Lessons from the Mountain

by Mary McDonough

  “Yes, I am,” I said proudly. See, I wasn’t alone. Other actresses were getting them, so it must be a good thing. Mariel was a beautiful, successful, and talented actress, and I could now consider her a sister in arms. Although I didn’t know it then, she would inspire me in many ways in the future.

  A dear friend of mine took a series of wet T-shirt photographs of me. Not for a poster or publicity to boost my career, as a publicist suggested. Just for me. I was really trying on my new silhouette, getting used to the attention. It was a try at sexy, a try at a new body, a new self-image. But trying is not being. Sexy is being connected to your inner beauty. Sexy isn’t a costume you put on or a plastic device you put in your chest. Sexy is a feeling from within, a confidence and sense of one’s self. I did not know that then.

  Unfortunately, with all the inner turmoil, I began to hide my new breasts. I was embarrassed that people would know what I did and judge me. I felt fake inside. The silicone didn’t fill the hole in me.

  MY SIZE DOESN’T MATTER, ANYWAY

  I did get work in my new shape, but not playing sexy women. I didn’t get any parts that required me to be revealing, or that had anything to do with the size of my chest. Throughout my career, I have always been cast as the girl next door, playing a young wife or mother. I did Picket Fences as an earthy birthing teacher to Marlee Matlin. No big boobs needed for that part. I played a young bride in The Love Boat, a bohemian artist in a movie called Mom, and mothers on Hunter, The Secret World of Alex Mack, The Pretender, and Walker, Texas Ranger. I even played a woman delivering multiple babies on an episode of Diagnosis Murder, a comedic role I enjoyed. None of these roles had anything to do with bra size.

  In commercials, I was not the bombshell or the hot girl in the beer commercial. I was the waitress. I was the Snuggles mother of redheaded kids, with fresh-smelling clothes. I was a Mrs. Butterworth mom who doesn’t see the bottle talk. I played a lawyer on Ally McBeal, and that did not require a sexy image. I learned all this after my surgery.

  FUN GUEST ROLES

  When I do guest spots, I try to be invisible. It’s different than being on your own show as a regular. Even though Richard Thomas was the star on The Waltons, we never felt upstaged or less important. We were a true ensemble. This philosophy permeated through the story lines and into the development of the characters. We all had worth as actors, as people, and as “family” members. I believe it is one reason the show worked so well, and why we all had such positive experiences working together.

  When I guest star, I know I am a supporting player, and I show up, say my lines, and go home. When I did an episode of Will & Grace, the cast was coming down the hallway and I pressed myself up against the set to let them pass. The charming and sweet Eric McCormack leaned in toward me and said, “I can see you.” I had to smile and learned not to hide too obviously. I saw that same kindness on the second episode of Will & Grace I worked on. When I arrived, Eric said, “Hi, Mary, welcome back.” I was floored that he remembered me and my name. That’s class. He made my Will & Grace experience welcoming.

  When you love a show and get to be on it, you always hope the illusion isn’t blown. Like the cast hates each other, or something like that. I was a fan of Will & Grace, so it was great to find out they were nice, were true professionals, and were having fun. I felt so lucky to be on the show and a fly on the wall. I even got to share my In Style magazine with Debra Messing, which was cool because she was in the issue.

  I was a huge fan of Ally McBeal. It was fun to meet Calista Flockhart. I tried to be cool and not ramble on about how I watched the show every week. In the makeup room when Jane Krakowski introduced herself to me, I was charmed. She recognized me from The Waltons and we talked. It was nice of her to make me feel so welcomed.

  It’s always surprising to me when casts don’t get along or they complain. Some sets are warm and others are so cold. We were taught by our “parents” to embrace all of our costars and even included them in our lunch outings. I remember Will Geer reminding me this is the best gig, to be happy and to make the most of it.

  In my mind, my weight was still an issue, and instead of being lean with big boobs, I thought I just started to look heavier. I found a theme song for my life, k.d. lang’s “Big Boned Gal.” (I love that song and think she has one of the best singing voices on the planet.) Dancing around my living room and singing, “She was a big boned gal from southern Alberta, you just couldn’t call her small” made me happy. I embraced myself and swayed and laughed out loud, singing my anthem. I felt free, affirmed, and began to accept who I was and what I looked like.

