes. And then sometimes it was really not funny at all.
In the few months she had been married to Josiah Bartlet, Donna Moss Bartlet had experienced all three types of funny. Fortunately, most of those had fallen into the first category, enjoyable and exciting and - well - fun. Some had been the second type, especially in those surreal moments when it hit her, as if for the first time, that she was married to the President of the United States, that she was the First lady. That people looked to her as a model, as a standard-bearer. But now - now she had been cold cocked, slapped in the face with the last type. The one that wasn't funny at all. And the gnawing, sickening fear in the pit of her stomach reminded her of the early days of pregnancy, only worse - much worse - because this sickness didn't promise the joyful birth of a child as its climax. This sickness only foretold the dreadful proclamation of a doctor that her husband, the father of her child that had yet to be born, was seriously ill, more serious than either of them could contemplate.
She cut her eyes away from the tall, gray figure of Admiral Hackett for a moment to stare at the cool blue window panes shadowed on the floor by the early morning light. Had it been only a little over 24 hours since she had lain in Jed's arms in this very room, their entwined bodies damp and relaxed from a night of passion and release? How secure she had felt. How quickly the world could change.
She moved her eyes to the bed, to her husband, and tried to assess his feelings. Despite his calm assurances to her, regardless of his steady hand, she felt the fear, the anxiety, shared it with him. Still, he did not move, except when his body involuntarily heaved with the wracking coughs that had only grown worse, but remained silent, almost eerily submissive, as the doctor re-examined him. More stethoscope listening to chest and back, more careful study of throat and ears. He had Jed cough, which didn't take much effort, and spit into a cloth. Again, the bloody expulsion set her heart pumping.
Finally, Hackett sighed, pulled the stethoscope from his ears and frowned. He didn't speak for a long moment, so long that Donna found herself unable to hold her question.
"Doctor?" Try to keep the fear down, try not to let Jed hear it in your voice.
"I don't know," he admitted. "We'll need to run some tests - "
Now Jed broke his silence, interrupting with a soft, but firm voice. "Give me the possibilities, Admiral. All of them."
Hackett nodded, acknowledging his patient's desire and right to know the truth. "Mister President, there are several causes of hemoptysis. You'll notice that it looks a little frothy. That's from the mixture with air and sputum, or secretions from the airway. I, of course, can't confirm - or dispel - any causes with as superficial an exam as I can give you here. I'll schedule a battery of tests at Bethesda. We can set them up for tomorrow to give you a little time to recover - "
But Jed wouldn't be dissuaded so easily. Donna could have told the doctor that. "Fine, but I want to know now what the possible causes are."
The Admiral regarded his patient, and his commander-in-chief, for a moment, a look of both admiration and regret passing across his face. "All right, sir. Best case scenario? Sometimes recent nosebleeds can result in the blood coming back in this form - " He stopped at the head shake from the President.
"No," Jed assured him.
"No, I didn't think so. Another cause could be irritation of the throat from violent coughing. You certainly have been coughing hard, sir, and that's not out of the realm of possibility."
Jed held his gaze. "But you don't think that's it." A statement. He knew.
"No," replied Hackett simply.
"Other possibilities?"
"A pulmonary infection of some kind. Bronchitis or pneumonia."
"Worst case scenario?" Jed demanded quietly and Donna braced for the words she could already hear.
Hackett hesitated, then said, "Lung cancer."
Jed's jaw tightened at the confirmation of their worst fears. "I quit smoking," he mumbled. And that was true. As soon as she had told him she was pregnant. Cold turkey. And she had yet to figure out how, except through sheer will power.
The doctor sighed. "Yes, sir, but I'm sure you know the long-term effects -"
"Yeah." He looked up at the Admiral. "Yeah." With a deep breath that ended, expectedly, in another cough, he asked, "What's next?"
"I'll arrange the tests. In the meantime, I want you to continue a steady intake of fluids for a sputum culture."
"What - what tests will you do, Doctor?" Donna had finally managed to find her voice.
He turned to her and allowed a sympathetic smile. "In addition to the culture, the pulmonary specialist will probably order a chest x-ray, and possibly a bronchoscopy."
"Bronchoscopy?" Jed asked.
Eyes back on the President, Hackett explained, "A bronchoscopy is a diagnostic procedure in which a tube with a tiny camera on the end is inserted through the mouth into the lungs. It allows us to see into the airways and collect specimens for biopsy, if necessary. Assuming, Mister President, that this will be done, I'll need you not to eat or drink after midnight."
"Okay."
Okay? So calm. So damned calm. Donna wanted to yell, to scream, to shake him. Did he hear what the doctor just said? Did he hear? But she clamped down on the panic. It wouldn't do her any good and it sure wouldn't help Jed. No, she'd be as calm as he was. They would meet this head on, together. They would - She gulped, swallowing a sob. They would beat this. They would!
Now Hackett was leaving, she realized, and mustered some appropriate words of thanks before returning to her husband's bedside. She read pain in his eyes, and thought for a moment, it was for himself. But as his hand slid over the curve of her belly, she realized it wasn't for him at all; it was for her - it was for the baby. And that broke her strength, plowed through any ability she had to put up a strong front. The tears fell, now, streaming down her cheeks, dropping onto his hand. He looked up and reached toward her, pulling her down, gathering her close.
"Shh," he whispered at her ear. "It's going to be - " He stopped, because he couldn't promise her that. Couldn't assure her it would be okay. "We'll do what we need to do," he amended.
She could only nod, didn't trust herself to saying anything, yet, to offer her own reassurance to him. But she would. She knew when she gathered her wits again, that she wouldn't fall apart anymore. It just wouldn't happen. She was the First Lady of the United States, after all.
Finally, she sat back, wiping tears and lifting her hand to touch his face, memorizing the strong angles and planes. "I'll see if Leo's in yet," she said softly.
Eyes widening in surprise, he questioned, "Leo?"
"You'll want to see him." Not telling him, just verifying what he already had planned.
His lips curved in a smile at her observation and he nodded.
C.J. stepped to the podium. Curled up next to Jed on the sofa in the residence, Donna watched as the press secretary took a deep breath in preparation for the blitz of questions. "Okay, guys. I'm pleased to announce that air traffic controllers remain on the job today. The President thanks them for their cooperation in negotiations and is certainly glad that he has not had to invoke the 'Reagan Solution' to keep our skies safe. On another issue, clean up efforts continue on the oil spill off the coast of Mississippi. Coastal areas affected include the shoreline between Hattisburg and Gulf Shores, Alabama. It is anticipated that several million dollars worth of fishing and shrimping will be lost, in addition to the cost of clean up and loss of tourism."
She paused, anticipating questions, but none came. Not good. That meant they had already sniffed out the bigger story.
"All right. One note. There is a last minute change in today's schedule. The President will not be speaking at the Police Memorial originally set for two p.m. in Philadelphia."
"C.J.!" That was it.
"Sandy?"
"Why?"
"Pardon?"
"Why did the President cancel the ceremony?"
C.J. smiled smoothly. "Actually, the ceremony will continue as scheduled. The President just won't be there."
Donna grasped Jed's hand a little harder. He had been very clear to C.J. that she should not evade any direct questions about his health.
"The President is taking a day off to catch up from a grueling week of some pretty serious events."
Another hand. "Is the President sick?"
Calm, cool, C.J. answered, "Well, Gary, it depends on how you define sick. He's a little under the weather with what most of us call a summer cold, no cause for alarm. The First Lady is making him take a break. Also, he wants to make sure he's ready for the anticipated talks with North Korea, which, by the way, are shaping up nicely."
They were not deterred by the international carrot she dangled. "Do the President's doctors suspect any complications from the cold on his M.S.?"
Next to her Jed pulled his robe tighter and coughed. She cut her eyes again to glance at him, but he only smiled reassuringly. At least he wasn't coughing quite as much since Admiral Hackett had sent the medicine.
