All My Life (14 page)
I will never forget the sound of the beeping and buzzing machines that he was wired to during those horrible weeks. Five-year-old Liza drew pictures for her new baby brother that we hung up around his isolette so he could see them whenever he opened his little eyes. I put a music box pillow inside with him so he could hear music, too. I did everything I could think of to keep my son comfortable in his otherwise very scary and uncomfortable world.
The doctors administered antibiotics just in case his infection was bacterial and gave him several shots a day to keep his immune system strong. It was heartbreaking to listen to my little baby boy cry. In my desperation, I would fantasize that if I pulled off all of his wires, wrapped him in a cozy blanket, and took him home, he would be okay. Of course, I knew that would have been foolish, but it was how I really felt. In an effort to alleviate unnecessary pain for my son, I asked the doctors if there was another way to administer the antibiotics. They told me they could give him the shots through something called a Hepburn lock. This entailed inserting a device in the baby’s heel so he would be stuck with a needle only that one time. All subsequent doses of medicine would be given to him through that device so he would only feel the pain of the initial insertion and would be spared further pain from daily injections.
I was so grateful that Andreas was at Winthrop Hospital, a facility that not only specialized in, but was at the forefront of, the care of newborn babies.
A few days after Andreas’s situation began to unfold, I met Dr. Paul Twist, a neonatologist who specializes in treating ill or premature newborn babies. Dr. Twist was a tall lanky man who looked more like a basketball player than a doctor. As I spoke to Andreas in his NICU isolette, Dr. Twist came up behind me and whispered in my ear, “Never underestimate the power of what you are doing for your son.” He told me the sensation of my touch and the soothing tone of my voice had tremendous healing power. As fate would have it, a few weeks before Andreas was born, I saw an article in the New York Times science section about how babies in orphanages who aren’t touched enough or don’t have their gaze returned often don’t make it through diseases such as measles the way other babies do. Dr. Twist explained to me that babies get their self-esteem through our gazes and touch, and that is what gives a baby the strength to fight whatever it is he’s fending off.
When he left the nursery, I remember thinking that Dr. Twist was a man of science who was giving credence to a mother’s intuition to make her presence known. I was very grateful he told me all of those things, but I was also in tremendous emotional pain. I couldn’t understand where I had gone wrong. I didn’t drink caffeine or alcohol, didn’t eat the wrong foods, and did everything within my power to give my child the best start in life. Why was my baby so sick? I cried because I felt so bad for somehow letting my baby down. I knew it was typical and quite normal for mothers to blame themselves. You can’t help feeling guilty when you’re watching your newborn struggle.
With no conclusive answers, Andreas was put through a second spinal tap and then subjected to all of the same tests he had already had. When the viral culture finally came back, Andreas was diagnosed with a terrible strain of the flu. Nineteen eighty had been a year when the flu was at epidemic proportions. Quite a few babies who were exposed to the virus that season actually died.
I had continued working throughout my pregnancy, right up to my ninth month. I was completely healthy until the very end. Just before delivering Andreas, however, I remembered that I’d just had a bout with the flu. I nursed Andreas for his first thirty-six hours; if I was still sick, I could have passed the virus on to him. Luckily, my son’s exposure was minimal, and now that we had answers, it was treatable, too.
The nurses who looked after my son were spectacular in every way. They loved and cared for him as if he were one of their own. I don’t know how they do the work they do. I imagine there must be a tremendous rate of emotional burnout because they are caring for very ill newborns. They took care of my son and all of the babies in the nursery because the babies were in need of their love and attention. I have only written one fan letter in my life and it was to the nurses who cared for Andreas. I needed them to know how much I appreciated everything they did for us. I will never be able to truly put into words how much I appreciate the work they do for all families, and especially for the comfort and kindness they showed to my family in our desperate time of need.
