Getting Real
Page 19
When we got home and called my parents, my mom just laughed. She thought I had a tendency to overdramatize things, and she said she’d always known that my fears about not getting pregnant were exaggerated. Easy for her to say.
Every pregnant woman goes through that uncomfortable early time when it just looks like you’re gaining weight. When you’re on national TV, it’s a challenge to camouflage your pregnancy until you’re ready to make the announcement. I wasn’t at my most attractive, and my viewers might have noticed that I was wearing a lot of black. My motto: “Whatever fits that’s black!” That included some unglamorous elastic waistbands. I gained fifteen pounds in the first trimester, so it was a lot of extra weight to hide.
In spite of my problems getting started, my pregnancy went smoothly. My sister had a baby six months before me, so she was my guide. In particular, she warned me that labor would take forever. I didn’t want to hear that. I had my mother’s impatience. Mom had often told the story about how she’d grown tired of sitting around waiting for me to arrive and had decided to go golfing. When she bent over to tie her shoes, her water broke. I arrived within hours, and she felt so good she ordered a meal.
When I went into labor on a Friday night, I recalled my sister’s advice and figured I could still do my Saturday morning show before heading to the hospital. I told Casey, “It’s going to take a long time. I’m going to go to bed for a while and I’ll just get up and do the show.”
“You’re not doing the show!” he insisted.
“Yes, yes, the baby probably won’t even come for another whole day.”
By 2:00 a.m. I had changed my mind and asked Casey to call the show and tell them I wasn’t coming.
I took a shower and we drove to the hospital around 6:00 a.m. I had a temperature, and the labor was progressing slowly. The doctor and nurses were coming in and out. I was worried, and asked if I was going to have a C-section. They kept saying no.
There was a TV on in the room, and my show was on from 7:00 to 9:00. Off the top they announced, “Good morning, everyone. Gretchen would love to be here. In fact, she thought she was coming to work today, but she’s in labor having her baby right now.” The nurses, realizing they were talking about me, said, “You were planning to go to work today?” Going to work didn’t seem like such a great idea now.
I labored for the whole day, and then it suddenly became an emergency situation requiring a cesarean. “Five minutes!” the doctor shouted as they wheeled me into surgery. They’d already given me an epidural, so they upped the meds and rushed me into the operating room. I was awake the whole time and heard my baby’s first cry.
Then they whisked her away and I didn’t see her again for twenty-four hours. The doctors were concerned that I’d passed on a bacterial infection to her, and they took her to the neonatal intensive care unit. They wouldn’t let me near her until my fever abated. Casey changed her first diaper and took Polaroid photos of her (this was before cell phone cameras) to bring down to me. I grumbled that I might as well have been in the hospital for knee replacement surgery. It didn’t feel like I’d actually had a baby. Finally, when my fever dropped, they took me in a wheelchair to see Kaia.
She was beautiful—small and sweet with a fuzz of light hair. Her name is Scandinavian, meaning “wise woman.” I loved this unusual, beautiful name. And I was completely in love with my tiny, darling girl, who happened to be the spitting image of my husband. We found Casey’s newborn photo and took one of Kaia in the same position, and they were twins! However, I soon found out that she took after me in one important way: She had a big voice and didn’t hesitate to make herself heard. It may have been a personality trait. But it’s also called colic. I guess it was payback for driving my parents nuts with the same thing. In the early weeks I used to wheel Kaia around the apartment in her stroller to calm her down. If anyone had looked through the window they would have thought I was nuts. But I loved it. My maternity leave was only nine weeks and I was determined to make the most of every second.
• • •
They say that God never gives you more than you can handle, and my faith in that would be tested when Kaia was two months old. I was near the end of my maternity leave and was immersed in life with my daughter. One day I was sitting on the bed with Kaia perched next to me against a boppy pillow, looking sweet and content. As I gazed at her I caught a glimpse of an irregularity in her eye socket. At first I thought it was just the way the sun was hitting her face. But when I gently touched the area I detected a hard lump. I was immediately alarmed. I called Casey and then raced to the pediatrician.
She said the mass was probably one of three things. The best-case scenario was a cyst or a clogged tear duct. More serious would be an infantile hemangioma, a benign tumor of the blood cell lining. The worst-case scenario would be a cancerous tumor.
Thinking about the terrifying possibilities, I instantly went from being a joyful new mother to a dogged fighter on behalf of my helpless daughter. I was grateful that we lived in New York, where we could get in to see Dr. Francine Blei, a pediatric oncologist and hematologist at NYU Medical Center, who was considered the best in the field. She arranged an MRI, and Kaia was sedated. I stood by as my tiny daughter entered the cavernous machine. It was a painstaking process, because even sedated, Kaia would move. They had to start over several times.
When the test results came back, Kaia was diagnosed with an infantile hemangioma. These aren’t rare, and they’re usually not dangerous, depending on the location. Called “strawberry marks,” they grow rapidly in the first year, before shrinking and even fading away completely over time. They commonly grow on the outside of the skin, on the back or head or on the hands. But Kaia’s hemangioma was different. It was dangerous because it was located right near her eye. Growth forward threatened her vision, and growth backward her brain.