"No, Steve. This has nothing to do with the M.S., from which, I might add, the President has suffered no problems at all in almost two years. A day's rest should take care of it." She glanced down for a moment, then back up, adding casually, "He will be going for a check up tomorrow at Bethesda Naval Hospital. I want to add also that he has received excellent reports for the past three years and expects to continue in the same manner this time."
"Are there specific concerns?"
"Only the summer cold, as I mentioned. Just precautionary." Ignoring any other eager hands, she flipped her notebook and declared, "That's a full lid, ladies and gentlemen. Thanks." And was out the door before another question could be completed.
As First Lady, Donna had grown more appreciative of C.J.'s talents, observing, as she had not been able to before, the wit, savvy, and style of the press secretary, as well as C.J.'s ability to be straight forward with the press while still keeping delicate information safe. Of course, they had not told her everything, only that Jed was having tests run to determine the cause of his present illness. What she deducted from that, she had kept to herself.
She turned to Jed to comment on C.J.'s performance just as Charlie knocked and entered with a small bucket of ice in which several bottles of Gatorade had been shoved. Not exactly champagne, but literally what they doctor had ordered. Donna rose to meet him.
"Mister President," he greeted.
Jed jerked his chin up a bit in acknowledgement of the delivery. "Thanks, Charlie. You didn't have to do that."
"No problem, sir," he assured them. "I didn't know which flavor you liked, so I brought several. Green, blue, pink, white, even clear."
"Those are colors, Charlie, not flavors."
"Yes, sir."
"Anyway, I thought Gatorade was just green."
The younger man chuckled. "Not anymore, Mister President."
"What's the blue?"
"Frost."
"Frost is a flavor?"
"Yes, sir."
"Okay. What's the white?"
"Frost."
"Well, that doesn't make any sense. How can blue be Frost and white - nevermind. Just throw me somethin'."
Charlie selected plain old green and tossed it across the room. Despite his condition, the President plucked it easily from the air with one hand. Donna wondered where he had learned to do that. She realized she didn't know much about his earlier life. Had he played a sport of some kind? Baseball? Football? With its gridiron history, football was probably a required class at Notre Dame.
"Hey, Charlie?" he was saying.
"Yes, sir?"
"You take my advice on the board for Saturday?"
Board? What board?
"Pitt's got a good team this year, Mister President."
Ah! The football board. She should have known. And, of course, she knew immediately what team that "advice" concerned.
"Pitt!" Jed sputtered, sending a spray of green onto his robe. "Are you crazy? They have a terrible turnover ratio and they can't score in the red zone - Pitt? You'll lose your shirt."
Charlie smiled in a way that told Donna he was playing his boss well. Jed knew it, too, but enjoyed the play anyway. "So you're saying I shouldn't take the over and under?"
"I'm sayin' you shouldn't take the game, man. The Irish are loaded for bear - or panther, anyway. Save your money."
"Yes, sir. It's a good thing I went with Notre Dame, then?"
Jed smiled. "Atta boy. I knew I taught you better. Go away, now, and let me savor my green-flavored Gatorade. Oh, and send C.J. in here when she's finished."
"Yes, sir." Again Charlie smiled, but something in his eyes remained sad, and Donna ached at the simple show of concern and love from Jed's personal aid.
"Have a good afternoon, Mister President," he offered on the way out, nodding to her as she smiled her appreciation for taking his mind off things even for a little while.
"Yeah," Jed returned absently, his gaze tracing back to hers, his eyes reading her own sadness.
"Hey," he called softly to her. "Come here."
Oh, Jed. Do I dare? But she did, crawled into his lap as he indicated, lay back in his arms, allowing him to stroke her stomach, smiling with him as he placed her hand in his and felt the kick of their child.
"She's already bossy," he noted. Donna grinned. He had referred to the baby exclusively as 'she," not straying once from that gender. She wasn't sure why, except that maybe he didn't want to get his hopes up, despite the assurances he gave her that it didn't matter to him. Then again, maybe it really didn't matter. Or maybe he just thought of the baby as 'she' since all his other children had been. Whatever the reason, he had been unfailingly consistent and Donna didn't dispute him now.
"She knows her Daddy's touch," Donna decided, drawing a deeper grin from him before it faded into melancholy. "Jed - "
"No," he said, shaking his head. "Nothing matters today. Tomorrow - well, we'll deal with tomorrow - tomorrow. But today is ours. No problems today. Okay?"
Unable to speak, she nodded and leaned against his chest. The quick repartee with Charlie seemed to have perked him up a bit. She felt his forehead now without even trying to mask it in any other move. Still warm. He hadn't had any Advil since the first two. Admiral Hackett advised against it in anticipation of the bronchoscopy, to avoid bleeding during the procedure. Despite the danger of catching his illness, she couldn't stop herself from turning in his arms and placing a soft kiss against his lips. He responded, letting his mouth move on hers before he pulled away to her grunt of protest.
"Donna, you shouldn't - "
"It's all right," she said. "If I haven't caught anything from you by now, I never will."
He chuckled. "Still, let's not tempt fate."
She sighed in disappointment, thinking they had already tempted fate about as much as they could, but didn't try to continue the kiss, snuggling instead back against his chest. They were still in that position when C.J. entered, hesitating when she saw them entwined.
"Oh, geez, I'm sorry - "
"It's okay," Jed called, sitting up a little. Donna eased away, but remained within his embrace. "Come on in, C.J."
"How do you feel, Mister President?" she asked, sitting carefully on the edge of the chair across from the couch.
"Better, thanks." At least Donna thought that was true. "You did a good job in there today."
As usual when the President complimented her, C.J. blushed a bit. "Thank you, sir. I hope things go well tomorrow."
"Yeah. About that - "
Donna watched the fear rise in the press secretary's face. She could almost hear the expletive that went through the other woman's mind. "Sir?"
"I want to be totally honest with you, C.J.," he said, leaning forward with his forearms on his thighs. Donna knew he could feel the anxiety tighten. "I'll probably be having a couple of tests run. One will be a chest x- ray."
"Do they - do they suspect pneumonia, sir?"
"Well, not really, but they'll do it anyway."
"And the other test?"
"A bronchoscopy."
C.J took a breath. "That's for - that's to check the lungs, isn't it, Mister President?"
"Yeah." He paused just briefly, then continued. "Mainly for biopsies." He said it flat out. She couldn't misinterpret and she didn't.
After a long moment, C.J. nodded and rose. "Thank you, Mister President," she said, jaw tight.
"Okay."
Donna followed her to the door, accepting the pain as well as the support in her friend's eyes with a tight smile. Returning to the couch, she leaned back against him in their favorite position since she had become pregnant, and they sat that way for another half hour, staring at nothing, thinking about everything. She finally felt him shift under her and his hands ran over her stomach again.
"Donna?"
"Mmm?"
"I know you don't want to talk about it - "
Oh no! Please not now. What was it he had said about today being ours? About no problems today? Not fair. He was breaking his own rule. "Jed - "
"No. Listen. I need to say this. If anything - happens - if it turns out that - that this is something - "
She wanted to scream, to close her ears, to hit him for saying such things. But she couldn't, because she knew he was right. It was something she had to face, to think about. So she fought the tears back and listened.
"I've spoken to Leo. He'll - he'll make arrangements. He'll take care of you - and the baby - And, of course, my girls will - well, I know they'll want to be part of her life, if you want them - "
Now she couldn't avoid the tears, couldn't stop them from flowing down her cheeks, despite her resolution not to lose control again. She turned to the side, shifted to touch his face. He broke off, catching his breath at the pure agony on her face. Swinging his legs down, he sat, pulling her into his lap, cradling her against his chest.
"Oh, Baby," he whispered, and Donna was struck again at how natural the endearment came to him. "I love you. That's why - that's why I talked with Leo. You know that, right?"