Once I was finally able to bring Andreas home, I still had to bring him back to the hospital for monthly checkups with Dr. Twist to be certain there were no long-term effects. Not only were there no lingering issues, but Andreas turned out to be a very happy baby and a gifted boy. Today, he stands at a lofty six foot three inches tall. He picks me up in one arm and carries me like I am a small bag of groceries. You would never know that he struggled to make it during those first three weeks of his life, but I am so very glad he didn’t give up and I am eternally grateful to God.
Andreas has grown into such an outstanding young man. I light up whenever I hear his name. I remember a navy-blue sweater I gave him when he was about two years old. It had the sun, moon, stars, and a rocket ship on the back. I loved that sweater because it represented how he made and still makes me feel. He was such a wonderful baby, with a beautiful disposition. He smiled at people and his laughter was infectious. People often stopped me to say what a nice baby he was. And as gorgeous as my son is on the outside, he is just as gorgeous on the inside. He is so smart and has such a big heart, a great spirit, and a fabulous sense of humor. He is the best son any mother could ever have.
Both of my children spent their summers at our beach house in the Hamptons, where they went to a day-camp program called Junior Sports. I commuted back and forth from Manhattan so they could enjoy their summers even if I had to work. It was always important to me to be there for my children, even if it meant a little less sleep or time for me. (I’m sure many of you can relate to this!)
As parents, Helmut and I both believed it was our job to expose our children to as many wonderful things as we could and then see where their interests lay. We’d do our best to give them lessons or put them in the right place to pursue their curiosities, but we always followed their lead. One summer, Liza went to sleepaway camp near our beach house. Although the camp was only a short distance from our home, she did sleep there instead of coming home so she could enjoy the camaraderie that comes with that experience.
When we were together at the beach, I was just their mother. I would forget that I am also a public personality. The first time we dropped Liza at camp, she asked me to duck down and hide in the car so the other kids or parents wouldn’t see me. It’s not that she was embarrassed to have me as her mother, but she just didn’t want the other kid to know her as “Susan Lucci’s daughter.” So I immediately agreed to duck down on the floor of the car while my husband took her inside. I totally understood how she felt. She wanted to be met on her own terms and as her own person. I had to respect her decision. She went on to enjoy her summer-camp experience very much. I was proud of her in every way.
Andreas spent the summers in the Hamptons learning to swim, playing golf, and meeting lots of girls. Around the age of nine, he was invited to attend a dance at our beach club. He was dressed in a navy blazer and khaki pants. As I was changing to take him to the dance, he came up to me and said, “But, Mommy, I don’t know how to dance!”
“Oh, I am sure you do. You have such good rhythm and you’re a great athlete,” I said. “I am sure you’ll be fine. But just in case, why don’t you come over here and we’ll give it a try.” Then I reached my hand out to grab ahold of his. I taught him the box step in my bedroom that afternoon so he would know that if he asked a girl to dance, he’d be able to do it.
“Andreas, there’s one more thing I’d like you to know before you go to your dance tonight. When you ask a girl to dance, go over to her table and politely ask her if she would like to dance with you and then take her hand to lead her out to the dance floor. And, when you’re finished, remember to walk her back to her seat at the table. Don’t just leave her high and dry. Okay?” I wanted him to know that it is always important to be a gentleman.
When I drove him to the dance that night, there were a dozen or so girls waiting on the front porch of the club. When they saw it was Andreas, they clapped and giggled. They were so cute. I told Andreas to go and have a good time and that I’d be back to pick him up later.
After the dance, Andreas got back into my car.
“How did it go? Did you ask anyone to dance? Did you escort her to and from the dance floor?” I was quizzing him like a typical mother.
“It’s not like that anymore, Mom. The girls ask the boys to dance!” That’s when I knew that my children were definitely growing up in different times.
Like his father, Andreas is an excellent athlete. Growing up, he loved lacrosse, was thirty hours shy of getting his black belt in karate when he was only twelve years old, and showed immense interest in golf. When Andreas was born, it gave Helmut so much pleasure to tell everyone that he now had a son who could play with him in the father-son golf tournaments.
