YOU , MR. PRESIDENT . Every now and then, a nurse would come and report to me on Ronnie’s progress. At first, the doctors were having trouble finding the bullet, which was a devastator bullet, the kind that explodes inside. One time, the nurse came and said, “We just can’t seem to get it out. We may just have to leave it in.” Well, that didn’t sound so good to me. And then another time, she said, “They’ve found it, but the doctor is having a hard time removing it—it keeps slipping from his fingers.” Finally, she came back and told me that the doctor had gotten it out; but I almost lost him then. The bullet had been lodged an inch from Ronnie’s heart.
We were lucky—we didn’t realize how lucky, in fact—because when Ronnie had arrived, all the doctors were in the hospital for a meeting. No one had to be called in. Everyone Ronnie needed was right on hand, and there was no waiting.
When Ronnie woke up, Ron and Doria were with me. Ron had been out touring with the Joffrey Ballet when he’d heard the news, and a plane was sent for them right away. The other children would arrive in the middle of the night, after the White House sent a military plane to pick them up.
When we walked into the recovery room, Ronnie had a tube down his throat. He felt like he couldn’t breathe. He gestured to us, and wrote a note saying, “I can’t breathe.” I panicked and ran over to the doctors and nurses, saying, “He can’t breathe!” But Ron just went over to him and calmly said, “Dad, it’s okay. It’s like when I went scuba diving. A machine takes over for you and does the breathing for you. It’s okay.”
But it was very frightening for all of us, including Ronnie.
I stayed at the hospital until the doctors said that Ronnie needed to sleep and that I should leave. I wanted to stay there all night, but the feeling was that it would be better for the country if I left and went back to sleep at the White House. Otherwise, people would have assumed the worst and there would have been panic. As it was, Ronnie’s aides had to do all they could to calm the country down. The briefings made to the press were partial, to say the least. The assassination attempt was really a much closer call than people were led to believe at the time. Everyone was trying not to frighten the people in the country, but the fact was, Ronnie almost died. It was a miracle that he didn’t. And I knew all along how serious things really were.
Looking back, I realize that when I went back to the White House, I was in shock. You never think your husband might be shot—you think that he might get sick, maybe, but not shot. And to me, even after it happened, it simply seemed unimaginable. That night, I slept on Ronnie’s side of the bed. It made me feel closer to him somehow. And it kept me from reaching out and touching an empty space.
After Ronnie was shot, my desire to protect him just increased. His aides wanted to get him out there talking again as soon as he could. I kept saying he should be treated like any other patient and given time to recover. After all, we had almost lost him. He was a strong man and he was mending well, but he wasn’t superhuman.
A birthday greeting.
An incident like that makes you feel very fragile. The shooting only took two seconds. And you suddenly realize that two seconds is all it takes for your life to change entirely. Our security tightened after the assassination attempt, as it had to. Oddly enough, death threats increase after a shooting—it seems there’s always somebody out there saying to himself, “Well, he didn’t get him, but I will.”
Needless to say, I was terrified.After the shooting, every time Ronnie walked out the door to make a public appearance, my heart would stop—and it wouldn’t start again until he came back home safely. Ronnie knew how scared I was. But if he was frightened too, he never let me know it. As always, he was cheerful and optimistic. God had spared
We were lucky—we didn’t realize how lucky, in fact—because when Ronnie had arrived, all the doctors were in the hospital for a meeting. No one had to be called in. Everyone Ronnie needed was right on hand, and there was no waiting.
When Ronnie woke up, Ron and Doria were with me. Ron had been out touring with the Joffrey Ballet when he’d heard the news, and a plane was sent for them right away. The other children would arrive in the middle of the night, after the White House sent a military plane to pick them up.
When we walked into the recovery room, Ronnie had a tube down his throat. He felt like he couldn’t breathe. He gestured to us, and wrote a note saying, “I can’t breathe.” I panicked and ran over to the doctors and nurses, saying, “He can’t breathe!” But Ron just went over to him and calmly said, “Dad, it’s okay. It’s like when I went scuba diving. A machine takes over for you and does the breathing for you. It’s okay.”
But it was very frightening for all of us, including Ronnie.
I stayed at the hospital until the doctors said that Ronnie needed to sleep and that I should leave. I wanted to stay there all night, but the feeling was that it would be better for the country if I left and went back to sleep at the White House. Otherwise, people would have assumed the worst and there would have been panic. As it was, Ronnie’s aides had to do all they could to calm the country down. The briefings made to the press were partial, to say the least. The assassination attempt was really a much closer call than people were led to believe at the time. Everyone was trying not to frighten the people in the country, but the fact was, Ronnie almost died. It was a miracle that he didn’t. And I knew all along how serious things really were.
Looking back, I realize that when I went back to the White House, I was in shock. You never think your husband might be shot—you think that he might get sick, maybe, but not shot. And to me, even after it happened, it simply seemed unimaginable. That night, I slept on Ronnie’s side of the bed. It made me feel closer to him somehow. And it kept me from reaching out and touching an empty space.
After Ronnie was shot, my desire to protect him just increased. His aides wanted to get him out there talking again as soon as he could. I kept saying he should be treated like any other patient and given time to recover. After all, we had almost lost him. He was a strong man and he was mending well, but he wasn’t superhuman.
A birthday greeting.
An incident like that makes you feel very fragile. The shooting only took two seconds. And you suddenly realize that two seconds is all it takes for your life to change entirely. Our security tightened after the assassination attempt, as it had to. Oddly enough, death threats increase after a shooting—it seems there’s always somebody out there saying to himself, “Well, he didn’t get him, but I will.”
Needless to say, I was terrified.After the shooting, every time Ronnie walked out the door to make a public appearance, my heart would stop—and it wouldn’t start again until he came back home safely. Ronnie knew how scared I was. But if he was frightened too, he never let me know it. As always, he was cheerful and optimistic. God had spared
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