  MARY MARRIES

  In 1986, I met Rob Wickstrom in an acting class and we fell in love. I had dated guys for years on end who wanted only to be my friend. This was different. For the first time, I had a partner, someone who truly wanted to be with me.

  On one of our first dates, he told me he knew why I was here. I was supposed to have his child. I barely knew him and couldn’t believe he would say that so early on, but he was right. I learned later a huge part of my life was to be a mother.

  We had dated for about six months when he proposed to me. A year later, we celebrated our wedding with close family and friends. My gracious in-laws, Bob and Barbara Wickstrom, came from New York. They are wonderful people and threw us a beautiful rehearsal dinner at the Hotel Bel-Air, one of my favorite places. My mom was there. Rob’s sister, Wendy, was a bridesmaid; his brother, Randy, a groomsman. Leslie Winston, my Waltons sister-in-law, was a bridesmaid, and, of course, so was Caren Cline, whom I had made a promise to all those years ago.

  Since Rob and I were both actors, the wedding took on a theatrical theme. Our friends Dar and Brian made cool-looking clay characters of us for the cake topper. We had a “program” and T-shirts made for everyone. My brothers were listed as “stand-ins” for Mr. Lawrence McDonough. My brothers walked me down the aisle. I saw Richard Thomas in the pew and he winked at me. All my brothers were there. We celebrated with over three hundred guests and then honeymooned in Hawaii.

  THE NOT-SO-FUN PART

  I continued to ignore my symptoms, and believed if I focused on being a newlywed, everything would work out. But eventually I had to admit to myself something was wrong.

  The decline of my health was so slow over the course of ten years that it’s hard to pinpoint when it started and what the actual symptoms were. I went to so many doctors for different symptoms, and at that time, no one ever put it together, or wanted to.

  Although I broke out in a rash right after surgery, I was right about how illogical it was to think my cotton bra caused such a reaction. Years later, I still had those rashes; so I went to a dermatologist. The rashes were on different parts of my body and across my nose and cheeks. At first, they did seem like an allergy.

  Then the headaches began, along with chronic fatigue. I never knew when it would hit me. I could rest, get up, and feel fine; then suddenly I would have to lie down, right then. A few times I had to lie on the floor of wherever I was. I was once traveling with one of those guys who just wanted to be my “friend” and he left me lying on the ground in an airport. He was angry because he thought it was my blood sugar.

  Sometimes I would wake up and couldn’t lift my head off the pillow. I gained weight and my muscles started to ache; then my joints joined the pain brigade. I couldn’t exercise, even if I found the energy. My internist referred me to an endocrinologist, who thought I was depressed, so I went into therapy. My heart developed an irregular beat, so I went to a cardiologist. Scores of doctors, and no one could tell me what was wrong. I started to think I was a hypochondriac. After all, I didn’t look sick.

  Life moved along and I dealt with constant fatigue and muscle aches; then other symptoms followed. My allergy attacks intensified. If I visited a home with a dog or a cat, my nose ran. Next I couldn’t breathe, and within twenty-four hours, I’d develop a secondary infection. I’d had allergies before—now they magnified—and the doctor diagnosed a ba
d cold and prescribed antibiotics. Some days, I’d wake up so exhausted, I could barely move. My decline was very gradual over the course of ten years. I couldn’t figure out what exactly was wrong with me. I went from doctor to doctor, treatment to treatment: internist to dermatologist to chiropractor to cardiologist to herbalist—I even tried a popular multilevel marketed potion—to endocrinologist to hematologist, and finally a rheumatologist. One doctor thought it was all in my head and suggested another psychologist. I actually started to feel I was crazy.

  THE LIGHTBULB MOMENT

  In 1990, I was in a car wreck that ruptured a disk in my back. My teachings said there are no accidents, and that became true about this crash.

  My knees smashed into the dashboard; my wrists and arms were wrenched from holding the steering wheel. My neck, back, and joints—all my muscles ached for over a year. I felt crazy for not healing from this accident. I went to more doctors and finally an orthopedist. He asked me to tell him everything. He listened to all my complaints, wrote them all down, and when I was finally finished with this laundry list, he took a few minutes to study them. Finally he looked up at me and asked a question that changed the course of my life: “Have you ever had a lupus panel?”

