by Nancy Reagan
August 1: The press is making a big fuss about a pimplelike thing that was removed from Ronnie’s nose. At first we thought it was an irritation from the tape that held the tube to his nose after the surgery, but Dr. [Burton] Smith wanted it biopsied.
August 2: Early start for Camp David. Press still asking questions about Ronnie’s nose. They did the biopsy and it was basal cell carcinoma [skin cancer]—from the sun, the kind that thousands of people get, including me.
I never thought that Ronnie’s skin cancer had anything to do with the other cancer, but I was afraid the press would make that connection. So I told Larry Speakes to say it was a pimple, but that didn’t wash. I shouldn’t have done that to Larry, because it damaged his credibility with the press.
August 5: Ronnie had a mini press conference with six reporters in the Oval Office. They asked about his nose, and he explained, but they continued to ask questions even though they all admitted it was nothing serious and very common.
Sometimes you wonder if they want you to be sick.
August 6: Ronnie stayed at the office until three, when I finally forced him to come home and lie down.
August 7: I tried to keep the day clear for packing and cleaning off my desk. Gail [Burt, my social secretary] and I had to finish planning two dinners. Had to schedule a press party for Santa Barbara. Rex Scouten had things that had to be settled.
August 8: I left for Boston to visit a college where kids from all over are meeting. They have formed anti-peer-pressure groups, which is important. They put on a skit and we had a rap session, and then I spoke. Great group of kids.
Then I took off for Martha’s Vineyard. Short flight, but everyone was nervous on the plane because it needs a five-thousand-foot runway, and the Vineyard’s is 5,400. Not much leeway.
Kay was there to meet me and we went directly to her lovely old white house. Changed quickly into slacks and went out for a walk. The air is so good and the ocean smells terrific. [For me, the ocean is a real tranquilizer. If something’s bothering me, just seeing the ocean makes me feel better.]
Quiet dinner—just the house guests, the Deavers, Meg Greenfield, Warren Buffett. Mike Wallace came too, he has a house nearby. He told funny stories about Mother in Chicago, which was nice for me because Kay and Meg had a chance to learn about her. It was fun and the evening went by quickly.
August 9: My room is so pretty, with a lovely view of the water. Kay took me to South Beach, which is beautiful. She knows that I love to walk on the beach. This one stretches for miles, and was practically deserted. Rick Smith from Newsweek joined us, and we walked. It was heaven and I could have stayed all day, but we had to go back for a luncheon that Kay was giving.
She entertains beautifully and the food is so good. We ate out on the porch. The Cronkites were there. Ruth Gordon and Garson Kanin. Beverly Sills and her husband. Margaret Jay [whose former husband had been the British ambassador to Washington]. Kay’s son and his girl. Ardie Deutsch with Mr. Gordon. Other people, too.
After lunch, Mike [Wallace] came by to take me for a walk on another beach. They all knew my weakness.
Then back to Kay’s to get ready for a dinner party. Lally Weymouth [Kay’s daughter] had arrived that afternoon. Jackie Onassis, Maurice Tempelsman, Cyrus Vance, Bob McNamara, Edward Bennett Williams, Peter Sharp, Anne Buchwald, Bill Styron, Jennifer Phillips and husband, Mike Wallace, Henry Grunewald and Louise Melhado plus Kay’s houseguests.
Jackie and I were at the same table, and I invited her to the White House to see the changes. She said she prefers not to return to Washington, but if she changes her mind she’ll let me know.
August 10: I left at noon and Meg flew back with me. It was a letdown to eat that tuna salad on the plane after the food at Kay’s house.
Ronnie was waiting for me. He has started to do some mild arm and leg exercises, which pleases him.
August 11: Left for California, and got to the ranch around two. It was so foggy we weren’t sure we could land, but it cleared in time. The ranch looked great, and we could see that the new man has really been working.
August 12: Walked in the afternoon.
