Special Heart: A Journey of Faith, Hope, Courage and Love Page 13
Growing up, my mom played a huge role in my life, and like Barbie with Amy, I am sure it must have been heartbreaking for her to see her child suffering as his own first child was holding on for dear life. Both Barbie and Pat were, once again, moms to their children, helping in any and every way they possibly could, always with smiles and tons of encouragement along the way.
Because Amy and I would typically stay in the CICU until ten or eleven at night, one of the grandmas would normally take the early morning shift with Paulie, arriving at Children’s sometimes as early as 6:00 a.m. After our stop at the Starbucks near our condo, Amy and I would arrive at Children’s a little later, around 8:00 or 9:00 a.m. Around noontime, the grandma not pulling early morning duty would typically arrive at the hospital with lunch for everyone. If Amy or I needed a break to catch some dinner or go back to the condo to take a shower or change clothes, one of the Brigade would cover for us at Paulie’s bedside while we were away.
Once we returned from dinner, we would cut members of the Brigade loose so they could get some rest. The cycle would begin all over again the next morning around 6:00 a.m. It was blue-collar shift work pure and simple, designed to fulfill Amy’s desire to have a family member with Paulie during as many hours as possible.
Over the next several weeks at Children’s, the Brigade was happy to welcome various other recruits who flew into town to report for duty. Amy’s older brother, Tom, and his wife, Darby, flew in from Chicago. And Amy was completely thrilled when her twin brother, Dan, was able to visit all the way from Colorado. Being twins, Amy and Dan have a unique, unspoken bond I suppose only they can fully appreciate. Dan’s a big, strong guy, and knowing how deeply connected they are, I have often thought that when Amy got mad at me for something, Dan was probably mad at me, too, all the way over in Colorado. That’s how strong their bond is. It meant the world to Amy to be able to see Dan rocking with Paulie, wires and all, in the now familiar blue rocker next to the medical bassinet.
My younger brother, Tim, also came in from North Carolina. My only sibling, Tim had followed me into broadcasting and was working as the weekend sports anchor for SportsNight at News 14 Carolina in Charlotte, North Carolina. Tim was ecstatic when I first told him the news of Paulie’s birth on Friday afternoon. One day later, on Saturday night, he was covering the U.S. Women’s Open at Pine Needles Golf Club in Southern Pines when I called to tell him about Paulie’s heart complications.
Paulie was Tim’s first nephew, and knowing my brother I am sure he was already thinking about all the great uncle-nephew trouble he would be able to get in when Paulie got a little older. The news about Paulie’s heart condition hit Tim, who was preparing for a 10:00 p.m. live shot when I called, really hard. Through the phone line I could tell he was completely devastated. First thing Monday morning Tim hit the road and drove from North Carolina to be with us in D.C.
Along with having family members around for encouragement and moral support, it was extremely helpful to have extra sets of hands to hold Paulie, run errands for us, or do any number of things that needed to be done those first few weeks. Amy’s MO was to always be one of the two legal people by Paulie’s bedside. Unless she had to leave to pump milk or use the restroom, that is pretty much where she stayed day and night. Although I always had dibs on the second legal spot, I would trade off with other family members so they could cycle in and spend time with Paulie and Amy.
Amazingly, Amy’s calmness and strength during those first days at Children’s seemed to be directly related to the amount of time she spent with Paulie, whispering to him, softly singing to him, touching his skin, and, of course, holding him. Amy found an incredible amount of joy and peace just being by his side. At a few days old, Paulie obviously wasn’t saying much to us by way of encouragement or thanks for being there with him. But somehow, through his resilient spirit and sheer force of will, it was almost as if he was running the whole show, sending out his own positive vibes to keep the rest of us energized, upbeat, and on the job.
