Wednesday, March 09, 2005


I’m on my way to New York. I’m tired, really tired. The weather changed. It rained all afternoon. I shouldn’t have played 18 holes on an almost empty stomach. The event was a success though. George Bush is on his way home to Houston. I’m on my way to hospital.

The closer we get to New York the more anxious I get. I am afraid. Why shouldn’t I be? I might die in a few hours.

Bobbi, I know, just write down what I say. Please.

When I had heart surgery six months ago I was scared. I didn’t let anybody in on my feelings, because I didn’t want Chelsea or Hillary or for that matter any American to be anxious on my behalf. I wanted to be strong for my family and for my friends and supporters, but I was scared.

It wasn’t a small operation. It wasn’t a picnic and with the many complications that followed the operation, the fatigue I still feel, the anxiety that I might have a heart attack any moment, I haven’t been the same, since my last operation.

You know what I fear most? Pain, I’m scared to death that something might go wrong and I have to fight and fight for my life for days. I’d rather just die on the operating table.

I’ve been having trouble breathing lately, because of the fluid buildup in my chest. I feel myself suffocating little by little. It’s a very scary feeling.

I have been having nightmares lately. They are all the same, the surgeon opens me up, while I’m still awake and cuts my artery. I can’t tell you how scared I am that they cut one of my veins. I am scared of blood. I am so scared of blood.

I’m telling myself everything will be alright, but you can fool someone else, but you can’t fool yourself. Not just about the operation itself, but also about the consequences. Will the guy, who walked into the hospital be the same as the one, who walks out.

I don’t want to be an invalid. I don’t want to need round the clock nursing. I don’t want Hillary to give up her career for me. I don’t want her to have to take care of me all day long. I don’t want to be a deadweight for her.

She will leave me. My little Chelsea is out of the house and Hillary will leave me too. Oh God, please, I just don’t want to hurt anymore.