Steeling herself to face what he had brought up, she raised her head, looking into those gorgeous blue eyes and said, "Josiah Bartlet, I love you more than anything else in this world. But I swear to God if you leave me right now - well, as soon as I get to heaven, I will find you, and I will make your life miserable. And that's for eternity, remember."
For a moment, he just stared, nonplussed at her response. Then a low chuckle built in his chest, erupting into a simultaneous laugh and cough. "All right," he managed, "I'll consider myself warned. And you could do it, too, Donnatella Moss Bartlet."
"I would," she assured him.
His smile faded then, and he added, "Still, you know that Leo will - "
"Yeah," she acknowledged, to keep him from repeating. "I know, Jed. I know."
"Okay." Drawing her back against him, he rocked gently, and she felt his lips against her hair. "Okay."
Donna scanned the office of Doctor Alera Raniero, her gaze taking in the assortment of degrees on the wall, the volumes of medical texts on the shelves, and the collection of awards and honors displayed on the desktop. It was comforting, at least, to know the physician was qualified and apparently at the top of her field, but then she really wouldn't have expected any less from someone who was about to diagnose the President of the United States. Jed sat next to her, dressed casually in jeans and a polo shirt that he had just pulled back on after the series of chest x- rays. She studied him carefully, comparing how he looked today with his appearance the previous 24 hours. He looked better, ironically, despite the possible identification of a new disease to attack his body. Still running a low-grade fever, but rested some, at least.
Sensing her gaze, he turned, smiling at her blatant scrutiny. "How you doin'?" he asked.
"That's my line," she told him, returning the smile.
But before he could answer her, the door opened and the slender figure of the pulmonary specialist walked in. Jed stood and shook her hand. Donna just nodded, too numb and too scared to converse.
"Doctor Raniero," he greeted easily.
The doctor was young, Donna thought, too young to be a specialist on anything. She wanted somebody old, not too old, but old enough to look as if they had seen some things before. Raniero's dark hair hung behind her, tied in loose pony tail; her skin, a creamy bronze, spoke of her Latin heritage, but her voice held no accent, except possibly that flat drawl of West Texas. She launched right into their concerns.
"Well, Mister President, the x-rays show some evidence of cloudiness or congestion." She perched on the edge of her desk, her posture indicating only a minor nervousness at addressing the most powerful man in the world. Donna could not have cared less how she felt, though. All she needed to know was what was wrong with her husband and what they were going to do about it.
Cloudiness? Congestion? God, that didn't sound good.
"Which indicates - " Jed asked, the tightening of his fingers around hers the only indication of his anticipation.
"Which indicates the need for a bronchoscopy, sir, which I would recommend in any case with hemoptysis. Since Doctor Hackett had already advised you to prepare for this procedure, we can do it today. I have arranged for the set up." She turned to Donna and smiled slightly. "Mrs. Bartlet, you may be with him for most of the time, if you wish, and we have an observation room for the actual procedure."
She nodded and rubbed Jed's hand.
Shifting to a facing chair, the petite physician relaxed a bit as she fell into what she knew best. "Let me just go over the procedures with you so you'll know what to expect. First, we'll start an IV to relax you. Then we'll spray a topical anesthetic in your mouth and throat. Now this may cause coughing, but once the anesthetic begins to work, it will stop. You should feel a thickness and that means it is sufficiently numb."
Jed held up a hand to stop her. "How - out of it - will I be?" He smiled. "You understand my need to know?"
"Yes, sir. You should be awake for the entire procedure, Mister President although you will be a little groggy."
He nodded, considering. "Okay."
"The next step is to use the bronchoscope, which is a flexible tube. It will be inserted in the trachea. This might feel uncomfortable like you're suffocating, but there is no risk at all of suffocation."
"Great," Jed mumbled, and Donna squeezed his hand in sympathy.
"Then we'll probably do a lavage, or bronchial washing to collect cells for analysis. Depending on what we find, we might check tissue samples, as well. That's it. After the anesthetic wears off your throat may be scratchy for several days, and if we actually do a biopsy, you may experience some bleeding from the site."
They sat quietly for a long moment. Finally, Jed took a deep breath and stood. "Thank you, Doctor. I want you to keep me as alert as possible during this, all right?"
"It could be very uncomfortable, Mister President," she warned.
"I understand."
The dark eyes surveyed him for a moment, then crinkled a little at the edges. Donna saw the admiration there. "Yes, sir. I'll have someone take you back to the prep room and we'll get this done as quickly as we can." As she left, she gave them a reassuring nod.
Donna sat for a moment, scanning back over the array of credentials in the room. "Jed?"
He turned to her, smiling. "It'll be okay. No danger, right?"
"You want me there?" She wasn't sure if she wanted him to say yes or no.
"You want to be there?"
Then she knew. "Yes."
His hand touched her hair, smoothed down the back of it. "Okay," he agreed, and was in the middle of kissing her when Ron Butterfield entered with their escort. She smiled against his mouth as he ignored the interruption in order to complete the kiss. The look on Ron's face betrayed no surprise at all. And she knew from personal experience, that the agent had waited out more than his share of intimate moments. He was used to it.
"And he's doing okay?" Zoey Bartlet's voice betrayed raw worry even over the crackling connection of the cell phone. She had almost insisted that she needed to come there, to cut short her visit with Liz and Annie. In fact, Donna and Jed had been forced to convince all of his daughters that there was no need to come. The procedure was safe. The results - well - there would be plenty of time to deal with the results, plenty of time for them to come - if it became necessary.
"He's just gone in," she reported to Zoey.
"Leo's with you?"
Donna smiled. "Yeah. He's right here. I'll call you as soon as it's over. I promise. Okay?"
A hesitation. She still wanted to be there. "Okay. Tell him - tell him I love him."
"He knows, Zoey. But I'll tell him."
The line remained open another beat, then Donna heard the click and slipped the phone back into Leo's palm. She didn't have time to consider the conversation before things got underway.
"Mister President?" A scrubs-clad nurse leaned over him.
"Mmm?" Jed Bartlet lay on the table, sheet to his waist, chest bare, IV running into his left arm, pumping the medications that would attempt to loosen his natural resistance to the procedure.
"Mister President, how do you feel?"
Deep breath. "Okay."
"Relaxed?"
"Yeah."
But not relaxed enough, Donna could tell, peering through the window that separated the observation room from the examining room, out of the action, but able to watch, able to hear. Leo cleared his throat.
"How ya doin'?" he asked her, taking her hand in his.
"Okay."
"Really?" His eyes offered comfort, strength.
She smiled. "No." And they watched for a moment before she continued. "Jed told me about your talk."
Leo shifted uncomfortably. "Yeah, well, that was just, you know, precautionary."
"Thank you, Leo. It made him feel better to know that - well, to know."
"Yeah."
She heard a discreet cough behind them and looked back at Ron Butterfield, surprise to see a rare softness as he returned her stare. It was gone almost immediately, replaced by the usual stone façade, but it had been there, and she was reminded that she wasn't the only person who loved Jed Bartlet.
Their attention moved back into the room as Doctor Raniero entered and stepped toward Jed.
Leaning in, she told him, "Mister President, we're going to spray the anesthesia now, all right?"
"Yeah."
"You're doing fine," she encouraged, and Donna figured it was more for the benefit of the First Lady than the President. She was right.
As the medicine coated his throat, Jed gagged and coughed. Donna instinctively moved toward him, but caught herself. Leo grasped her hand more tightly.
"This will only last a little while," Raniero assured him as an assistant held his shoulders steady. Before too long, he relaxed, easing his head back again.
"All right, sir?" the doctor asked.
"Mmm hmm," Jed answered.
Donna raised a hand to her neck in empathy as Raniero positioned Jed's head and slowly inserted the tube down his throat. She saw the tendons in his neck stand out, watched the veins pump as he fought not to rebel against the foreign object forcing its way into him. Leo squeezed her fingers hard and she looked around to see the pain on his face, pain at having to watch his best friend go through this, pain at knowing what it might mean. Ron had straightened even further, if that was possible, and stared intently through the window, looking as if he would fly through it with any evidence that the President was in undue distress.