August 13: Hard to keep Ronnie down. Walked in the morning and again in the afternoon. But I played policeman the whole time. Don’t do this! Don’t do that!
When this is over I’m going to need a vacation.
15
A Terrible Month
“I GUESS it’s my turn.” Those were my first words when they told me I probably had cancer in October 1987. Then, just a few days after the operation, I was faced with a second ordeal, from which I still haven’t recovered.
Once again, my diary seems to convey, better than I can, now, just what those weeks were like. What follows is essentially what I wrote at that time, with a few explanations and additions.
October 5, 1987: Today I went out to Bethesda with [White House physician] John Hutton for my annual mammogram. John had never come with me before for a mammogram. Perhaps he sensed something.
There was a darling nurse who did it. When she was finished, she said, “Wait, we’d like to do a couple of X rays over again.” I felt my stomach start to tighten.
When she completed the additional tests, John came in and asked her to leave the room. Then my stomach really tightened. I knew something was wrong.
“We think we’ve seen something,” John told me. “We think it’s a tumor in the left breast. We’ll need a biopsy. There’s an outside chance it isn’t malignant, but it probably is.”
I have cancer.
Cancer. There’s something about the sound of that word which makes your heart stop.
It can’t be. I feel fine. There must be some mistake! This is the last thing in the world I ever expected.
“Please call Ollie Beahrs,” I said. “I want him to be involved.” [Dr. Oliver Beahrs, a specialist in cancer, had been a student of my father’s, and he’s been close to our family ever since.]
It was very quiet on the drive back to the White House, and John and I barely spoke. He came up with me in the elevator, and when we got to the West Hall, he said, “You’re taking this awfully well.”
“No,” I replied. “I feel as if I’ve been kicked in the stomach.”
“I know,” he said, as his eyes filled with tears.
Then I turned away and went into the bedroom to lie down.
Later on, Ronnie came in. John had gone to the Oval Office to give him the news. John told me later that when he told Ronnie, Ronnie had an expression on his face that he’d never forget. “I think the president has always believed that nothing would ever happen to you,” John said.
October 6: I have to keep up my schedule, so when the crown prince and princess of Japan arrived, she and I could have coffee together. We had met them in Tokyo, where I sat next to their son at dinner. He told me that night that he had just returned from America and that the best thing about our country was Brooke Shields. (I had expected him to say the Statue of Liberty!) I told his mother that I was sorry he hadn’t come along on this trip, because I could have invited Brooke Shields to join us for dinner.
When Ronnie came home to dress before the dinner, we didn’t have much time to talk. And I think we both knew that if we started to talk, we would get upset. We had to get through this dinner, so there was no point in doing that. We comforted each other without really talking about it.
Went down to the doctor’s office [on the first floor of the White House] for a meeting with Ollie Beahrs, who had come in from the Mayo Clinic. I was so happy to see him, and so relieved that he was there. He had been with us during Ronnie’s cancer operation, and I knew he’d level with me. [I’m no good if anybody, even in the kindest way, doesn’t level with me.]
Ollie had seen the X rays, and he examined me. We decided that I would go into the [Bethesda Naval] hospital on the 16th and that I would have an operation the next morning. I had a busy schedule coming up, and if it didn’t make any difference, I wanted to keep it. Ollie said that
was fine, that there was no danger.
He explained that there were two ways to excise the tumor. I could have a lumpectomy, which involved removing only the tumor itself and a small amount of tissue. But you can’t be sure whether or not the cancer is all out. Or I could have a radical mastectomy, which means removing the entire breast.
I chose the mastectomy. A lumpectomy seemed too inconclusive, and I know, given my nature, that I’d be worried to death. It will be hard enough to go through the ten days of waiting, and I know I can’t spend months, or years, wondering. Besides, a lumpectomy entails weeks of radiation on an almost daily basis. In my job, there is no way I can do that.
[At the time of my operation, there were some people, including doctors, who thought I had taken too drastic a step in choosing the mastectomy. The director of the Breast Cancer Advisory Center was quoted in the New York Times as saying that my decision had “set us back ten years.”
