Read Online Everybody's Got Something by Robin Roberts, Veronica Chambers - Free Book Online
Authors: Robin Roberts, Veronica Chambers
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the fact that I never played the race card. But if I could not find a match within my family, it seemed like a race card could be played on me. The National Marrow Donor Program has more than eight million Americans in its database. A Caucasian person who doesn’t find a match in their family has about a 50 percent chance of finding one in the database. For African-Americans, that number could be as low as 7 percent. African-Americans tend to have a more racially mixed genetic makeup than their white counterparts—think about the range of skin tones that exist between a Michelle Obama and a Halle Berry, a Serena Williams and a Beyoncé, or an Alicia Keys and a Jennifer Hudson. The same diversity that makes our culture so rich also makes finding a precise genetic match more challenging.
There are so many stories about people, especially people of color, who wait a year or more to find a match. Even when huge campaigns are mounted and thousands of people register, a match isn’t always found. A genetic match is the most literal definition of a needle in a haystack. Every time I thought of the doctor’s chart and that dot that was placed right between a year and two years, I knew how dire my situation was. I didn’t have a year to wait for a match. I needed a match and I needed one now .
And yet, the whole time I was waiting for results, there was work. Every morning up at 3:45. On the air by 7:00. Good Morning America . Later, when my coworkers found out the secret I’d been keeping, they would wonder how I did it. How did I show up every day and not just fall to pieces under the sadness and the fear? How did I keep it together? How did I not crack and say, “Hey y’all, back up. I’m sick”?
When I had those “Woe is me” moments, the “me against the world” moments, I would think of Momma. Everybody’s got something. Momma would always say, “Why is my something any worse or more significant than anyone else’s?” It’s not. It’s just not.
I bet if we all threw our problems in a huge pile and saw everyone else’s, we’d grab ours back. Don’t compare your life to others’. You have no idea what their journey is all about. That’s why I always give people the benefit of the doubt; it’s one of my rules to live by. There may be a reason why someone is having a bad day; there’s often something that we can’t see. She is not necessarily a bad person, just someone facing a bad situation.
We all have doubts and fears. The thing about fear is that it only needs the tiniest space, the size of an eye of a needle, to get through and wreak havoc. Maddening, but true. So when I was struggling and in doubt, I would simply take the next small step. I would stop and think: “No, life is not tied with a beautiful bow all the time, but it’s still a gift. I’m going to tear away the wrapping like a little kid at Christmas.”
In the church of my childhood, they said, “First the faith, then the works.” I held strong to my faith, and then I got what I’d been praying for: a match. The day I got the news, about three weeks after my sisters had each swabbed their cheeks, was like one of those old television commercials where Ed McMahon pulls up in front of your house to let you know that you have just won the sweepstakes. I couldn’t wait to share the news with my family.
First, I called Dorothy to let her know she was not a match. She was disappointed but told me later she never thought she’d be the match. Mom needed her more than I did. Dorothy was the sibling who lived closest to Mom and always took her to her many doctor appointments. She’d pick up Mom on the way to church. It was devastating to Mom when doctors told her she could no longer drive. She felt her independence had been taken from her. It’s one of those difficult times for an aging parent. Mom always looked forward to hitting the road. I still miss how she would say when she pulled into our driveway, “Home again, home again,
There are so many stories about people, especially people of color, who wait a year or more to find a match. Even when huge campaigns are mounted and thousands of people register, a match isn’t always found. A genetic match is the most literal definition of a needle in a haystack. Every time I thought of the doctor’s chart and that dot that was placed right between a year and two years, I knew how dire my situation was. I didn’t have a year to wait for a match. I needed a match and I needed one now .
And yet, the whole time I was waiting for results, there was work. Every morning up at 3:45. On the air by 7:00. Good Morning America . Later, when my coworkers found out the secret I’d been keeping, they would wonder how I did it. How did I show up every day and not just fall to pieces under the sadness and the fear? How did I keep it together? How did I not crack and say, “Hey y’all, back up. I’m sick”?
When I had those “Woe is me” moments, the “me against the world” moments, I would think of Momma. Everybody’s got something. Momma would always say, “Why is my something any worse or more significant than anyone else’s?” It’s not. It’s just not.
I bet if we all threw our problems in a huge pile and saw everyone else’s, we’d grab ours back. Don’t compare your life to others’. You have no idea what their journey is all about. That’s why I always give people the benefit of the doubt; it’s one of my rules to live by. There may be a reason why someone is having a bad day; there’s often something that we can’t see. She is not necessarily a bad person, just someone facing a bad situation.
We all have doubts and fears. The thing about fear is that it only needs the tiniest space, the size of an eye of a needle, to get through and wreak havoc. Maddening, but true. So when I was struggling and in doubt, I would simply take the next small step. I would stop and think: “No, life is not tied with a beautiful bow all the time, but it’s still a gift. I’m going to tear away the wrapping like a little kid at Christmas.”
In the church of my childhood, they said, “First the faith, then the works.” I held strong to my faith, and then I got what I’d been praying for: a match. The day I got the news, about three weeks after my sisters had each swabbed their cheeks, was like one of those old television commercials where Ed McMahon pulls up in front of your house to let you know that you have just won the sweepstakes. I couldn’t wait to share the news with my family.
First, I called Dorothy to let her know she was not a match. She was disappointed but told me later she never thought she’d be the match. Mom needed her more than I did. Dorothy was the sibling who lived closest to Mom and always took her to her many doctor appointments. She’d pick up Mom on the way to church. It was devastating to Mom when doctors told her she could no longer drive. She felt her independence had been taken from her. It’s one of those difficult times for an aging parent. Mom always looked forward to hitting the road. I still miss how she would say when she pulled into our driveway, “Home again, home again,
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