"You're doing great, sir," Raniero offered. "We're almost there."
Donna's attention returned to focus on her husband and she grimaced at the beads of perspiration on his brow, at the way his hands had become fists, gripping the sheet to keep from tearing at the invading instrument. She wished now he had forgotten about trying to remain alert. Let Hoynes take over for a couple of hours. But he couldn't, she knew that. Of course, if North Korea decided to attack them all right now with every nuclear device they had been covertly developing, there was not a whole hell of a lot he could do about it anyway.
His groan drew her back to his face and she saw his eyes close tightly.
"I need you to relax for me, sir," Raniero asked. "I could put you under a little more if you want."
His negative muffled response was quite clear.
"All right. We're doing the lavage now, Mister President. Depends on - " She stopped, then spoke again, obviously to the doctor next to her. "Hold it right there, Kurt. No, there. Yeah. Got that? Good, good."
Standing, Donna stretched to see what she meant, but of course there was nothing for her to see. Leo put his arm around her this time. She wanted so much to dash in there, to hold his hand, let him hang onto warm flesh instead of sterile, cold linens. Surely they were almost done.
Finally, Raniero stood back. "Okay, sir. That's it. We're ready to remove the tube, now." Her hands grasped the flexible scope. "Just relax. Here we go -- "
Donna watched as Jed's chest rose in a deep breath. Then, the tube came up smoothly and suddenly he was free, gagging just as the end left him. Tears touched her eyes at his grimace, but she breathed easier, and from the echoing sighs behind her, she knew she wasn't alone. It was over. Thank goodness.
Gasping with his ability to breath normally again, Jed probably didn't even notice Raniero lean over him, beaming, and declare, "You did great, Mister President. I've never done that with someone under such a light dose of anesthesia."
But Donna saw and heard, and she smiled at the surge of pride those words brought.
Raniero patted him on the shoulder. "We want to watch you for just a little while as it wears off and then we'll take you back to your room to wait."
And that's what they had to do now. They had to wait. And that was the hardest thing of all. Remembering a promise, she reached for Leo's cell phone.
"You okay? Want some more water?" Donna reached over to lift the cup to his lips, but he shook his head.
"No," he whispered roughly.
Frowning, she pulled back. "How does your throat feel?"
He blinked a few times, still fighting the fading grogginess. "Hurts - a little." He coughed, and winced at the pain.
"Ice cream?" she offered. "I know when I had my tonsils out - "
"No," he interrupted, and tried to smile when he saw the hurt on her face. "Hurts to swallow," he explained.
"Okay."
At the knock on the door to the private suite, Ron moved to open it. She had almost forgotten he was there, he had stood so still. A slim, buxom, auburn-haired nurse breezed in, her smile bright, her voice cheery, her eyes only for her VIP patient. "Mister President, how are you doing?"
Squinting, Donna noticed that Jed had little trouble finding his voice for her. "Fine, thank you."
She made a great show of fluffing his pillow and checking his IV that still fed fluids to keep from him dehydrating. "I must say, sir, that we were all quite impressed by your control during the procedure. You really had very little anesthesia and I know it must have been quite uncomfortable and probably painful."
Even though she felt the same way, Donna had difficulty keeping her eyes from rolling at the nurse's blatant flirting. Jed, however, didn't seem to be bothered by it at all.
"Nah," he protested casually. "It was really no big deal."
"No, really," she insisted, smoothing the hospital gown across his shoulders under the pretense of straightening the IV tube. "You were very brave."
This observation actually drew some color back into her husband's face. "Well - " he muttered, and Donna could tell he wasn't sure how to answer.
"Can I get you anything, Mister President?" she asked, and the stark invitation in her voice was too much. Donna couldn't suppress the harsh, almost involuntary cough. The nurse didn't seem too perceptive, though. "Oh, Mrs. Bartlet, I certainly hope you are not coming down with the President's cold. Especially not in your condition."
Scowling, Donna almost noted aloud that she hardly needed to be reminded of her condition, but Jed had finally caught on and cleared his throat, shifting in the bed to draw their attention.
"Ah, I'm sure my wife is fine, Nurse - ah - Nurse - "
"Phillips," she supplied sweetly, turning immediately back to him. "Amber Phillips."
"Yes, Miss Phillips," Jed continued, cutting his eyes toward Donna. "And I'm fine, too, for now. Thank you for checking on me. I think I'll just rest a little while."
At least she could take a hint. With a final smile just for her President, she slipped from the room, and Donna was almost certain she caught a whiff of molasses following her out.
As her eyes returned to the bed, she contemplated whether to make him pay, but his helpless shrug and boyish grin dispelled any irritation. God, he was cute. How could she be mad at the nurse for flirting? Well, she could, but -
At the low chuckle behind her, she spun around in surprise. Hmm. Ron Butterfield's face remained as stoic as ever - but his eyes seemed to twinkle just a little brighter.
Their lightened mood was broken, however, by another knock. This time, Leo stepped into the room, face expectant. "Hey."
"Hey," Donna answered.
"Any word?"
She shook her head.
Jed lifted his chin slightly. "What's goin' on?"
"Nothing," Leo tried, motioning casually with a hand, but Jed shook his head.
"Leo - " He warned, daring to insert a bit of volume into his order and wincing at the result.
The Chief of Staff sighed. "I don't think the agreement with the air traffic controllers is going to hold. Word is they'll walk by morning without at least a review of the requests by the FAA."
"Damn." He leaned back on the pillows, a weak cough drawing another grimace to his face. "Okay, get Josh out there. Tell them - tell them we'll get the FAA to look - to look, mind you, but if they walk out tomorrow - " He swallowed, and Donna winced with him. " - if they walk out tomorrow, they'll have to keep walking."
"Do you think we are safe in bluffing that way - " Leo pressed.
"It's not a bluff, Leo," Jed said levelly, drawing startled looks from everyone. "It can't happen. It's illegal; it's putting human beings in jeopardy. It can't happen."
"They have legitimate concerns."
She watched as Jed's hand came up to rub at his throat. "Yeah. That's why we'll review the requests. That's why we haven't canned their asses before." He coughed hard and couldn't suppress the cry of pain. "Damn it."
Without hesitation, Donna moved to him and pressed the handkerchief to his lips, catching the bloody mucous that he had coughed up.
Leo fell silent, alarm in his eyes. Then, he nodded. "Yes, sir. I'll arrange it, Mister President."
"Yeah." A whisper again. He couldn't spare more.
Ron moved back into the room. Donna had not noticed him leaving. Motioning for Leo, he whispered to him, then stepped back against the wall.
"Listen, the doctor's on her way," Leo said and looked as anxious as the rest of them. "Want me to - "
"No, stay," Jed managed, pulling himself a little straighter. "Stay."
The Chief of Staff nodded.
Okay. The doctor was on her way. Donna clenched her teeth, unable to fight down the sudden adrenalin that surged through her, torn between the fierce desire to know and the wish to stay right where they were. If they didn't know, it wouldn't be bad, right? Live in ignorance and just keep on like they had been. It made a strangely logical argument in her brain. But it was coming. She didn't have a choice. None of them had a choice.
They waited in silence until the clicking of footsteps in the hall grew closer. Donna drew in a breath, found her hands shaking and tried to clasp them together to stop. She stood and reached for Jed's hand, grasping it firmly, felt his palms just as sweaty as hers, tried to show him strength, hoped that she was more successful than she felt. Then, the door swung open and Doctor Raniero entered. Looking more like a co-ed than a skilled pulmonary specialist, she ignored Leo and Ron, moving directly to the bedside.
"Mister President," she began without preamble, "I have some results for you."