  I was stunned. I knew about the disease. In fact, I knew a lot. Years earlier, I had been the celebrity spokesperson for an L.A.-based chapter for lupus awareness. I knew it ran in families, but no one in my family had it. I froze on the table as scary facts about the disease flooded my brain.

  “No, I can’t have lupus. I have no family history.” But all my symptoms…Terror struck deep in my heart. He encouraged me to follow up with a rheumatologist.

  Something else life-changing happened soon after that appointment. I found out I was pregnant. I was excited and a little nervous. I had always wanted to be ready for motherhood and waited because I felt it wasn’t the right time.

  I decided to meditate on my fear and procrastination. During my meditation, I saw myself in a raft, going down a river. I had no paddles and had to trust where the water took me. The water got choppy, but I held on. Then the water turned to white water rapids. I was okay; I still held on. After different scenarios with the water, the raft drifted to a calm alcove. I knew I was safe and took a breath. I looked onto the shore and there was a little baby there. I brought the baby into the raft and held it close, knowing we would be okay. The raft took us back to the river and we floated together down the river. I am a very visual person—so this made sense to me. The meditation left me calm with a sense of knowing. (It’s those times when I am connected to the quiet and trust, I am my best. In those moments, I listen and see what to do. I feel connected with the Universe and have peace in my heart.) After that, I knew what was next. I finally realized that it was never the “right” time, there could always be an excuse as to why not to have a baby.

  I had waited a long time for this. I was thirty years old and the first Walton girl to have a baby. It was an exciting time. My friend Dana Hill had a coed baby shower for us and we had a blast. I was feeling better than I had in a long time. Well, except for when I was around the smell of Chinese food, which made me gag. Also, I love matzo ball soup, but couldn’t eat it while pregnant. As soon as I had the baby, I ate it all the time, still do. So funny these things we crave, and that we can’t stand what we normally like. I craved Carl’s Jr. club sandwiches, and lettuce. At a restaurant one night, I looked at all the unfinished side salads and said, “Are you going to eat that? Don’t let it go to waste, I’ll eat it.” I ate everyone’s leftover salads.

  Even though I’d been feeling better, I went ahead and made the appointment with a rheumatologist. Everything seemed fine, except my blood work indicated an elevated ANA (antinuclear antibodies), and she told me to check in with her after the baby was born. She never said I might have a disease or complications or any other issues with the birth, so I didn’t think much about it. Plus, I was having a pretty “textbook pregnancy.” I would find out the reasons why later.

  NESTING

  Anyway, I was having a baby and we got busy getting her room together, painting it blue, my favorite color. My friend from junior high, Kate Zovich, came over and painted white clouds on the “sky” in her bedroom. I got out the sewing machine and sewed pink-and-blue rabbit curtains for the windows. One day, a little of my dad channeled through me and I started to strip an old chest of drawers. Rob came home and saw me with a mask and gloves on and said, “What are you doing?” I think my nesting instinct had kicked in big-time.

  We found out she was a girl and her name was actually “Aubrey” at first. But we usually called her “Baby Wick.” So many people were helpful when I was pregnant. My mom was happy; my friend Gwen had a ladies’ shower for me. Michael Learned and Leslie Winston came to that one. As with that other intense time in my life, I got crazy with the hair. I cut it all off. What was I thinking? But pregnant women do strange things sometimes. It was a time of joy, generosity, and nesting.

  Women with lupus are often symptom-free during pregnancy. The medical theory is that it has something to do with the hormones. What happened after I gave birth is what knocked me for a loop.

  BABY GIRL

  Sydnee came into the world surrounded by joy, love, and a bit of chaos and celebrity, all of which have followed her since. I still had the heebie-jeebies about hospitals, so I waited until the last minute to go in. Rob and I were put into a very small holding area, where we waited and waited for a delivery room.

  Soon I was in the pain of labor. A nurse peeked in and said, “Oh, are you still in here? We need to move you,” and left. I was flailing in pain and just wanted relief.

