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Authors: Robin Roberts, Veronica Chambers
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riggity jig jig.”
When I got the test results back, I gave Sally-Ann a call. You’d think I would have led with, “YOU’RE A MATCH!” But we had a nonchalant conversation for a few minutes, then I casually said, “Oh, by the way, you’re a match.” I think I’m just getting my hearing back, that was how loudly she shouted for joy. But I know how much my big sister hates needles and hospitals. I needed a miracle, but I also needed to give her a graceful out. “Do you want to do this?” I asked softly. Sally-Ann was uncharacteristically silent for a moment and I braved myself for her response, whatever it might be. “I don’t want to do this, baby sister,” she said. “I was born to do this.”
Chapter 10
A Meeting with the President
T he week before Mother’s Day, I met my first transplant specialist. Mom was resting at my apartment, and Dorothy and Amber came with me to the doctor’s office. Looking back, I can see how, little by little, Dorothy had begun to shift into the Momma role. At the time, though, I just thought that Mom was aging but would be around for a good long time to come. She’d had numerous health scares before, but she’d always bounced back.
Dorothy later said that at that appointment I looked like a little kid sitting in the dentist’s chair for the first time. I didn’t mean to pout, but I could feel my bottom lip trembling and the tears welling up in my eyes. I was so frightened.
That first doctor’s visit was a chilling introduction to the world of bone marrow transplants. This particular doctor was all doom and gloom. She spent so much time telling me about the high mortality rate of having a bone marrow transplant that I half-expected her to end the appointment by handing me a shovel and telling me to go ahead and start digging my own grave. One thing that I understood very clearly from her words was that with the transplant, timing was everything. You don’t want to wait too long to do the transplant, but you also have to make sure that you time it so that you are ready—mind, body and soul—to take the risk of the procedure. Do you remember that dot on the graph that the first oncologist had shown me? The “if I do nothing, I have between one and two years to live” dot? If the transplant did not go well, if I contracted a serious virus after completely wiping out my immune system, then I could die within weeks or even days after the procedure.
How could this be? How could this possibly be the truth of my situation? Amber and I clutched hands and held on to each other for dear life, as if the ground beneath us was shaking with seismic force. We had waited for hours, hours , to meet with this doctor, and by the time she had finished with her litany, I felt more confused and more full of despair than I did when I arrived.
When I stepped out of the office and turned on the phone, it almost blew up in my hand with all of the messages. The office had been trying to reach me, and my assistant, Sonny, had been doing her best to protect me. Something big was going on. Ben Sherwood, the president of ABC News, had been trying to reach me. Jeffrey Schneider, the head of PR, was calling, too. Sonny was one of the few people whom I let into my confidence, out of absolute necessity. It’s hard to keep a secret when you work for one of the country’s top news networks. But I didn’t want to discuss my situation with anyone at work until I had a clear understanding of my diagnosis and a clear plan for treatment.
I call Sonny my baby-faced assassin. She’s from Pennsylvania and graduated from Fordham University in 2006 with a BA in communications and media studies. After graduation, she did volunteer work with the Jesuit Volunteer Corps and spent time in the Gulf Region helping people get back on their feet after Hurricane Katrina.
After I was diagnosed with breast cancer, Sonny was in our studio audience holding up a sign: HEY, ROBIN, I JUST VOLUNTEERED FOR A YEAR IN THE GULF
When I got the test results back, I gave Sally-Ann a call. You’d think I would have led with, “YOU’RE A MATCH!” But we had a nonchalant conversation for a few minutes, then I casually said, “Oh, by the way, you’re a match.” I think I’m just getting my hearing back, that was how loudly she shouted for joy. But I know how much my big sister hates needles and hospitals. I needed a miracle, but I also needed to give her a graceful out. “Do you want to do this?” I asked softly. Sally-Ann was uncharacteristically silent for a moment and I braved myself for her response, whatever it might be. “I don’t want to do this, baby sister,” she said. “I was born to do this.”
Chapter 10
A Meeting with the President
T he week before Mother’s Day, I met my first transplant specialist. Mom was resting at my apartment, and Dorothy and Amber came with me to the doctor’s office. Looking back, I can see how, little by little, Dorothy had begun to shift into the Momma role. At the time, though, I just thought that Mom was aging but would be around for a good long time to come. She’d had numerous health scares before, but she’d always bounced back.
Dorothy later said that at that appointment I looked like a little kid sitting in the dentist’s chair for the first time. I didn’t mean to pout, but I could feel my bottom lip trembling and the tears welling up in my eyes. I was so frightened.
That first doctor’s visit was a chilling introduction to the world of bone marrow transplants. This particular doctor was all doom and gloom. She spent so much time telling me about the high mortality rate of having a bone marrow transplant that I half-expected her to end the appointment by handing me a shovel and telling me to go ahead and start digging my own grave. One thing that I understood very clearly from her words was that with the transplant, timing was everything. You don’t want to wait too long to do the transplant, but you also have to make sure that you time it so that you are ready—mind, body and soul—to take the risk of the procedure. Do you remember that dot on the graph that the first oncologist had shown me? The “if I do nothing, I have between one and two years to live” dot? If the transplant did not go well, if I contracted a serious virus after completely wiping out my immune system, then I could die within weeks or even days after the procedure.
How could this be? How could this possibly be the truth of my situation? Amber and I clutched hands and held on to each other for dear life, as if the ground beneath us was shaking with seismic force. We had waited for hours, hours , to meet with this doctor, and by the time she had finished with her litany, I felt more confused and more full of despair than I did when I arrived.
When I stepped out of the office and turned on the phone, it almost blew up in my hand with all of the messages. The office had been trying to reach me, and my assistant, Sonny, had been doing her best to protect me. Something big was going on. Ben Sherwood, the president of ABC News, had been trying to reach me. Jeffrey Schneider, the head of PR, was calling, too. Sonny was one of the few people whom I let into my confidence, out of absolute necessity. It’s hard to keep a secret when you work for one of the country’s top news networks. But I didn’t want to discuss my situation with anyone at work until I had a clear understanding of my diagnosis and a clear plan for treatment.
I call Sonny my baby-faced assassin. She’s from Pennsylvania and graduated from Fordham University in 2006 with a BA in communications and media studies. After graduation, she did volunteer work with the Jesuit Volunteer Corps and spent time in the Gulf Region helping people get back on their feet after Hurricane Katrina.
After I was diagnosed with breast cancer, Sonny was in our studio audience holding up a sign: HEY, ROBIN, I JUST VOLUNTEERED FOR A YEAR IN THE GULF
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