Love's Creation - Chapter Three A West Wing Story
by MAHC
Life was funny, in many ways, actually. Funny ha ha sometimes; funny strange, sometimes. And then sometimes it was really not funny at all.
In the few months she had been married to Josiah Bartlet, Donna Moss Bartlet had experienced all three types of funny. Fortunately, most of those had fallen into the first category, enjoyable and exciting and - well - fun. Some had been the second type, especially in those surreal moments when it hit her, as if for the first time, that she was married to the President of the United States, that she was the First lady. That people looked to her as a model, as a standard-bearer. But now - now she had been cold cocked, slapped in the face with the last type. The one that wasn't funny at all. And the gnawing, sickening fear in the pit of her stomach reminded her of the early days of pregnancy, only worse - much worse - because this sickness didn't promise the joyful birth of a child as its climax. This sickness only foretold the dreadful proclamation of a doctor that her husband, the father of her child that had yet to be born, was seriously ill, more serious than either of them could contemplate.
She cut her eyes away from the tall, gray figure of Admiral Hackett for a moment to stare at the cool blue window panes shadowed on the floor by the early morning light. Had it been only a little over 24 hours since she had lain in Jed's arms in this very room, their entwined bodies damp and relaxed from a night of passion and release? How secure she had felt. How quickly the world could change.
She moved her eyes to the bed, to her husband, and tried to assess his feelings. Despite his calm assurances to her, regardless of his steady hand, she felt the fear, the anxiety, shared it with him. Still, he did not move, except when his body involuntarily heaved with the wracking coughs that had only grown worse, but remained silent, almost eerily submissive, as the doctor re-examined him. More stethoscope listening to chest and back, more careful study of throat and ears. He had Jed cough, which didn't take much effort, and spit into a cloth. Again, the bloody expulsion set her heart pumping.
Finally, Hackett sighed, pulled the stethoscope from his ears and frowned. He didn't speak for a long moment, so long that Donna found herself unable to hold her question.
"Doctor?" Try to keep the fear down, try not to let Jed hear it in your voice.
"I don't know," he admitted. "We'll need to run some tests - "
Now Jed broke his silence, interrupting with a soft, but firm voice. "Give me the possibilities, Admiral. All of them."
Hackett nodded, acknowledging his patient's desire and right to know the truth. "Mister President, there are several causes of hemoptysis. You'll notice that it looks a little frothy. That's from the mixture with air and sputum, or secretions from the airway. I, of course, can't confirm - or dispel - any causes with as superficial an exam as I can give you here. I'll schedule a battery of tests at Bethesda. We can set them up for tomorrow to give you a little time to recover - "
But Jed wouldn't be dissuaded so easily. Donna could have told the doctor that. "Fine, but I want to know now what the possible causes are."
The Admiral regarded his patient, and his commander-in-chief, for a moment, a look of both admiration and regret passing across his face. "All right, sir. Best case scenario? Sometimes recent nosebleeds can result in the blood coming back in this form - " He stopped at the head shake from the President.
"No," Jed assured him.
"No, I didn't think so. Another cause could be irritation of the throat from violent coughing. You certainly have been coughing hard, sir, and that's not out of the realm of possibility."
Jed held his gaze. "But you don't think that's it." A statement. He knew.
"No," replied Hackett simply.
"Other possibilities?"
"A pulmonary infection of some kind. Bronchitis or pneumonia."
"Worst case scenario?" Jed demanded quietly and Donna braced for the words she could already hear.
Hackett hesitated, then said, "Lung cancer."
Jed's jaw tightened at the confirmation of their worst fears. "I quit smoking," he mumbled. And that was true. As soon as she had told him she was pregnant. Cold turkey. And she had yet to figure out how, except through sheer will power.
The doctor sighed. "Yes, sir, but I'm sure you know the long-term effects -"
"Yeah." He looked up at the Admiral. "Yeah." With a deep breath that ended, expectedly, in another cough, he asked, "What's next?"
"I'll arrange the tests. In the meantime, I want you to continue a steady intake of fluids for a sputum culture."
"What - what tests will you do, Doctor?" Donna had finally managed to find her voice.
He turned to her and allowed a sympathetic smile. "In addition to the culture, the pulmonary specialist will probably order a chest x-ray, and possibly a bronchoscopy."
"Bronchoscopy?" Jed asked.
Eyes back on the President, Hackett explained, "A bronchoscopy is a diagnostic procedure in which a tube with a tiny camera on the end is inserted through the mouth into the lungs. It allows us to see into the airways and collect specimens for biopsy, if necessary. Assuming, Mister President, that this will be done, I'll need you not to eat or drink after midnight."
"Okay."
Okay? So calm. So damned calm. Donna wanted to yell, to scream, to shake him. Did he hear what the doctor just said? Did he hear? But she clamped down on the panic. It wouldn't do her any good and it sure wouldn't help Jed. No, she'd be as calm as he was. They would meet this head on, together. They would - She gulped, swallowing a sob. They would beat this. They would!
Now Hackett was leaving, she realized, and mustered some appropriate words of thanks before returning to her husband's bedside. She read pain in his eyes, and thought for a moment, it was for himself. But as his hand slid over the curve of her belly, she realized it wasn't for him at all; it was for her - it was for the baby. And that broke her strength, plowed through any ability she had to put up a strong front. The tears fell, now, streaming down her cheeks, dropping onto his hand. He looked up and reached toward her, pulling her down, gathering her close.
"Shh," he whispered at her ear. "It's going to be - " He stopped, because he couldn't promise her that. Couldn't assure her it would be okay. "We'll do what we need to do," he amended.
She could only nod, didn't trust herself to saying anything, yet, to offer her own reassurance to him. But she would. She knew when she gathered her wits again, that she wouldn't fall apart anymore. It just wouldn't happen. She was the First Lady of the United States, after all.
Finally, she sat back, wiping tears and lifting her hand to touch his face, memorizing the strong angles and planes. "I'll see if Leo's in yet," she said softly.
Eyes widening in surprise, he questioned, "Leo?"
"You'll want to see him." Not telling him, just verifying what he already had planned.
His lips curved in a smile at her observation and he nodded.
C.J. stepped to the podium. Curled up next to Jed on the sofa in the residence, Donna watched as the press secretary took a deep breath in preparation for the blitz of questions. "Okay, guys. I'm pleased to announce that air traffic controllers remain on the job today. The President thanks them for their cooperation in negotiations and is certainly glad that he has not had to invoke the 'Reagan Solution' to keep our skies safe. On another issue, clean up efforts continue on the oil spill off the coast of Mississippi. Coastal areas affected include the shoreline between Hattisburg and Gulf Shores, Alabama. It is anticipated that several million dollars worth of fishing and shrimping will be lost, in addition to the cost of clean up and loss of tourism."
She paused, anticipating questions, but none came. Not good. That meant they had already sniffed out the bigger story.
"All right. One note. There is a last minute change in today's schedule. The President will not be speaking at the Police Memorial originally set for two p.m. in Philadelphia."
"C.J.!" That was it.
"Sandy?"
"Why?"
"Pardon?"
"Why did the President cancel the ceremony?"
C.J. smiled smoothly. "Actually, the ceremony will continue as scheduled. The President just won't be there."
Donna grasped Jed's hand a little harder. He had been very clear to C.J. that she should not evade any direct questions about his health.
"The President is taking a day off to catch up from a grueling week of some pretty serious events."
Another hand. "Is the President sick?"
Calm, cool, C.J. answered, "Well, Gary, it depends on how you define sick. He's a little under the weather with what most of us call a summer cold, no cause for alarm. The First Lady is making him take a break. Also, he wants to make sure he's ready for the anticipated talks with North Korea, which, by the way, are shaping up nicely."
They were not deterred by the international carrot she dangled. "Do the President's doctors suspect any complications from the cold on his M.S.?"
Next to her Jed pulled his robe tighter and coughed. She cut her eyes again to glance at him, but he only smiled reassuringly. At least he wasn't coughing quite as much since Admiral Hackett had sent the medicine.
