Of Pain and Campaigns

Back when she had found the lump in Kenosha, when the election was still 12 days away, Elizabeth had convinced herself that it was just a cyst. She'd had one a few years before.

So she told John nothing. "I really felt he didn't need that then," she says.

She did, however, schedule an appointment with her hometown doctor for a week later. At that ultrasound, Elizabeth knew the minute she saw the technician's face that "it was bad."

She immediately called John, who was just returning to Raleigh. There would be no confirmation of cancer until she had a needle biopsy. Should they drop everything? John received reassurances from the doctor that waiting a few more days wouldn't matter. They made plans to do it in Boston the day after the election, and pressed on.

"I looked straight at her -- we were sitting on her little front stoop -- and said, 'Can you really do this?' " McElroy says. " 'You've seen where you have to go and what you have to do in the next few days, can you do this?' And she paused, then said, 'Yeah, I can.' "

Immediately after the diagnosis, Edwards began treatment in Washington. Luckily, the cancer hadn't metastasized. She had chemotherapy, followed by a lumpectomy, followed by radiation. It all lasted seven brutal months, until the end of May 2005. Her joints swelled. She lost her hair. She admits some days she was knocked flat.

"She didn't complain," says former neighbor Chris Downey, who uses the term "life-changing" to describe her friendship with Edwards. Downey, who is the ex-wife of former congressman Tom Downey, says, "I guess if you have adversity, you grow. She's so strong."

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Now happily describing herself as "cancer-free," Edwards recently accepted the Congressional Families Leadership Award at the 14th annual Action for Cancer Awareness Awards luncheon, held on the Hill last week.

"I had melanoma, and it looms large in your life, and it is what you make of it," says Marcelle Leahy, wife of Sen. Patrick Leahy (D-Vt.).

As the lunch breaks up, Leahy is one of legions who come up to talk to Edwards. Though she has a plane to New Hampshire to catch, Edwards poses for picture after picture, not caring that her makeshift makeup job is fading fast.

Her upcoming schedule is going to be hectic. She isn't fazed in the least. New Hampshire? A chance to catch up with the families who invited her into their living rooms two years ago. Then a quick overnight to stay on Cate's couch in New York, where her daughter is now working. Then back to Chapel Hill to see the kids; then a book tour that takes her to Iowa and Illinois, Georgia, California -- the list goes on.

She's undaunted. Actually, she's happy. No, you never really move on, she explains. Once you lose a child, moving on sounds too much like leaving him behind. But, eventually, with difficulty, you find your way.

This is hers.