Megyn Kelly - Settle for More

For My Family

Debate day: August 6, 2015. I woke up in Cleveland, excited for what was to come. We had been preparing for this for more than two monthspowering through countless meetings, calls, and arguments among members of the debate team as to which questions lived and which diedand tonight would be the culmination of all that hard work. I would be co-moderating the first Republican primary debate of the 2016 election season.

The election had been a mess so far. Still in the running were nearly twenty candidates, most with impressive rsums and a long list of accomplishments. That meant we had a real job to do: give the American people some actual information on these contenders so they could begin deciding who they might want to replace Barack Obama. The lower-polling candidates, those ranking below tenth, would appear in a separate undercard debate. We only had to worry about those polling in the top ten: Donald Trump, Jeb Bush, Marco Rubio, Scott Walker, Ted Cruz, Ben Carson, Mike Huckabee, Rand Paul, John Kasich, and Chris Christie.

Im an overpreparer, so I had researched and rewritten my questions over and over again until I believed they were as tight and pointed as possible. Before getting out of bed, I looked at my iPhone, which was where I kept the questions. I scrolled through them yet again, toggling back and forth between that file and incoming texts and e-mails from friends and colleagues: Knock em dead! Good luck! Youll do great!

I ordered breakfast in my room, threw on some jeans and a T-shirt, and out the door I went. I felt great. It was a beautiful day in Ohio, and I was as ready as Id ever be for that nights event.

The car picked me up at my hotel at 10:00 a.m. to take me to the convention center. The debate team was going to meet one last time to go over the questions and logistics, and to take into account any news of the day.

Oh, Ms. Kelly! the driver said when I got into the car. Im a huge fan of yours! I want to help you. I will answer phones for you. I will do anything you want me to do today. I will iron your suit. I will run errands. May I go get you a coffee?

No, thank you, I said. Im good.

Let me get you a coffee! he said.

No, thanks, I said. Im really okay. They have coffee there.

I insist! he said. Im going to Starbucks to get you a coffee!

Now, I dont really like Starbucks coffee. I prefer plain old convention center coffee, and a lot of it. But I didnt want to be rude, so I said, Okay.

I walked into the hall feeling fine, excited that this day had finally arrived.

Once there, I ran into Howie Kurtz, our Fox News media critic. I remember telling him that if the public had any idea what had been happening between me and Donald Trump the past few days, it would be the biggest story in the country. Among other things, he had threatened me in an angry phone call, called Fox News executives to complain that my coverage of him was not to his liking, and made multiple attempts to interfere in the debate process. Trump had announced his candidacy only two months earlier, and he was already the front-runner for the nomination.

Howie, good reporter that he is, wanted to know more.

Someday, I told him.

Little did I know how that storya few phone calls and some menacing words from a candidate few thought had any real chancewould pale in comparison to the one that would emerge that night on the debate stage and that would come to dominate the next year of my life.

The night before the debate, Id called my friend and colleague Dana Perino, former White House press secretary under George W. Bush and now a host on Fox News. Shed already been attacked by Trump. I read her my lead question for him, the question no one was asking, even though it was key to his future as a candidate. Essentially, it was: Given your reputation for saying controversial things about and to women, how will you fare against a female candidate? Dana said she thought it was fair. So did I, but we both knew that Trump wouldnt like it, and there could be blowback. He had tried to embarrass Dana on Twitter after she criticized his announcement speech. And that was just for a passing comment she made on the air. This was a presidential debate stage. I didnt want to be attacked, but I had a job to do, and that was that.

I joined the fellow members of my debate team inside the Cleveland Cavaliers stadium. My co-moderators, Bret Baier and Chris Wallace, our digital politics editor, Chris Stirewalt, and Bill Sammon, the head of our debate team and Washington bureau chief, were all there, along with our producers and limited support staff. We tend to keep these meetings smallthe questions are inviolate. Leaks would be unthinkable. This is a race for the Oval Office. There can be no improprieties. No cell phone calls inside this room, no outsiders unless they are sworn to secrecy. The five of us knew one another very wellour strengths, weaknesses, idiosyncrasiesand were full of respect for the team.

There was no time to waste, and we got right to work. Bret, Chris, and I were bunched together at the end of the long conference table. Bill Sammon was next to us, pacing. Everyone else was scattered about. We spent a fair amount of the morning reviewing Brets opening question one last time: Would they all pledge to support the eventual Republican nominee?

We wondered if anyone would raise their hand, other than possibly Trump or Rand Paul. Were we still comfortable with that opening? It would be a dramatic and potentially important moment, we knew, and we kept it.

We had a number of other questions to discuss. What if everyone wanted a chance to respond to a likely opening attack by Trump? Would any candidates be looking for a Newt Gingrich moment, where they went after the moderators, as Newt had in 2012? What would we do if Trump attacked me? I told Bret and Chris, Dont jump in.

We were on LeBron Jamess turf, and we were pumped for the start of the game.

About ninety minutes into our meeting, Abigail Finan, my assistant, came in with a large Starbucks coffee.

Did you order coffee from your driver? she asked, confused.

Its a long story, I said.

Abby put the coffee down in front of me, and the meeting continued.

Oh, what the hell, I thought, and I started drinking the Starbucks.

Within fifteen minutes, about halfway through the coffee, I got a splitting headache.

Could you get me some Tylenol? I e-mailed Abby. She sent someone in with it, but only one pill. At 12:38 p.m. I e-mailed, Theres only one hereI need two.

Within fifteen minutes of that, I was white as a ghost. It was very clear I was going to throw up. I had a little private office in the convention hall. I sprinted out of the meeting and past Abby and my research assistant Emily Walker, ran into the bathroom, and threw up. I came out and told Abby what had happened.

Her eyes were enormous. It was just a few hours before the debate. We were expecting millions of viewers. All the candidates would be there. We had been preparing for months. The stakes were enormous. The timing could not have been worse.

Its nerves! Abby said, hopefully.

It was not nerves, and she and I both knew it. Id done presidential debates before, and been on TV in front of millions of people more times than I could count. Nerves are rare for me at this point. And when I do get them, what happens is that my heart starts pounding so hard that I worry the microphones will pick it up. What does not happen is nausea.

I tried to go back into the debate room, but when I got there, I was shaky and very ill. The conversation around me was whizzing at warp speed. I wasnt able to concentrate. I felt terrible. Soon I realized I had to throw up again.