"No, Steve. This has nothing to do with the M.S., from which, I might add, the President has suffered no problems at all in almost two years. A day's rest should take care of it." She glanced down for a moment, then back up, adding casually, "He will be going for a check up tomorrow at Bethesda Naval Hospital. I want to add also that he has received excellent reports for the past three years and expects to continue in the same manner this time."
"Are there specific concerns?"
"Only the summer cold, as I mentioned. Just precautionary." Ignoring any other eager hands, she flipped her notebook and declared, "That's a full lid, ladies and gentlemen. Thanks." And was out the door before another question could be completed.
As First Lady, Donna had grown more appreciative of C.J.'s talents, observing, as she had not been able to before, the wit, savvy, and style of the press secretary, as well as C.J.'s ability to be straight forward with the press while still keeping delicate information safe. Of course, they had not told her everything, only that Jed was having tests run to determine the cause of his present illness. What she deducted from that, she had kept to herself.
She turned to Jed to comment on C.J.'s performance just as Charlie knocked and entered with a small bucket of ice in which several bottles of Gatorade had been shoved. Not exactly champagne, but literally what they doctor had ordered. Donna rose to meet him.
"Mister President," he greeted.
Jed jerked his chin up a bit in acknowledgement of the delivery. "Thanks, Charlie. You didn't have to do that."
"No problem, sir," he assured them. "I didn't know which flavor you liked, so I brought several. Green, blue, pink, white, even clear."
"Those are colors, Charlie, not flavors."
"Yes, sir."
"Anyway, I thought Gatorade was just green."
The younger man chuckled. "Not anymore, Mister President."
"What's the blue?"
"Frost."
"Frost is a flavor?"
"Yes, sir."
"Okay. What's the white?"
"Frost."
"Well, that doesn't make any sense. How can blue be Frost and white - nevermind. Just throw me somethin'."
Charlie selected plain old green and tossed it across the room. Despite his condition, the President plucked it easily from the air with one hand. Donna wondered where he had learned to do that. She realized she didn't know much about his earlier life. Had he played a sport of some kind? Baseball? Football? With its gridiron history, football was probably a required class at Notre Dame.
"Hey, Charlie?" he was saying.
"Yes, sir?"
"You take my advice on the board for Saturday?"
Board? What board?
"Pitt's got a good team this year, Mister President."
Ah! The football board. She should have known. And, of course, she knew immediately what team that "advice" concerned.
"Pitt!" Jed sputtered, sending a spray of green onto his robe. "Are you crazy? They have a terrible turnover ratio and they can't score in the red zone - Pitt? You'll lose your shirt."
Charlie smiled in a way that told Donna he was playing his boss well. Jed knew it, too, but enjoyed the play anyway. "So you're saying I shouldn't take the over and under?"
"I'm sayin' you shouldn't take the game, man. The Irish are loaded for bear - or panther, anyway. Save your money."
"Yes, sir. It's a good thing I went with Notre Dame, then?"
Jed smiled. "Atta boy. I knew I taught you better. Go away, now, and let me savor my green-flavored Gatorade. Oh, and send C.J. in here when she's finished."
"Yes, sir." Again Charlie smiled, but something in his eyes remained sad, and Donna ached at the simple show of concern and love from Jed's personal aid.
"Have a good afternoon, Mister President," he offered on the way out, nodding to her as she smiled her appreciation for taking his mind off things even for a little while.
"Yeah," Jed returned absently, his gaze tracing back to hers, his eyes reading her own sadness.
"Hey," he called softly to her. "Come here."
Oh, Jed. Do I dare? But she did, crawled into his lap as he indicated, lay back in his arms, allowing him to stroke her stomach, smiling with him as he placed her hand in his and felt the kick of their child.
"She's already bossy," he noted. Donna grinned. He had referred to the baby exclusively as 'she," not straying once from that gender. She wasn't sure why, except that maybe he didn't want to get his hopes up, despite the assurances he gave her that it didn't matter to him. Then again, maybe it really didn't matter. Or maybe he just thought of the baby as 'she' since all his other children had been. Whatever the reason, he had been unfailingly consistent and Donna didn't dispute him now.
"She knows her Daddy's touch," Donna decided, drawing a deeper grin from him before it faded into melancholy. "Jed - "
"No," he said, shaking his head. "Nothing matters today. Tomorrow - well, we'll deal with tomorrow - tomorrow. But today is ours. No problems today. Okay?"
Unable to speak, she nodded and leaned against his chest. The quick repartee with Charlie seemed to have perked him up a bit. She felt his forehead now without even trying to mask it in any other move. Still warm. He hadn't had any Advil since the first two. Admiral Hackett advised against it in anticipation of the bronchoscopy, to avoid bleeding during the procedure. Despite the danger of catching his illness, she couldn't stop herself from turning in his arms and placing a soft kiss against his lips. He responded, letting his mouth move on hers before he pulled away to her grunt of protest.
"Donna, you shouldn't - "
"It's all right," she said. "If I haven't caught anything from you by now, I never will."
He chuckled. "Still, let's not tempt fate."
She sighed in disappointment, thinking they had already tempted fate about as much as they could, but didn't try to continue the kiss, snuggling instead back against his chest. They were still in that position when C.J. entered, hesitating when she saw them entwined.
"Oh, geez, I'm sorry - "
"It's okay," Jed called, sitting up a little. Donna eased away, but remained within his embrace. "Come on in, C.J."
"How do you feel, Mister President?" she asked, sitting carefully on the edge of the chair across from the couch.
"Better, thanks." At least Donna thought that was true. "You did a good job in there today."
As usual when the President complimented her, C.J. blushed a bit. "Thank you, sir. I hope things go well tomorrow."
"Yeah. About that - "
Donna watched the fear rise in the press secretary's face. She could almost hear the expletive that went through the other woman's mind. "Sir?"
"I want to be totally honest with you, C.J.," he said, leaning forward with his forearms on his thighs. Donna knew he could feel the anxiety tighten. "I'll probably be having a couple of tests run. One will be a chest x- ray."
"Do they - do they suspect pneumonia, sir?"
"Well, not really, but they'll do it anyway."
"And the other test?"
"A bronchoscopy."
C.J took a breath. "That's for - that's to check the lungs, isn't it, Mister President?"
"Yeah." He paused just briefly, then continued. "Mainly for biopsies." He said it flat out. She couldn't misinterpret and she didn't.
After a long moment, C.J. nodded and rose. "Thank you, Mister President," she said, jaw tight.
"Okay."
Donna followed her to the door, accepting the pain as well as the support in her friend's eyes with a tight smile. Returning to the couch, she leaned back against him in their favorite position since she had become pregnant, and they sat that way for another half hour, staring at nothing, thinking about everything. She finally felt him shift under her and his hands ran over her stomach again.
"Donna?"
"Mmm?"
"I know you don't want to talk about it - "
Oh no! Please not now. What was it he had said about today being ours? About no problems today? Not fair. He was breaking his own rule. "Jed - "
"No. Listen. I need to say this. If anything - happens - if it turns out that - that this is something - "
She wanted to scream, to close her ears, to hit him for saying such things. But she couldn't, because she knew he was right. It was something she had to face, to think about. So she fought the tears back and listened.
"I've spoken to Leo. He'll - he'll make arrangements. He'll take care of you - and the baby - And, of course, my girls will - well, I know they'll want to be part of her life, if you want them - "
Now she couldn't avoid the tears, couldn't stop them from flowing down her cheeks, despite her resolution not to lose control again. She turned to the side, shifted to touch his face. He broke off, catching his breath at the pure agony on her face. Swinging his legs down, he sat, pulling her into his lap, cradling her against his chest.
"Oh, Baby," he whispered, and Donna was struck again at how natural the endearment came to him. "I love you. That's why - that's why I talked with Leo. You know that, right?"