“Why did this happen?” I asked Dr. Blei. I wanted to know if I’d done something wrong or, worse, if there was a genetic component that might also affect future children.
She answered that no one knew why these spontaneous growths occurred. They could have a genetic component if there are vascular anomalies in your family. Mostly it seemed to be the luck of the draw. Hemangiomas can’t be detected in utero, but after birth they grow as the infant grows. Statistically they happen more often in girls by a four-to-one margin and are more prevalent in Caucasians.
It was frustrating to be without answers about the cause, but I was ready to be fully engaged in the treatment. Unfortunately, not much could be done. Surgery was out of the question because it was a blood tumor and an operation would cause fatal bleeding. So we had few options. In the beginning the decision was to just watch it carefully to evaluate the growth pattern. Nearly every day I left work to take Kaia for eye exams. Since we were at the top clinic in the nation, the waiting room was always crowded with families who had come from all over the world to seek treatment. Many of the children were terribly disfigured by the tumors and were much worse off than Kaia, which put things in perspective.
Still, strangers weren’t always so kind about the way our daughter looked. Patricia, our wonderful Jamaican babysitter, was beside herself most days. “I don’t know what to tell people,” she cried with anguish. “They say, ‘Why does your baby look funny? What’s wrong with her?’” I told her to ignore it. She was under no obligation to tell strangers anything.
I fought panic every day, but sometimes it overwhelmed me. I remember a desperate call to my mother where I cried, “I didn’t think I could have a baby, and now my baby might go blind!” She immediately got on a plane to New York. As always, she was there with support when I needed it.
As the months passed, the tumor grew, forming a pretty big knot. When it started pushing Kaia’s eyelid down, beginning to impair her vision, we reached a crossroads. Doctors recommended a course of steroids, and Casey and I went home to make the biggest decision of our lives.
Each morning as I approached Kaia’s crib with the liquid medicine, she looked up at me trustingly, laughing and kicking her feet. She liked the grape flavor. But it broke my heart to fill the vial and give it to her—every single time.
On steroids, Kaia was a holy terror, manic and out of control. She was so bad that she once got kicked out of the Barnes & Noble reading room. Patricia was beside herself when she told me the news, but I laughed so hard I cried. With an odd pride I called Casey and said, “Your eight-month-old daughter got thrown out of Barnes & Noble today.” Then I told Patricia not to worry about it. This too would pass.
Casey and I showered Kaia with love, our little moon-faced terror. When we looked at her, we didn’t see the swelling or the tumor or the pirate eye patch. We saw only our beautiful child.
And the steroids seemed to be working. The tumor was shrinking. We began to wean Kaia off the medicine. We were ready to put that chapter behind us, and we couldn’t detect any of the worst side effects in Kaia. She seemed to be normal.
But shortly after we discontinued the steroids, the hemangioma came roaring back bigger than it had been before. We began the process again, with a revived fear of the potential damage the medicine might cause. Fortunately, the second course of steroids worked, and we watched Kaia’s tumor fade to a thin blue vein. In the years that followed, we stayed alert for any signs of cognitive delay or impaired motor skills, and they never came. Kaia grew into a lovely, smart, talented young lady with no ill effects from the trauma of her first year. We were blessed.
• • •
In the midst of the special challenges of Kaia’s infancy, I also entered the strange world of the working mom. CBS was wonderful about giving me time to take Kaia to doctor’s appointments, but I still had a job to do, and being a new mom presented challenges of its own. Any woman who has ever had to pump breast milk at work knows exactly what I’m talking about. It’s a nightmare that consumes your life. I was lucky to have a private office at CBS, but people still knew what I was doing in there, because the machine was so loud. Debbye Turner, whom I’d crowned Miss America, was two doors down, and when I’d start pumping, she’d e-mail me, “The drone is on.” She could hear the whirring noise coming from my office. We always had a good laugh about that.
There was also the issue of where to store the milk once it was pumped. I didn’t want to put it in the common refrigerator where people kept their lunches. So I bought a mini-refrigerator, and also a mini-microwave so I could heat up my lunch to eat in the office while I pumped. Almost immediately a fuse blew and the lights went out on our entire floor. I knew I was the culprit, but I didn’t rush to own up.
The director of operations came into my office. “Do you have any devices in here?” he asked, looking around.
“Devices?” I asked innocently.
He spotted the microwave and the refrigerator and admonished me for nearly taking down the power grid at CBS. He let me keep the refrigerator, though.
I had to wash the pump suction parts in the common bathroom when I was done, so three times a day I put them in a Starbucks bag and carried them to the bathroom. It was time-consuming, messy, and frustrating. My heart goes out to all the new moms out there who are pumping away in offices across America.
A lot of working mothers talk about feeling guilty every minute they’re away from their children. The truth is, it doesn’t matter if you’re working outside the home or not, in our society guilt seems to be an acceptable mode for mothers—period. Well, I don’t buy it. Instead of wasting time on guilt, it’s more important to be clear in your own mind and heart about what kind of person you want to be, and that includes what kind of parent you want to be. It’s a very personal choice. I always knew that I would be a mom with a career, and I aspired to pass on to my children a living example of what it means to follow your dreams and be a fulfilled human being. I’ve always said that being a mom was my most important role, but it’s not my only role. I’ve been gratified and humbled when other mothers with careers have told me I’m a model for them.