Paulie’s healing effect on Amy was real and not just romantic, touchy-feely mother-baby stuff, either. The more she could physically be with Paulie, the healthier, more energized—even less tired—she seemed to be. It was almost as if Paulie had some kind of secret energy source Amy had tapped into. With Amy emotionally and spiritually healthier by simply being near Paulie, the effect rubbed off on me as well. Paulie was keeping Amy calm. Amy was keeping me calm. And that, in turn, helped us keep the atmosphere—our protective shield—around Paulie hopeful and upbeat.
Let’s face it: that first week at Children’s was one gigantic family-style stress test. But with Paulie doing his job keeping his mother peaceful, even joyous, it not only affected the way Amy and I were interacting with each other, it allowed us to get out of our own heads once in a while and even reach out to the caregivers who were helping us and some other parents with their own children in the CICU.
Along with all the practical and emotional support we got from our families that week, Amy and I also received a ton of e-mails from concerned family members who couldn’t be there with us, friends, and my coworkers at Fox.
Amy truly appreciated the prayers and good thoughts coming our way from across the country, but she was in such a special zone nurturing Paulie, she left it up to me to handle all the electronic communications, incoming and outgoing. Almost as though she was lying low in a high-tech spy movie, Amy was completely off the communications grid that week. The rest of the world was simply going to have to wait a few weeks before she decided to log back in.
I, however, was a completely different case. Whenever I was away from Paulie’s bedside I was reading and responding to the steady stream of good wishes and prayers filling my Blackberry in-box at a now constant rate. When word started getting out about Paulie’s heart condition, that steady stream quickly developed into a gusher.
After sending out my group mail early Sunday morning before we first left for Children’s, I must have received three hundred e-mail responses from coworkers at Fox, people I grew up with, schoolmates from Marist and DePauw, professional colleagues, and various other folks I had met over the years. I also received many special notes from several of my competitors/friends at the Pentagon and the White House: Jack McWethy of ABC, Jim Miklaszewski of NBC, and Jamie McIntyre of CNN, to name a few.
I am not sure how it happened, but we even received an e-mail from a priest at the Vatican who said he was praying for us. Whether divinely inspired, a Kevin Bacon Six Degrees of Separation, or simply the daily miracles of the Internet doing what it does best, I truly believed all those positive messages and thoughts were having an effect.
After sending out my Sunday morning e-mail message, one of the first responses I received was from my former Fox News colleague and White House press secretary Tony Snow. Short and to the point like the succinct writer he was, Tony’s note captured the spirit, tenor, and tone of hundreds I received during that first week at Children’s:
July 1, 2007, 7:52 AM, Sunday
To: Bret Baier
Subject: Re: Not as we expected…
Prayers up, buddy. God bless.
Tony
That short, to-the-point message was especially meaningful because I knew Tony was not only a person of faith, he was no stranger to hospitals and fears about the unknown. Just two years earlier, while he was still anchoring Fox News Sunday on the Fox broadcast network, Tony was diagnosed with cancer of the colon. His mother had died of the same disease at the age of thirty-eight, so Tony surely knew what he was up against.
But after six months of treatment, Tony’s doctors told him the cancer had gone into remission. Then in April 2006, Tony left the network to become chief spokesman for President George W. Bush. After almost a year at the White House, Tony’s cancer returned and had spread to his liver. Tony made the decision to undergo an intensive, aggressive chemo regimen that took him away from the White House for more than a month.
After being away for five ful
l weeks, and just two months before Paulie was born, Tony returned to the White House briefing room to robust and heartfelt applause from all the gathered reporters, including me. It was an incredibly powerful day to be in that briefing room. Despite all the huge news moments that have occurred there over the years, the day Tony returned is one I will never forget. Network news reporters, producers, cameramen, radio broadcasters, and veteran newspaper and wire reporters alike were all moved by Tony’s triumphant return and the amazing spirit and courage he displayed.
“Not everybody will survive cancer, but on the other hand, you have got to realize you’ve got the gift of life. So make the most of it,” Tony said.
He went on to talk about the roles faith and prayer were playing in his battle. “Anybody who does not believe that thoughts and prayers make a difference, they’re just wrong,” he proclaimed. “I won’t tell you how it’s going to work out, because I don’t know. But we obviously feel optimistic. And faith, hope, and love are a big part of all of it.”