Steeling herself to face what he had brought up, she raised her head, looking into those gorgeous blue eyes and said, "Josiah Bartlet, I love you more than anything else in this world. But I swear to God if you leave me right now - well, as soon as I get to heaven, I will find you, and I will make your life miserable. And that's for eternity, remember."
For a moment, he just stared, nonplussed at her response. Then a low chuckle built in his chest, erupting into a simultaneous laugh and cough. "All right," he managed, "I'll consider myself warned. And you could do it, too, Donnatella Moss Bartlet."
"I would," she assured him.
His smile faded then, and he added, "Still, you know that Leo will - "
"Yeah," she acknowledged, to keep him from repeating. "I know, Jed. I know."
"Okay." Drawing her back against him, he rocked gently, and she felt his lips against her hair. "Okay."
Donna scanned the office of Doctor Alera Raniero, her gaze taking in the assortment of degrees on the wall, the volumes of medical texts on the shelves, and the collection of awards and honors displayed on the desktop. It was comforting, at least, to know the physician was qualified and apparently at the top of her field, but then she really wouldn't have expected any less from someone who was about to diagnose the President of the United States. Jed sat next to her, dressed casually in jeans and a polo shirt that he had just pulled back on after the series of chest x- rays. She studied him carefully, comparing how he looked today with his appearance the previous 24 hours. He looked better, ironically, despite the possible identification of a new disease to attack his body. Still running a low-grade fever, but rested some, at least.
Sensing her gaze, he turned, smiling at her blatant scrutiny. "How you doin'?" he asked.
"That's my line," she told him, returning the smile.
But before he could answer her, the door opened and the slender figure of the pulmonary specialist walked in. Jed stood and shook her hand. Donna just nodded, too numb and too scared to converse.
"Doctor Raniero," he greeted easily.
The doctor was young, Donna thought, too young to be a specialist on anything. She wanted somebody old, not too old, but old enough to look as if they had seen some things before. Raniero's dark hair hung behind her, tied in loose pony tail; her skin, a creamy bronze, spoke of her Latin heritage, but her voice held no accent, except possibly that flat drawl of West Texas. She launched right into their concerns.
"Well, Mister President, the x-rays show some evidence of cloudiness or congestion." She perched on the edge of her desk, her posture indicating only a minor nervousness at addressing the most powerful man in the world. Donna could not have cared less how she felt, though. All she needed to know was what was wrong with her husband and what they were going to do about it.
Cloudiness? Congestion? God, that didn't sound good.
"Which indicates - " Jed asked, the tightening of his fingers around hers the only indication of his anticipation.
"Which indicates the need for a bronchoscopy, sir, which I would recommend in any case with hemoptysis. Since Doctor Hackett had already advised you to prepare for this procedure, we can do it today. I have arranged for the set up." She turned to Donna and smiled slightly. "Mrs. Bartlet, you may be with him for most of the time, if you wish, and we have an observation room for the actual procedure."
She nodded and rubbed Jed's hand.
Shifting to a facing chair, the petite physician relaxed a bit as she fell into what she knew best. "Let me just go over the procedures with you so you'll know what to expect. First, we'll start an IV to relax you. Then we'll spray a topical anesthetic in your mouth and throat. Now this may cause coughing, but once the anesthetic begins to work, it will stop. You should feel a thickness and that means it is sufficiently numb."
Jed held up a hand to stop her. "How - out of it - will I be?" He smiled. "You understand my need to know?"
"Yes, sir. You should be awake for the entire procedure, Mister President although you will be a little groggy."
He nodded, considering. "Okay."
"The next step is to use the bronchoscope, which is a flexible tube. It will be inserted in the trachea. This might feel uncomfortable like you're suffocating, but there is no risk at all of suffocation."
"Great," Jed mumbled, and Donna squeezed his hand in sympathy.
"Then we'll probably do a lavage, or bronchial washing to collect cells for analysis. Depending on what we find, we might check tissue samples, as well. That's it. After the anesthetic wears off your throat may be scratchy for several days, and if we actually do a biopsy, you may experience some bleeding from the site."
They sat quietly for a long moment. Finally, Jed took a deep breath and stood. "Thank you, Doctor. I want you to keep me as alert as possible during this, all right?"
"It could be very uncomfortable, Mister President," she warned.
"I understand."
The dark eyes surveyed him for a moment, then crinkled a little at the edges. Donna saw the admiration there. "Yes, sir. I'll have someone take you back to the prep room and we'll get this done as quickly as we can." As she left, she gave them a reassuring nod.
Donna sat for a moment, scanning back over the array of credentials in the room. "Jed?"
He turned to her, smiling. "It'll be okay. No danger, right?"
"You want me there?" She wasn't sure if she wanted him to say yes or no.
"You want to be there?"
Then she knew. "Yes."
His hand touched her hair, smoothed down the back of it. "Okay," he agreed, and was in the middle of kissing her when Ron Butterfield entered with their escort. She smiled against his mouth as he ignored the interruption in order to complete the kiss. The look on Ron's face betrayed no surprise at all. And she knew from personal experience, that the agent had waited out more than his share of intimate moments. He was used to it.
"And he's doing okay?" Zoey Bartlet's voice betrayed raw worry even over the crackling connection of the cell phone. She had almost insisted that she needed to come there, to cut short her visit with Liz and Annie. In fact, Donna and Jed had been forced to convince all of his daughters that there was no need to come. The procedure was safe. The results - well - there would be plenty of time to deal with the results, plenty of time for them to come - if it became necessary.
"He's just gone in," she reported to Zoey.
"Leo's with you?"
Donna smiled. "Yeah. He's right here. I'll call you as soon as it's over. I promise. Okay?"
A hesitation. She still wanted to be there. "Okay. Tell him - tell him I love him."
"He knows, Zoey. But I'll tell him."
The line remained open another beat, then Donna heard the click and slipped the phone back into Leo's palm. She didn't have time to consider the conversation before things got underway.
"Mister President?" A scrubs-clad nurse leaned over him.
"Mmm?" Jed Bartlet lay on the table, sheet to his waist, chest bare, IV running into his left arm, pumping the medications that would attempt to loosen his natural resistance to the procedure.
"Mister President, how do you feel?"
Deep breath. "Okay."
"Relaxed?"
"Yeah."
But not relaxed enough, Donna could tell, peering through the window that separated the observation room from the examining room, out of the action, but able to watch, able to hear. Leo cleared his throat.
"How ya doin'?" he asked her, taking her hand in his.
"Okay."
"Really?" His eyes offered comfort, strength.
She smiled. "No." And they watched for a moment before she continued. "Jed told me about your talk."
Leo shifted uncomfortably. "Yeah, well, that was just, you know, precautionary."
"Thank you, Leo. It made him feel better to know that - well, to know."
"Yeah."
She heard a discreet cough behind them and looked back at Ron Butterfield, surprise to see a rare softness as he returned her stare. It was gone almost immediately, replaced by the usual stone façade, but it had been there, and she was reminded that she wasn't the only person who loved Jed Bartlet.
Their attention moved back into the room as Doctor Raniero entered and stepped toward Jed.
Leaning in, she told him, "Mister President, we're going to spray the anesthesia now, all right?"
"Yeah."
"You're doing fine," she encouraged, and Donna figured it was more for the benefit of the First Lady than the President. She was right.
As the medicine coated his throat, Jed gagged and coughed. Donna instinctively moved toward him, but caught herself. Leo grasped her hand more tightly.
"This will only last a little while," Raniero assured him as an assistant held his shoulders steady. Before too long, he relaxed, easing his head back again.
"All right, sir?" the doctor asked.
"Mmm hmm," Jed answered.
