That night Will and I were supposed to go to a couples’ Bible study at one of our friends’ houses. This was the first meeting. I had done so many Bible studies in my life, but Will never had. Our friends didn’t live far from us, so Will and I walked there. On our way I said, “I need to stop by our church to drop off some muffins for our church dinner [where we feed our homeless community].” I planned ahead and had even bought some muffins at the store earlier in the day. I just had this image of telling Will my news inside our church since this was an answer to so many prayers.
Will did not suspect a thing. He just said okay, and we wandered over to the church. We were already late, which made the moment more stressful than I had hoped. When we arrived at the church, the front doors were locked. No one was there. I acted surprised, which wasn’t hard to do because I was. Since we could not go inside I turned to him on the front steps of the church and handed him the small, gift-wrapped box I’d hidden in my pocket. “What’s this?” Will asked.
“Open it,” I said.
He pulled out the spoon and looked at it, puzzled.
“It’s a spoon,” I said. “A baby spoon.”
“What?” Will said, and then it hit him.
“Yes, we’re having a baby!” I said. We hugged and celebrated the moment. As we walked down the streets of New York, toward our Bible study, the two of us talked about everything going through our minds. Will it be a boy or a girl? What will we name him? What will we name her? Can we afford private schools? We’re going to need a bigger place! We talked about everything, we were just so excited. However, we had to gather ourselves and act like everything was normal when we arrived at our friends’ house. We knew better than to tell anyone (other than family) until after we heard the baby’s heartbeat and knew that everything was okay.
At eight weeks I went to the doctor and Will came with me. Eight weeks is a huge milestone. That’s when you have your first ultrasound and get to hear your baby’s heartbeat. Will held my hand as my doctor maneuvered the scope back and forth until it settled on just the right place. For the first time we could see our baby on the monitor and we heard the unmistakable swish, swish, swish of our child’s heartbeat. I was absolutely giddy. Will had tears in his eyes. He pulled out his phone and we recorded the sound. I had never heard anything so precious in my life. We were really having a baby.
My doctor measured the baby and asked when I thought we’d conceived. She said the baby was measuring the size of a six-week-old not an eight-week-old. We didn’t think anything of it and she didn’t act surprised. As soon as we left her office we called everyone in the family. Will and I walked down First Avenue, talking to our parents on the phone and letting them hear their grandchild’s heartbeat. The moment was one I never wanted to forget.
Before we left her office my doctor told us that she wanted to see us again in two weeks. She said something more about the baby’s size. “Come back at ten weeks and we’ll hear the heartbeat again.” Perhaps we should have read more into her words, but we didn’t. This was all brand-new to us. As far as we knew, everything was perfectly normal.
Our first hint that there might be a problem came during our ten-week visit. “I’ve had two other patients today that are going through what you’re going through,” she said, “and you know, it wasn’t successful for them but I’m hoping we get good news for you.”
I looked at Will and he looked at me. Neither of us knew what to think. My heart sank. “What do you mean you’ve had two other patients going through this? What are we going through?” I asked.
“Well, the size of your baby was small for where you should be. So let’s have a look and let’s see if we hear a heartbeat,” she said. When she saw the shock in Will’s and my faces she added, “I’m sure we’re going to hear a heartbeat.”
But we didn’t.
Will held my hand as sadness and reality washed over both of us. My doctor kept moving the scope back and forth. We could see our baby, but we didn’t hear the sweet swish, swish, swish we’d heard two weeks earlier. We were silent and so was the ultrasound. I’d lost my precious baby. The official term is miscarriage. The word does not convey what you feel as you hear your doctor say the word to you. I put my hand on my stomach knowing that I had a baby inside of me that I could not protect and could not save. “I’m sorry,” my doctor said.
I felt a peace come over me that had to be from God. “We prayed for a healthy baby and God answered our prayers.” By that, I meant (for whatever reason) our baby was not going to be healthy here on earth, so my heavenly Father took my child to be in heaven with Him where she would be positively perfect. There this child is completely pure and healthy, with no pain or ailments, and in His presence forever. I didn’t just hope this. I knew it. I know it still.
My doctor of nearly ten years was very compassionate as she explained the next steps. She scheduled an operation to remove my lifeless child. Even though my baby was now in the arms of my Jesus, a sense of despair washed over me knowing that I was going to be separated from my loving child until we meet someday in heaven. At the same time I wanted to put this behind me so that we could try again as soon as possible.
When we left the office, we made the very difficult calls home. I called my parents and Will called his. This child was both sets of parents’ first grandchild. A few days later my dad sent me an e-mail telling me he’d been praying for me. He also said he’d been on his knees for days asking God why this had happened. I didn’t realize until that moment how hard this must be on them too. They had been just as excited as I was about this child.
After the operation, the hospital conducted genetic testing on my baby to try to understand why I had miscarried. We also wanted to know if this was a problem that might keep me from ever carrying a baby to term. The test revealed that by a fluke my baby had an extra chromosome. The chances that this might happen again were very slim. I was relieved. However, I had one more question. I asked the nurse who called to tell me the test results, “Can you tell me the sex of the baby?”