I resented these statements, and I still do. This is a very personal decision, one that each woman must make for herself. This was my choice, and I don’t believe I should have been criticized for it. For some women, it would have been wrong, but for me it was right. Perhaps, if I had been twenty years old and unmarried, I would have made a different decision. But I’ve already had my children and I have a wonderful, understanding husband. For me, a mastectomy seemed the sensible thing to do, and the best way to get it all over with.
I wish that people would understand that I was making this decision only for myself. I would never presume to make it for other women. The only thing I would presume to tell other women is that every woman over forty—and perhaps even earlier—should have a yearly mammogram. Right now, more than 60 percent of women over forty have never had one.]
I almost certainly have breast cancer, but this can’t be confirmed until the operation. Meanwhile, I don’t want anybody to know about it—not even the children. There’s no point in making anybody else go through these ten days of waiting and worrying.
I made an exception for Doria [Ron’s wife]—partly because she called to say that her mother had cancer, and that she needed help getting her into a hospital. A weird coincidence. Ron is away in Russia, on assignment for ABC television. I called my brother, and Dick made arrangements for Doria’s mother.
October 7: Not much sleep. Left for Chicago to receive an award at the Ronald McDonald Children’s Charity Foundation Dinner. On the plane, I told Elaine and Jane [Elaine Crispen, my press secretary, and Jane Erkenbeck, my personal assistant]. I would have preferred not to tell anyone, but they did my scheduling, and they had to know, and I knew I could trust them. We were sitting at my usual table on the plane, and they were completely shocked. Elaine grabbed hold of my hand and said, “Oh, no!” We all started to cry, and then we all put on our dark glasses. Jane said, “We can’t sit here crying, because people will start to wonder.” [The stewards, the Secret Service, the advance team, and members of the press were on the plane with us.]
We decided to announce it on the 15th, the day before I go into the hospital.
Stayed at the Drake. Great view of the lake that brings up so many memories. We drove by our old apartment building and it was so nostalgic to see the lake view again, the same one I used to look at every day when I came home from school. I hope my children have memories like mine—happy memories, that now take on deeper meanings. I can close my eyes and see a girl named Nancy Davis, walking along the lake to school, or roller-skating down Michigan Avenue.
And now, here I am with cancer, and nobody knows. I ache for my parents’ advice, and their comfort. I miss them terribly. [My father had died in 1982. My mother was still alive, but she no longer knew me.]
Everything went well at the dinner, where I was presented with a check for $100,000, a donation to the Nancy Reagan Drug Abuse Foundation. I couldn’t sleep. Both Jane and Elaine cried when they said good night.
October 8: [Robert] Bork is coming in today to meet with Ronnie about his appointment to the Supreme Court.
I got back to the White House around two. Now Bork has decided to come tomorrow.
Rex [Scouten, the head usher at the White House] and Gary [Walters, his assistant] came to see me about the upkeep of the house. Work has to be done, especially on the first floor, where all the visitors walk through. And there isn’t enough money.
Then a meeting with John Hutton, who gave me more details. I may need radiation—even after the mastectomy. God, I hope not.
John had called my brother and told him. Then Dick called after dinner and said he wanted to come here and be with me, which I very much appreciate. He’s coming in from Philadelphia on Friday night, in time for dinner. He and Ronnie will go out to the hospital with me, and then they’ll come back and spend the night at the White House. The next morning they’ll fly out to the hospital again.
The waiting is killing me.
October 9: Gail Burt came for coffee at eleven. [Gail is a darling girl who until recently was my social secretary. Before that she had been working at the State Department and met Rick Burt. As is my wont as a born matchmaker, I had pushed them to get married. They did, and then he was appointed ambassador to Bonn. Poor girl—she was in tears because of having to move. They had just bought a house, and she didn’t want to leave Washington.] Short visit because I had to attend a luncheon.
