All My Life

by Susan Lucci

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  It was wonderful to have Liza there on the ice with me, skating around as I shot my scenes, but it was such a cold day that I worried she might get frostbite. The director asked everyone to stay on the ice to do another take, although one of the producers came over to me and said it would be okay if Liza wanted to go inside. When I told her she didn’t have to stay with me in the cold, she turned to me and said, “No, Mommy. The pernouncer said we have to stay on the ice.” And that just about sums up my daughter, who is and always has been so independent, capable, and strong. She was such a trouper and always has been.

  It felt like it was just a blink of an eye between then and the day I found myself driving Liza to college in 1993. She was attending the University of North Carolina in Chapel Hill. Liza and I are as close as mother and daughter can be. I was very sad that she was going to be living so far away. Helmut and I drove her from our home in New York so we could help her get settled. As we were leaving, Liza stood in front of her dormitory waving good-bye to us. There was my darling girl, so smart yet vulnerable at the same time, getting ready to start the next phase of her life. I continued to look at her as we drove away until her image faded in the distance.

  It broke our hearts when we had to return home without her. Helmut and I both felt like we were in mourning. I knew at that moment that I needed to stop and see my best friend and the godparents to both of my children, Patty, and her husband, David. Thankfully they live in Washington, D.C., which was on our way home. I called from the road to say we were coming. When Patty opened the door, I fell into her arms and broke down into tears. I don’t remember her walking me to the sofa, but I sat there and cried for hours.

  Patty’s daughters Emily and Katie are a little younger than Liza, and they are my “fairy God-daughters.” When they saw me so distraught, they turned to their mother and said, “We will never go away to college, Mommy. We will go to school right here in Washington.” Those girls, Emily and Katie, made me smile as they distracted me from my otherwise broken heart.

  I often imagined what Liza was going to be when she grew up. I knew from an early age that she had loads of talent. I thought she might become a dancer or choreographer because she was a natural and that’s how she played. She was always putting together shows for her friends to be in. She was especially unique for her age because she had the ability to see the larger view of things, even when she was as young as eight years old. She would see more than the dance, the word on the page, the lyrics to a song, or the music that was playing around her. She instinctively got the big picture. That is the trait of a born director. She enjoyed every part of the process of performing, so I knew she’d want to do something related to it. I had no idea what it would end up being, though.

  When she was eleven years old, she began to show a strong interest in acting. She had a wonderful drama teacher at her school who agreed that Liza had something special.

  Liza set her sights on auditioning for her school production of Annie, which is not an easy musical to do because the lead character, Little Orphan Annie, sings throughout the show and the music isn’t easy. Liza hadn’t done anything like that before. The audition process lasted for nearly a month. She practiced every day on our sunporch, teaching herself the songs from the show so she would be ready.

  Liza’s teacher was very smart in guiding her throughout the process. She didn’t want there to be any prejudice for or against Liza because she was the daughter of an actress. She had each little girl put on a red wig and anonymously sing to the people who were casting the part. Liza did a great job and had tremendous natural instincts. She had rehearsed standing on a platform, pretending it was the stage. When it came time for her audition, there was no platform present. But she instinctively knew where to stand without missing a beat. We were absolutely thrilled when she was selected to play Annie.

  I sat in on her rehearsals whenever I could. I wore dark glasses so she wouldn’t see me tearing up. One day she finally said to me, “Mom, even though you are wearing those glasses, I can see the tears!” I was so filled with joy and appreciation for her talent. It was heartwarming to watch my daughter blossom into a fine actress.

  She subsequently did many plays in community theater and at her school. She ended up studying communications in college, where she continued to learn about acting on both sides of the camera, and about writing, too. My interest has always, and only, been in performing. Even when I was forced to direct at Marymount, I had to exercise every ounce of self-control within me to focus on the entire creative process and not the acting. I enjoyed it, but not nearly as much as I did performing. But Liza was spreading her wings much wider than I ever did so she could test the waters to see where she wanted to swim.