The nurse hesitated. “Are you sure you want to know?” she asked.
“Without a doubt,” I said. I needed to know if I had a son or a daughter in heaven waiting for me.
“You were going to have a little girl,” she said.
I had a dream a short time later. In it I was back at my dad’s mother’s house and my grandmother was lying on a bed on their back porch. The dream was so vivid, like I was actually there, even though my grandmother had passed away several years earlier. In my dream I was sobbing because I knew she was dying. I put my hand on top of her hands. I can still see her hands. She always had perfectly manicured nails. My sister then laid her hands on top of mine, then my mother came in and held our hands as well. All of us wept because we knew the end was near. Before I said good-bye I told my grandmother that I was going to have a baby. Even though she was so weak she perked up and was so excited. She didn’t speak but when I woke up I felt as though my grandmother had reassured me: “I will take care of this little girl and she will be with me until we are all together again.”
Some might say that this was just a dream, but I believe God sometimes gives us reassurances to carry us through difficult days. Looking back, I sometimes wonder why my baby girl had a defect that took her life so soon. But I also rest in the knowledge that God loves me just as He loves my baby girl. I don’t know why He wanted her in heaven with Him, but I find great comfort in knowing that that is exactly where she is and I will go to her someday. My miscarriage—I missed carrying my baby—took me through the darkest valley, the valley of the shadow of death, and even there, God was with me.
15
Life Is Full of Surprises
I have told you these things so that in me you may have peace. In this world you will have trouble. But take heart. I have overcome the world.
—JOHN 16:33
ABOUT A MONTH after losing my baby I had to have a second surgery related to my miscarriage. My doctor w
orked me in on the very morning I was going home for the Christmas break. I didn’t want to delay the operation because that would delay the possibility of getting pregnant again. It took eight months to get pregnant the first time. I hated to think how long it might take a second time.
I know many women go through this and everyone has a different experience. For me, I knew God was going to bless me with a baby eventually. I just did. I was confident in that. I never doubted God. The reason why is that I was exhausted. I was tired of trying to do things my way and knew it was time to give God the reins once and for all. I asked Him to bless me when He was ready. At this point in my life I had surrendered all. I constantly reminded myself that God saw the future and His timing was perfect. There was a peace. I knew He was going to give me the perfect child for me when He was ready and I couldn’t wait to one day be a mother.
Will and I immediately wanted to start trying to conceive again, but by late January 2015 we decided to take a break. The stress and disappointment were taking a toll. The two of us just needed to step back, catch our breath, and work on other parts of our relationship for a while. For nearly a solid year we’d been so focused on having a baby. We needed to focus on us.
One night in early March, Will and I went out to eat at a Mexican restaurant with another anchor at Fox News and her husband. The four of us had a good time just talking and laughing. We told them we were taking a break from trying to have a baby. But when I woke up the next day I started counting days and realized I should probably take a pregnancy test. I called Will and asked him to pick one up on his way home from work. I casually took the test, waited and then —in shock—I called out, “Will, you need to come in here.”
The two of us looked at the test and the word pregnant looked back at us. We were going to have a baby.
As excited as I was to see this, I was not able to relax or tell anyone until we knew our baby was healthy and growing inside of me. Thankfully, every doctor’s appointment brought good news. At eight weeks I visited my OB-GYN. We heard our baby’s heartbeat and got to see our child on the ultrasound. My doctor asked if we wanted to know the sex of the baby, but we told her we did not. We are traditionalists and wanted to be surprised on the day our child came into the world and announce the baby’s sex in front of our family.
Even though all the news from my doctor was positive, I remained hesitant to tell my family. I didn’t want to disappoint them later. So I kept our secret. One month turned into two. Two months turned into three. Each appointment brought positive news and I was ready to tell my parents. Mother’s Day was a month away. It was never an easy day for my mom, as she missed her own mother terribly. So I decided to share the positive news on a day that was usually plagued with sadness. I made copies of two ultrasound pictures, bought a card that read “Happy Mother’s Day, Grandmother,” and sent it off to South Carolina. I told my mom not to open it early.
On Mother’s Day I made sure my phone was charged, the ringer was on, and the volume was up. The hours dragged on and my mom and dad never called. I finally called her at night and told her to open her gift. It seemed like eternity. She had to find her glasses and slowly proceeded to open the package. She said my dad was downstairs and continued to tell me about an event they had attended that night. I was so anxious and excited that I didn’t hear anything she said. Finally she opened the card, read it out loud in a confused voice, and saw the ultrasound pictures. She said, “Are you having a baby?”
I said, “Yes, ma’am. You are going to be a grandmother.”
She started screaming. I heard her call my father upstairs and together they started asking me question after question. “How far along are you? Is everything okay? Did you hear the heartbeat? What did the doctor say? Are you feeling okay? When are you due?” It was worth the wait to be able to assure them that our baby, their grandchild, would be arriving in November and he or she was healthy, according to our doctor. This pregnancy was the answer to a prayer.