In the afternoon I met in the Red Room with a Japanese man who gave a large donation to the Drug Abuse Foundation.
Ronnie came upstairs [to the residence] to meet with Bork and his family. Bork said he wanted to stay in—not for himself, but out of principle. He has no illusions about his own prospects, but he thinks that dropping out would set a dangerous precedent. It should go to the Senate floor for a vote, because otherwise all future nominees to the Supreme Court would have to go through what is really a political campaign.
There was a huge group waiting to see us off as we left for Camp David, with signs about Bork, shouting, a lot of noise.
October 10: [Camp David] Woke up to gray skies that cleared in the afternoon. Ronnie did radio broadcast on Bork. We rode after lunch.
I kept thinking: A week from now I’ll know if I’ve lost a breast or not. I’m frightened, and I pray I won’t need radiation.
Doria called, and we had a nice talk. She asked me to reconsider my decision about not telling any of the other children. She said that her relationship with her family and especially her mother had become so much closer because of her mother’s illness—and how grateful she was for that. How it changes your priorities. How you never really think that anything can happen to your parents. How they seem invincible, and you think they’ll go on forever.
I said, “I know only too well.” It has been five years since Bapa [my father] died, and I still think about him all the time.
She said: “I know Ron would want to know. It would be terrible for him to hear about it some other way. You’ve got to remember that he loves you, and that you mean so much to him.”
I knew she was right. Yes, it would be awful for him to pick up the paper in Russia and read about it over there.
She hasn’t heard from Ron in days, but I thought of a way she could tell him about me without having it end up in Pravda the next day. She could use my original name, and say, “Do you remember somebody named Anne Frances Robbins?” And if that didn’t click, she could say, “You know, the daughter of Ken Robbins? He left his wife and she later married a doctor?”
Doria thinks this is a fine idea. She is very solicitous and caring about me, and it means a lot.
[When Doria finally spoke to Ron, she asked if he remembered Anne Robbins. He caught on right away, and said, “Sure, I know who you mean.” Then she told him the news.]
We changed the day of my announcement from Thursday to Friday, because when I go to New Hampshire I don’t want people to be staring at me. [I was planning to attend a meeting of the Foster Grandparents Program. I was hoping to start bringing together the Foster Grandparents Progr
am with the drug program, so this was a meeting I didn’t want to cancel.] Now, by the time Marlin [Fitzwater, Ronnie’s press secretary] gets through briefing the press, I’ll be on my way back from New Hampshire and out of the public eye.
It’s probably my imagination, but my breast seems to hurt.
October 11: Restless night. Gray skies and rain, so we canceled the ride. Watched the [Sunday] morning talk shows.
Doria called to thank me for putting Dick in touch with her about her mother, and to say how grateful she was for his help.
October 12: Beautiful day. Had a good night’s sleep so I felt better. Worked on my book [which eventually became My Turn]. Had my hair done for [old family friend] Charlie Wick’s surprise seventieth-birthday party. All their kids were there, plus Sarah, Doug’s baby, and they all gave darling toasts. Ronnie gave a nice toast. We left after dinner because Ronnie had to go to New Jersey the next day. And my mood was running out.
October 13: I awoke at three and that was it for the night. I kept thinking of all the things I had to do. They came up before breakfast and drew forty cc’s of blood in case it’s needed during the operation. Doctor told me that if I felt weak or tired later in the day I should drink some orange juice and lie down. I forgot all about it until I had been working for two hours, and Elaine said, “You look tired.” I went to bed and slept for an hour and a half. Unheard of.
October 14: Final preparations for the state dinner for Duarte. [President José Napoleón Duarte of El Salvador. I have a picture of me that was taken at that dinner, and it’s quite obvious that my mind was elsewhere.]
At the arrival ceremony in the morning, Duarte said, “I’m going to do something outside of protocol to show the American people how much we love them, and how grateful we are to you.” And with that, he left the platform and walked down on the South Lawn to the American flag and kissed it. It brought tears to everybody’s eyes.