  Liza made her official television debut in the 1995 Lifetime original movie I starred in called Ebbie. The movie was a loose remake of Scrooge, where I played a woman who, like the original Ebenezer, didn’t have an appreciation for Christmas or the holiday season. Liza also appeared with me in a Ford car commercial. It was about that time that Liza made it clear she had been bitten by the acting bug. In 1999, she was cast as Gwen Hotchkiss on a new daytime soap called Passions. In 2000, Liza was asked to be Miss Golden Globe, an honor the Golden Globes gives each year to the daughter of a celebrity. This is an honor that is usually extended to second-or third-generation actresses, and usually to someone who is from the Hollywood film community. We were completely shocked and delighted that the Hollywood Foreign Press Association decided my daughter would receive this title, because my career had only been New York–based. I was so proud that she was asked and extremely proud of how she conducted herself throughout that show and in everyday life. Liza chose her own gown for the awards ceremony, a pale green halter dress, and she looked like a tall, blond Greek goddess. She wore her hair pulled back and looked absolutely gorgeous. Liza’s job was to escort everyone who came on and off the stage. She walked with dignity and grace as she showed tremendous warmth to each person she came into contact with that night.

  Five years after giving birth to my daughter, I became pregnant once again. My due date was February 29, 1980. Yes, it was a leap year. Recalling how difficult it was for me to deliver Liza naturally, my doctors suggested that I have a planned C-section for this delivery, which they thought would be less traumatic for both my baby and me. They gave me the choice of delivering on February 28, February 29, or March 1. Helmut and I discussed the options and decided to wait until the date got closer so we could be certain that the baby’s lungs were fully developed and that there would be less chance of complications. I wanted the baby sooner rather than later, but like my pregnancy with Liza, I didn’t want to know if I was having a boy or a girl. I wanted the element of surprise. When the baby was tested, its lungs were healthy and strong, so on February 28, 1980, I went into the hospital to give birth to my second child, a bouncing baby boy we named Andreas.

  Initially, everything seemed fine. He was a little sleepier than Liza had been, but other than that, he was perfect. Thirty-six hours after Andreas was born, the nurses came to me and said, “Mrs. Huber. Do not be alarmed, but we will not be bringing the baby in to see you this evening.”

  Needless to say, I was alarmed. Every warning bell in my body went off. The nurses explained to me that Andreas was being held in the “A” nursery just down the hall and I could go see him if I wanted to. Thankfully, I was recovering more quickly from my delivery than expected, so I was able to get out of bed and make the walk there with an IV on wheels. I ran—no, I flew—down the hallway so I could look through the window and see my son. When I arrived at the nursery, there were several doctors standing over Andreas, examining his tiny little body. I asked one of the nurses what they were doing. She explained that when my son had been in the main nursery, one of the other nurses noticed that he was turning blue around his mouth while drinking the supplementary water they often give to newborns. It’s not uncommon for babies to have an uneven complexion, but thi
s particular nurse saw something more, as if something was wrong. I am eternally grateful to her for her astute observations, as she literally ended up saving my son’s life.

  The doctors on duty weren’t sure what was causing the discoloration, so they ran every test they could to help provide an answer.

  “We want to do a spinal tap on Andreas,” they said. These were not the words I had been hoping to hear.

  I looked around, trying to make a decision about what to do when I noticed Dr. Greensher standing in the main nursery. He was the pediatrician I used to take Liza to before he left his practice to become the head of pediatrics at the hospital. I went into that nursery to ask him if he would look at my baby and what he thought I should do. We didn’t know what was wrong with my son and I didn’t know the doctors who were treating him, so I asked if he would consider taking a look at Andreas. Dr. Greensher immediately agreed. When he came out of the nursery, he said he thought Andreas should have the spinal tap. I wasn’t allowed in the room while the doctors did the procedure, but I am sure it wasn’t a pleasant experience for my little boy. I was assured he wouldn’t feel a thing, but I knew that the staff was just trying to comfort me in any way that they could.

  When they finished, they put Andreas in something that resembled a space capsule so they could take pictures of his heart from every angle. From there, Andreas was placed in an oxygen tent called an isolette and kept in intensive care until we could get some conclusive answers. I was told it could take as long as three weeks to get the viral culture results. As you can imagine, that was an eternity to have to wait.

  When my daughter was born, everything was picture-perfect. We spent a couple of routine days in the hospital and then took her home. I had no idea that just down the hall from the blissful nursery where she rested there existed a whole different world for parents of children with complications. I didn’t know anything about this other side of childbirth until Andreas was born.

  The hospital staff was exceptionally caring and understanding. Parents were allowed to visit their babies anytime of the day or night. I was required to scrub like a surgeon, put on a surgical mask, and wear a gown over my clothes before entering the unit. I also wore special gloves so I could reach through the tiny porthole in the isolette Andreas was in. I wanted him to feel my touch. Every time I reached through the hole, he grabbed on to my finger and held it tight. I talked to him for hours at a time so he would know I was there. It was awful to see my baby with wires attached to his tiny little body. I ached with worry that his first impression of this world was of plastic and metal.

  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.