Tony also told everyone in the room that if they ever found themselves in similar circumstances to make sure they didn’t try to go it alone: “The support I’ve received from you and from my colleagues at the White House and people around the country has been an enormous source of strength. There’s no way to quantify it, but you feel it. You feel it in your heart. And in many ways, that may be the most important organ for recovery. To have the kind of spirit and to realize that, in my case, I’m unbelievably lucky and unbelievably blessed—and really happy to be back.”
Caught up in that special moment with all my colleagues, I am sure some of Tony’s insights washed over me that day. Now, just two short months later, and on the receiving end of similarly intentioned good wishes and prayers, I knew exactly what he was talking about. As distraught as Amy and I were about the overall situation with Paulie, surely our newfound energy and good spirits were not all self-generated simply because we willed ourselves to be positive. It was much deeper than that. In many ways during that first week at Children’s, I sensed we were being carried along and cushioned by support provided by those who were praying for us.
It’s one thing to say “I’m praying for you” to simply and honestly offer encouragement to those facing particular challenges so they know they are not alone in their fight. However, in light of Tony’s joyous example and the way he was handling his cancer with an almost otherworldly spirit and grace, I was convinced the prayers and good thoughts on our behalf were making a difference. As Tony said, there was no way to quantify or measure their power.
Fully aware that our Paulie had life-threatening heart disease, there is no way to explain the peace, joy, and calmness Amy and I had in our hearts during much of that time of turmoil and heartache. On a purely human level it made no sense at all. There’s no other way to explain it other than the pure grace of God and all those folks who had been praying for us.
Even as I write this it is difficult to accurately describe being on the receiving end of the prayers and positive thoughts people were sending our way during those days. One particular e-mail I received really got my attention, especially later when I had time to reflect on its full meaning and specific timing. The note came from my mom’s brother, Jim Savard, a retired professional pilot living in Colorado.
July 1, 2007, 2:11 PM, Sunday
Subject: GOD—FAITH…
To: Bret Baier
Dear Amy, Bret, and Paul,
Paul, today at 10:54 Mountain Time over 2,500 folks said a prayer for you. The folks were attending the 10:30 service at Cherry Hills Community Church in Highlands Ranch, Colorado. The passage today concentrated on the Book of Daniel, and specifically on the fact that our success is in the Hands of God and we must have Faith.
Amy, Bret, and little Paul—HAVE FAITH! God Bless!
Warmest regards,
Jim Savard
Very spiritually minded, Jim took my early Sunday morning request for prayer to heart, and just a few hours later he shared it with members of his local church in Colorado. About the same time Jim’s church was praying for us, two thousand miles to the east, the Baier-Hills clan was in the midst of its all-American family meltdown in the CICU waiting room.
After Amy’s collapse and our trip to the Children’s emergency room, we were at emotional rock bottom. Amy and I both felt lost and alone, in a 2007 version of our own modern-day lion’s den. Safe to say, at that precise moment I wasn’t feeling superconfident God was down there in that ER with us. Then, suddenly, as if someone reached down, flipped a switch, and gave us an infusion of energy and clarity, Amy and I made our “one day closer” pact and our decision to be positive and forward-thinking.
Right then and there in that ER we decided we were going to trust the doctors, trust God, stop being victims, wait for Dr. Jonas to get back, and be part of Paulie’s solution. It was a true moment of renewal and rebirth for us. At our lowest point, that turnaround episode came at just about the same moment Jim Savard and the other members of Community Church in Highlands Ranch, Colorado, prayed for us. The e-mail from Jim telling us about that morning prayer by 2,500 of his fellow worshippers landed in my in-box just as Amy and I returned to the CICU to tell Dr. Martin we made our decision to stay at Children’s and would be waiting for Dr. Jonas to return instead of transporting Paulie to Philadelphia or Boston.
I received several similar messages from individuals and even a few other churches and synagogues that week. But Jim Savard’s e-mail really got me thinking about the seriousness and efficacy of prayer, especially by people who truly believe in its power.