I still waited to mention anything on air about my pregnancy, but viewers began to suspect when they saw me gaining weight. Eventually my body’s changes made it impossible to keep my secret. One morning on Fox & Friends First I was wearing a blue dress and had my scripts in front of my stomach. When I made the announcement, I pulled the papers away and proudly revealed my new, little baby bump. I showed the ultrasound picture (one of the ones I sent to my mom in her Mother’s Day card). I joked that I thought she was praying and my husband thought he was holding a football.
The response from viewers was overwhelming. I received so many congratulatory messages and felt like our viewing audience was truly excited for me. I felt like we were going through the process together. I love those who choose to watch Fox News daily. They are my family. They keep me employed. They cheer me on and I want the best for them. Sharing the news with my Fox News family, colleagues and viewers, was just as exciting as sharing it with my biological family.
IT SEEMS THAT when God gives us blessings, He brings them in bunches. He did for me. While I had hoped that the blessings might come in the form of twins (Mom always wanted twins and so did I), it was not to be. However, every time I went to the doctor, I asked her to search for another heartbeat. I just knew God would give our family twins. But that was not His plan. God continued to bless me in other ways.
Years earlier, when I lived in San Antonio, an idea came to me during the middle of a church service. It sort of surprised me because my heart and mind were focused on the worship songs and the pastor’s message, yet the idea popped into my head that I should write a children’s book. Keep in mind, I had never before even considered this. Both my mother and my sister were early-childhood-development teachers. If anyone in the family was going to write a children’s book I always assumed it would be one of them. Yet this idea kept growing inside of me until it felt like a calling, like it was something God wanted me to do. I responded and said, “Okay, God, if You want me to do this then I will do it. I turn the whole thing over to You.” My mind started turning over story ideas, most of which revolved around trees, but nothing ever really came of it. A short time later I received the call from Fox News, moved to New York, and got too busy to think about it.
However, the conviction that I needed to write a children’s book never went away. I continued praying about the idea and asking God for His direction. I knew God would prepare me for the perfect time. He eventually did.
I sat down, put pen to paper and wrote a children’s book about something that was near and dear to my heart—one of my dogs. I had two Yorkies in Texas that moved with me to New York. Sassy was my first one. The experts would say she was perfect. She looked like a show dog—beautiful with a round, bear face, wide, gorgeous, brown eyes, and a precious, large personality. At a whopping four pounds, she was the quintessential alpha dog. Sassy did what Sassy wanted to do. She loved being around people and was not a happy camper when I left her alone.
I felt guilty leaving her at home during the day and decided she needed a friend. I called the breeder in South Carolina and he told me that Sassy’s mother had had more puppies and he had a male Yorkie. Without hesitation I said, “I want him.” My best friend picked him up and put him on a plane bound for Texas. When he arrived in San Antonio I was there to meet him at the airport and instantly fell in love. He looked nothing like Sassy, and to be frank, I wasn’t even sure he was a Yorkie. I am still convinced he had a little Chihuahua in him. Regardless, he was mine and I fell in love instantly.
Saks only grew to be two pounds four ounces. He was never able to play or really keep up with Sassy. He was more like her puppy. She didn’t need him, but he needed and relied on her. He was our little lover. He wanted to be with us constantly, slept on my chest or wrapped around my neck like a scarf every night, and worshiped Sassy. He had some health problems, which meant he was going to have a shorter life-span. Therefore, I held him close and cherished every moment.
After I moved to New York and walked Sassy and Sa
ks on the streets people always stopped me. They would pet Sassy and then, always, make a comment about Saks’s size. “Wow! He looks like a rat.” “He is so tiny. Are you sure he is really a dog?” Sometimes I had to carry him (his legs looked like chicken bones and he walked/ran at a slant) and people would say, “Who’s walking who?” I coddled him and loved him like a baby.
No one, other than our family, understood Saks. He didn’t act or look like most dogs. He had so much to offer, but most didn’t quite get him, and I wanted them to. So I thought it would be a good idea to write a children’s book about him. I thought God could use Saks’s story to help children understand that we are all worthy of love and have strengths. Therefore, I wrote a book about a little dog who gets bullied at the dog park and how he overcomes it.
Finally, the book was written. I had my story. What was I going to do with it? I first read it to my mom and my sister. Since, between them, they had nearly forty-five years of experience in the classroom, I thought they’d be a good test audience. Both of them loved it. Now, I am wise enough to know that a mom’s opinion of her child’s work is not always the most objective, so I took my book to my agent, who also loved it. She was with a large agency, but did not work in the world of publishing. Thankfully, her agency had a literary division and she connected me with one of the agents. When the literary agent said she also loved the story I thought I might be onto something.
The process of getting a book published is far more complicated than I ever imagined. My literary agent began setting up meetings with publishing houses. The first house with whom I met rejected the book. They had enough dog stories in their catalog, they said. We then went to Simon & Schuster. That first meeting could not have gone better. I went into a conference room with a banquet table full of women. We clicked right from the start. One asked me to read my story, which I did. I have to admit that I was a little nervous. Even though this was a children’s book with animals for characters, there was a lot of myself in the story. I prayed while I was reading it that it would touch them, and their reaction put me completely at ease.
The Light Within Me Page 14