“In twelve years, I’ll have a golf partner. It’s only twelve years, but just wait!” Helmut was giddy with excitement. Little did he know that Andreas would grow up to become a fiercely competitive golfer who would eventually beat his dad on the golf course. By the time Andreas was twelve years old, he had already been asked to play on the high school varsity golf team. He had been playing lacrosse with his friends since he was eight years old, but when he began to do so well in golf, he had to make a choice between the two so he could focus on just one and really excel in it.
One day I picked him up from school and we sat in the car for an hour talking through the pros and cons of his decision. His biggest dilemma was that golf is a solo sport and he thought his lacrosse friends might think he was abandoning them. I explained to Andreas that his friends would understand because they’re his friends first. He ultimately made the choice to play golf and he did really well. He played in many tournaments, making it to the USGA Junior Amateur quarter-finals when he was seventeen. That particular tournament was televised on ESPN. Helmut was there with him, but I couldn’t attend because I was shooting a movie on location in Toronto. I was so grateful to be able to watch him play in between takes. Even though Andreas was frustrated by his performance—he finished in the top eight—it was an extraordinary achievement.
Golf is a sport where you have to compete and succeed every week, especially if you have ambitions to make it to the PGA. You have to have the grace of a dancer, the strength of an athlete, and the mind of a chess player.
Andreas was showing tremendous promise. He and Helmut shared such a passion for the sport. Ultimately, Helmut and I realized we had a child with an outstanding ability who had the desire and drive to pursue it. Because we felt he was too young to travel by himself to tournaments, Helmut became Andreas’s personal valet and travel partner.
I tried not to attend the tournaments on a regular basis because I wanted my son to have his privacy. I didn’t want the attention focused on his mother’s presence. I wanted it aimed at his incredible talent. And, to be fair, Andreas didn’t need the extra pressure of having me there and having to hear, “Did you see his mother?”
By the time Andreas attended college, he had been recruited by the very best, including Stanford. When he received that invitation, I didn’t think he was going to look any further. I secretly wanted to be one of those mothers who told her son he could go to school anywhere as long as it was east of the Mississippi, but when the time came, I had no parameters. My feeling was that Andreas had to choose the college he attended on his own. My parents told me that choosing a college is the first major life-changing decision that you make for yourself. I thought they were right, so I gave both of my children the same freedom my parents gave to me. When we visited Stanford, for whatever reason, Andreas decided it wasn’t home. It wasn’t where he wanted to live for the next four years. He finally chose Georgetown, where he could golf and represent his school in collegiate play. As a freshman, he won the Big East Championship and Georgetown Invitational. My son had gone on to become both a scholar and an athlete.
It took Erica Kane years to discover the joys of motherhood, but these were things I felt from the moment I knew I was pregnant, and really understood when they placed my firstborn baby in my arms. Children are not possessions. They are our treasure. They’re entrusted to us, and the best thing we can do is to fully help them to become who they want to be and to become the best they can be. After I became a mother, my number one priority was raising my children. And I have to admit that I didn’t do it alone. Far from it. There were so many people along the way who helped me be the best parent I could be so my children would come out unscathed while I kept working at my career.
I could never have become the mother I did without sharing parenthood with my husband. Something I came to admire about Helmut, and even about my father over the years, is that they both grew up without a father who was present in their lives, yet they were both such good fathers themselves. This is such a fine trait to find in a husband. To be a good parent means you have to be present in your children’s lives. I realized that my children would grow up asking questions about life that I wanted to be around to answer. I didn’t want to miss a single moment. When I couldn’t be there with them because of work, I made sure a piece of me was with them at all times. I planned their menus so that I could be in charge of their good nutrition and so they would know I was thinking about them. If I couldn’t be home to cook for them, I always found a creative way to be their mother and nurture them. Still, there was a lot of doubt and insecurity, especially when my schedule at work changed. By the time Liza was two and half years old, my schedule at the show went from working three days a week to five days a week. I was worried that the extra hours at the studio would negatively impact her, and later, Andreas, too.