  After a while, another nurse popped her head in the door and exclaimed, “Haven’t you been moved yet?” Then she left.

  The hospital was filled with excitement and activity, and all the nurses and staff were distracted, but not because of me. Magic Johnson’s wife, Cookie, was in the room next to ours, delivering their first child. There was a buzz in the atmosphere all around us. Although I’ve never met her, there’s something about being in labor and hearing Cookie’s “push” countdown that became part of Sydnee’s birth. I’ll always remember the press, security men with funny packs, and helicopters flying overhead. Wild.

  Finally some kindhearted person found the time to move us to a delivery room.

  Sydnee had a low Apgar score. I kept saying, “She’s not crying?” The anesthesiologist whisked her away to the incubator, and I panicked. When I finally heard her tiny wail, my heart melted and has never been the same since.

  They took her to the nursery while I rested. I lay in the hospital bed, sweating and feeling sick. The enormity of how my life had changed swept through me like a hurricane. The knowledge that I would never be alone again blew through my consciousness. I was now a mother. I knew no matter how old Sydnee got, I would always feel like I left an arm or another part of me behind when she wasn’t with me. I sobbed for the loss of my individuality, and for the gift of this beautiful little girl.

  I knew in my heart of hearts I was born to be Sydnee’s mommy. I adore her. I would die for her. I dried my tears, got up, and wandered the halls (always attractive in those flimsy gowns) to find the nursery. I rolled her bassinet back to our room and kept her with me until we left the hospital.

  Many of my Walton family members came with flowers to meet their “niece,” the newest member of our “family.” When Sydnee was four months old, we went to Schuyler, Virginia, for the opening of the Walton’s Mountain Museum, and Michael Learned told Syd to call her “Grammy Mike.” I was working as a special correspondent for Entertainment Tonight on the museum opening, and we have the cutest video of “Grandpa” Ralph with Sydnee. Immediately she became another member of our Walton family.

  POSTPREGNANCY BLUES

  When I got home from the hospital, I was extremely sick, and in pain. I had what I now call a terrible lupus flare-up. I wasn’t healing. I couldn’t breast-feed Sydnee. She had colic and couldn
’t get any milk from me.

  My OB said I wasn’t adjusting well to motherhood. I felt like a miserable failure. I cried and cried, and wondered if the implants prevented her from nursing. I remembered the surgeon saying I might not be able to breast-feed, but many women still could. The OB examined me and said I shouldn’t have any problems nursing. Rob assured me I was okay and encouraged me not to guilt-trip myself. I wanted so much to do what was right, to be a perfect mother. I called La Leche, and they suggested I use a breast pump. When I hooked up that machine, it couldn’t even get any milk from me.

  I now believe my inability to breast-feed was God’s way of protecting Sydnee from further poisoning. I learned sometime later that certain silicones can cross the placental barrier, and Sydnee may have been exposed during the pregnancy. Some breast milk donation services wouldn’t even accept milk donations from mothers with implants. Unfortunately, I didn’t know any of this information as I struggled to care for my child through the challenges of my own illnesses.

  There were times I was so ill, I couldn’t even hold Sydnee. As she grew, I grew weaker. There were days when I couldn’t get out of bed. I never knew when I would wake up and not be able to get up. Sydnee learned to get herself up and toddle to my bedroom. She’d climb into bed with me, and for her breakfast, I’d give her the granola bar I’d have waiting on my nightstand. I felt like a terrible mother, unable to make my own daughter her breakfast.

  My health continued to deteriorate. I continued to feel the responsibility to support my family. I carried into my marriage the belief I had to do it all. I had to continue supporting and caring for everyone, just as I had been doing for years. I believed my value was in what I did—not who I was—which didn’t help.

  Having two actors in the same family can be tough, especially if you’re not working very much. Acting is not a steady job. Rob had always worked as a waiter, and I was working as an actor as much as I could. Luckily, I was asked to start teaching acting. We had tough times, and eventually I added a telemarketing job and also worked as a waitress and bartender for a catering company. Rob stopped pursuing acting and was trying to find a new career. I worried about making the mortgage, taxes, and insurance; that pressure added to my stress, which weighed heavily on me and on my health.