Another thing that really got to me that week at Children’s was the way my colleagues at Fox News reached out to make sure I was okay. My bosses in the D.C. bureau and up in New York told me to take whatever time off I needed to deal with Paulie’s hospitalization and surgery. My friend and mentor Brit Hume was a constant source of inspiration and encouragement to Amy and me, with a steady stream of phone calls, e-mails, prayers, and insights. Like Tony, Brit knew his way around grief and heartbreak. Brit’s son Sandy, a rising star in the world of D.C. political journalism, had died ten years earlier at the age of twenty-eight. Whenever Brit talked to me about the grief Amy and I were feeling and about trusting God to carry us through, I knew he knew what he was talking about.
One of the most meaningful calls I received that week was from Fox News CEO Roger Ailes. I was not expecting the head of the entire company to reach out to Amy and me, but he did. Roger is known in the media world as a take-no-prisoners, conquer-the-mountain kind of guy who took Fox News Channel from total obscurity in 1996 to the top of the cable news world in four short years. But what most people don’t know about Roger is that beneath that tough guy media titan persona is a heart of gold. Roger, with no fanfare, has spent a lifetime reaching out to help people in and out of the media world who, for whatever reason, needed a break or some help to get back on their feet.
Another thing most people don’t know about Roger is that throughout his childhood he was plagued by various medical problems. As a young boy, Roger was a hemophiliac. Growing up in the 1940s and ’50s in the rough-and-tumble working-class town of Warren, Ohio, I am sure he had every opportunity to call it quits, but he didn’t.
Once, as a preschooler, Roger bit his tongue and the bleeding was so bad he almost died. According to the recent biography Roger Ailes: Off Camera, by Zev Chafets, Roger’s father, Bob Ailes, put him in the family car and raced to the Cleveland Clinic sixty miles north where they were able to stanch the bleeding and save Roger’s life.
Throughout his childhood, Roger missed a lot of school due to any number of other mishaps that led to similar bleeding incidents. Once, a bicycle accident left him with serious internal bleeding. In her diary, Roger’s grandmother calculated he had to have eighty-five separate injections in one three-week span. So Roger knew his way around hospitals and certainly had some special insights into what Amy and I were going through.
Seein
g I had an incoming call on my cell phone from Fox headquarters in New York City, I quickly made my way to an area of Children’s where I knew I could maintain a signal. Immediately, I recognized Roger’s identifiable, no-nonsense, no-BS, midwestern, Joe Everyman cadence.
“How ya doin? You hangin’ in there?
“Little tough, Roger, but we’re hanging in there okay,” I said.
“I can only imagine,” Roger replied.
Then he added: “I don’t want to take too much of your time. But I want you to know you have my full support. I also want you to know you can take as much time as you need to deal with this and be with your family. If you need anything at all from us—from me—just let me know.”
Roger’s long pause between “from us” to “from me” spoke volumes. He was not reading from a script or checking off an item from a Calls to Make Today list. This was heart to heart, not CEO to employee. I am not sure I knew Roger’s history with hemophilia at the time, but he did allude to all the time he had spent in hospitals as a child when he said, “When Paulie survives all this, he is going to be one tough son of a gun.”
Roger’s remark made me laugh. His words about the qualities this episode was going to build into Paulie’s character reminded me that I needed to be thinking down the road and far beyond the upcoming surgery.
After a week at Children’s, I was getting to know my way around the place pretty well. Even though the exterior of the building looks like a spaceship zooming through the galaxy, every hallway you walk down reminds you that the people working there are single-minded about their old-fashioned mission to help children in need. Children’s has been all about that mission for more than 140 years now.
Five years after the end of the Civil War, in 1870, the entire Washington region was still devastated by the incredible loss of life on both sides—fathers, sons, brothers, and husbands. With poverty and hunger rampant, a group of doctors in the District decided to join together to do something about the most vulnerable victims of the times: poor sick children.