That’s not to say that the stress levels and sleep deprivation weren’t off the charts sometimes. (As comedian Amy Poehler, mother of two, put it, “Tired is the new black.”) I’m not ashamed to admit that there were some days early on when I couldn’t wait to get to work.
One reason I felt so confident was that I had a partner in parenting who was completely there for us. Casey was a rock during Kaia’s difficult first year. He was the solo parent on the weekends because I worked Saturday and Sunday. He loved it, even when he threw his back out bouncing Kaia on a medicine ball to try to get her to settle. It helped that we were on the same wavelength. I credit our shared midwestern sensibilities and strong values for getting us through the tough times.
We also talked about our roles and responsibilities. Hard as it is to believe, many couples don’t do this. I have heard the experts advise—and I support this completely—that couples should have the big conversation about shared responsibilities before they get married, and especially before they have kids. We talked and talked. Casey wanted to be fully involved—and he has been. My tendency is to see the scary side of things first, and Casey is much more laid-back and easygoing. When Kaia was going nuts on steroids, he was amazingly calm. Thanks to Casey, we got through it, and I actually flourished in those years at CBS because of his support. I was able to grow in my profession because I knew that he had my back.
Having said that, let’s be real. The truth of the matter for all moms, whether they work outside the home or not, is that most of the parenting responsibilities are on our shoulders. This is partly our fault because we try to be in control and tend to be super critical when our husbands don’t do things exactly our way. We think we can do it better, so we correct our husbands or say, “Oh, forget it. I’ll do it myself.” I put myself in that category, and it’s something I’ve had to work on. It doesn’t matter if the baby is dressed in stripes and polka dots as long as she’s healthy and safe! If we’re going to ask for fifty-fifty cooperation, we have to give up the need to be the boss. Humor doesn’t hurt. When a worried mom asked me at a panel discussion how she could convince her husband to take on more of the chores, I replied—to roars of laughter—“I would recommend a glass of wine and a hot tub.”
These days there’s an ongoing debate about whether women can “have it all,” and I’ve often been asked that question. In fact, the first time was at the Miss America pageant. I was the only one who said no. I didn’t mean that women shouldn’t fully pursue their dreams, only that we need to be honest with ourselves. I’m a person who likes to give 100 percent to everything I do. I want to be the best at my job and as a mother. But I realize I can only give 100 percent in the moment. If I’m at work, am I giving 100 percent to my kids? No. If I’m at home, am I giving 100 percent to my work? No. It’s a balancing act, but worthwhile as long as we don’t kid ourselves that we’re superwomen.
• • •
Undeterred by my fertility challenges, I was plotting my next pregnancy. I was determined to have at least one more child—against all odds. If my eggs were old when I conceived Kaia, they were now really old. I couldn’t fool around. It was now or never.
I found a new fertility doctor, because I wasn’t about to go back to the “donor egg” guy. He did tests and found that my egg count had gotten a little worse, but it was not impossible. When he suggested the tube cleaning test, I looked at him as if he had three heads. N
o way was I going through that awful procedure again! But he assured me he was really good at it. “I promise it won’t hurt.”
“That’s like telling me a gunshot won’t hurt. Explain again why it’s so important.”
He told me that in his experience, a high proportion of women got pregnant within two months of having the test. “It cleans out their tubes, even though they’re open, and it just works.”
That was convincing, but I was still scared.
“Trust me,” he said, and I did.
This time Casey was with me, and I took two Valium. I was awake during the procedure and I watched on a screen as the dye went in. I didn’t feel a thing. And I got pregnant that month.
At first I didn’t know I was pregnant. It was June, and on my birthday I was feeling depressed because I’d spotted that morning. I had the day off, and I went to a nearby diner, ordered tea, and sat there feeling miserable and teary-eyed.
As I sipped my tea, a thought entered my mind that wouldn’t go away. I felt so lousy—maybe I was pregnant. I got up and went to the pharmacy and got a pregnancy test. Casey was taking me out for my birthday that night, and before we left, I went into the bathroom and did the test.
Positive!
Filled with excitement, I got dressed for dinner, deciding I’d give Casey the news at the restaurant. When the waiter took our drink orders, I said, “Just sparkling water.”
Casey looked at me with a raised eyebrow. “Are you pregnant?” he asked. There it was again—the alcohol giveaway.
The story of my pregnancy with Christian is about false positives on tests. The first was my amniocentesis at sixteen weeks. I was told it looked like the fetus had a hole in his spine.
I knew something about this. I’d been volunteering for the March of Dimes since I was sixteen. A hole in the spine meant spina bifida. The doctor assured me it wasn’t conclusive until they performed a second test. I had to wait three weeks, and instead of freaking out, I was strangely calm and focused. I’d just been through a terrible year with Kaia, and I thought, “If I made it through that, I’ll make it through this.” I spent long hours on the phone and the computer, researching spina bifida. I wanted to be prepared for what my family would face.