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Nancy Grace and Her Miracle Babies

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That someone was David Linch, 49, an Atlanta-based investment banker whom Grace first met in the 1970s when they both attended Mercer College in Atlanta. Over the years, the two had kept in touch, but it was only a little more than a year ago that they became romantically involved and then, somewhat impulsively, decided to wed. "I told my family only two days before the wedding," says Grace. Red-eyed now from tears and tiredness, she hands off the twins to a nanny and sips from a cup of coffee. "I just never dreamed I could love someone so much — and have someone love me back so much."

Shortly after they married, Grace and Linch discussed starting a family. Grace refuses to specify what methods might have led to a pregnancy in her late 40s; Lucy and John David, she feels, should be the first to hear about how they were conceived. "Also, on behalf of women everywhere who have gone through fertility treatments, it is my firm belief that what happens between your legs is nobody's business but your own. Let me say this: They are my children. They look like me and my husband, and I can only hope that they get the best of our qualities."

While she won't talk about how she got pregnant, Grace does open up about how grueling, and life threatening, it was to carry her babies.

"It was just such a roller-coaster ride, from the very beginning," she says. "First, right after I found out it was twins, I had an ultrasound where they couldn't find the second heartbeat anymore." She shudders at the memory. "For over a week, I had to go around thinking that there was just one of them, and I was heartbroken. Then at another appointment, all of a sudden, they found the heartbeat again. I just ran home and e-mailed David, ‘Our twins are back.' It was so incredible."

But the pregnancy was fraught with complications, from extremely high blood pressure to breathing difficulties, and Grace landed in the hospital five times. "I just wasn't prepared for how much a pregnancy in your 40s knocks you on your butt. It was one thing after another," she says. "At one point, in August, I thought I was going into early labor...while on vacation with my mother on some tiny island off the coast of Florida. I was in the back of this rural ambulance, on a three-hour ride to the nearest hospital. The driver was named Elvis, and I remember lying there thinking: This is not happening. I am not about to give birth in the back of Elvis's truck."

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