Donna raised a hand to her neck in empathy as Raniero positioned Jed's head and slowly inserted the tube down his throat. She saw the tendons in his neck stand out, watched the veins pump as he fought not to rebel against the foreign object forcing its way into him. Leo squeezed her fingers hard and she looked around to see the pain on his face, pain at having to watch his best friend go through this, pain at knowing what it might mean. Ron had straightened even further, if that was possible, and stared intently through the window, looking as if he would fly through it with any evidence that the President was in undue distress.
"You're doing great, sir," Raniero offered. "We're almost there."
Donna's attention returned to focus on her husband and she grimaced at the beads of perspiration on his brow, at the way his hands had become fists, gripping the sheet to keep from tearing at the invading instrument. She wished now he had forgotten about trying to remain alert. Let Hoynes take over for a couple of hours. But he couldn't, she knew that. Of course, if North Korea decided to attack them all right now with every nuclear device they had been covertly developing, there was not a whole hell of a lot he could do about it anyway.
His groan drew her back to his face and she saw his eyes close tightly.
"I need you to relax for me, sir," Raniero asked. "I could put you under a little more if you want."
His negative muffled response was quite clear.
"All right. We're doing the lavage now, Mister President. Depends on - " She stopped, then spoke again, obviously to the doctor next to her. "Hold it right there, Kurt. No, there. Yeah. Got that? Good, good."
Standing, Donna stretched to see what she meant, but of course there was nothing for her to see. Leo put his arm around her this time. She wanted so much to dash in there, to hold his hand, let him hang onto warm flesh instead of sterile, cold linens. Surely they were almost done.
Finally, Raniero stood back. "Okay, sir. That's it. We're ready to remove the tube, now." Her hands grasped the flexible scope. "Just relax. Here we go -- "
Donna watched as Jed's chest rose in a deep breath. Then, the tube came up smoothly and suddenly he was free, gagging just as the end left him. Tears touched her eyes at his grimace, but she breathed easier, and from the echoing sighs behind her, she knew she wasn't alone. It was over. Thank goodness.
Gasping with his ability to breath normally again, Jed probably didn't even notice Raniero lean over him, beaming, and declare, "You did great, Mister President. I've never done that with someone under such a light dose of anesthesia."
But Donna saw and heard, and she smiled at the surge of pride those words brought.
Raniero patted him on the shoulder. "We want to watch you for just a little while as it wears off and then we'll take you back to your room to wait."
And that's what they had to do now. They had to wait. And that was the hardest thing of all. Remembering a promise, she reached for Leo's cell phone.
"You okay? Want some more water?" Donna reached over to lift the cup to his lips, but he shook his head.
"No," he whispered roughly.
Frowning, she pulled back. "How does your throat feel?"
He blinked a few times, still fighting the fading grogginess. "Hurts - a little." He coughed, and winced at the pain.
"Ice cream?" she offered. "I know when I had my tonsils out - "
"No," he interrupted, and tried to smile when he saw the hurt on her face. "Hurts to swallow," he explained.
"Okay."
At the knock on the door to the private suite, Ron moved to open it. She had almost forgotten he was there, he had stood so still. A slim, buxom, auburn-haired nurse breezed in, her smile bright, her voice cheery, her eyes only for her VIP patient. "Mister President, how are you doing?"
Squinting, Donna noticed that Jed had little trouble finding his voice for her. "Fine, thank you."
She made a great show of fluffing his pillow and checking his IV that still fed fluids to keep from him dehydrating. "I must say, sir, that we were all quite impressed by your control during the procedure. You really had very little anesthesia and I know it must have been quite uncomfortable and probably painful."
Even though she felt the same way, Donna had difficulty keeping her eyes from rolling at the nurse's blatant flirting. Jed, however, didn't seem to be bothered by it at all.
"Nah," he protested casually. "It was really no big deal."
"No, really," she insisted, smoothing the hospital gown across his shoulders under the pretense of straightening the IV tube. "You were very brave."
This observation actually drew some color back into her husband's face. "Well - " he muttered, and Donna could tell he wasn't sure how to answer.
"Can I get you anything, Mister President?" she asked, and the stark invitation in her voice was too much. Donna couldn't suppress the harsh, almost involuntary cough. The nurse didn't seem too perceptive, though. "Oh, Mrs. Bartlet, I certainly hope you are not coming down with the President's cold. Especially not in your condition."
Scowling, Donna almost noted aloud that she hardly needed to be reminded of her condition, but Jed had finally caught on and cleared his throat, shifting in the bed to draw their attention.
"Ah, I'm sure my wife is fine, Nurse - ah - Nurse - "
"Phillips," she supplied sweetly, turning immediately back to him. "Amber Phillips."
"Yes, Miss Phillips," Jed continued, cutting his eyes toward Donna. "And I'm fine, too, for now. Thank you for checking on me. I think I'll just rest a little while."
At least she could take a hint. With a final smile just for her President, she slipped from the room, and Donna was almost certain she caught a whiff of molasses following her out.
As her eyes returned to the bed, she contemplated whether to make him pay, but his helpless shrug and boyish grin dispelled any irritation. God, he was cute. How could she be mad at the nurse for flirting? Well, she could, but -
At the low chuckle behind her, she spun around in surprise. Hmm. Ron Butterfield's face remained as stoic as ever - but his eyes seemed to twinkle just a little brighter.
Their lightened mood was broken, however, by another knock. This time, Leo stepped into the room, face expectant. "Hey."
"Hey," Donna answered.
"Any word?"
She shook her head.
Jed lifted his chin slightly. "What's goin' on?"
"Nothing," Leo tried, motioning casually with a hand, but Jed shook his head.
"Leo - " He warned, daring to insert a bit of volume into his order and wincing at the result.
The Chief of Staff sighed. "I don't think the agreement with the air traffic controllers is going to hold. Word is they'll walk by morning without at least a review of the requests by the FAA."
"Damn." He leaned back on the pillows, a weak cough drawing another grimace to his face. "Okay, get Josh out there. Tell them - tell them we'll get the FAA to look - to look, mind you, but if they walk out tomorrow - " He swallowed, and Donna winced with him. " - if they walk out tomorrow, they'll have to keep walking."
"Do you think we are safe in bluffing that way - " Leo pressed.
"It's not a bluff, Leo," Jed said levelly, drawing startled looks from everyone. "It can't happen. It's illegal; it's putting human beings in jeopardy. It can't happen."
"They have legitimate concerns."
She watched as Jed's hand came up to rub at his throat. "Yeah. That's why we'll review the requests. That's why we haven't canned their asses before." He coughed hard and couldn't suppress the cry of pain. "Damn it."
Without hesitation, Donna moved to him and pressed the handkerchief to his lips, catching the bloody mucous that he had coughed up.
Leo fell silent, alarm in his eyes. Then, he nodded. "Yes, sir. I'll arrange it, Mister President."
"Yeah." A whisper again. He couldn't spare more.
Ron moved back into the room. Donna had not noticed him leaving. Motioning for Leo, he whispered to him, then stepped back against the wall.
"Listen, the doctor's on her way," Leo said and looked as anxious as the rest of them. "Want me to - "
"No, stay," Jed managed, pulling himself a little straighter. "Stay."
The Chief of Staff nodded.
Okay. The doctor was on her way. Donna clenched her teeth, unable to fight down the sudden adrenalin that surged through her, torn between the fierce desire to know and the wish to stay right where they were. If they didn't know, it wouldn't be bad, right? Live in ignorance and just keep on like they had been. It made a strangely logical argument in her brain. But it was coming. She didn't have a choice. None of them had a choice.
They waited in silence until the clicking of footsteps in the hall grew closer. Donna drew in a breath, found her hands shaking and tried to clasp them together to stop. She stood and reached for Jed's hand, grasping it firmly, felt his palms just as sweaty as hers, tried to show him strength, hoped that she was more successful than she felt. Then, the door swung open and Doctor Raniero entered. Looking more like a co-ed than a skilled pulmonary specialist, she ignored Leo and Ron, moving directly to the bedside.
"Mister President," she began without preamble, "I have some results for you."