Everybody's Got Something (7 page)

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 AND NOW I NEED A JOB
. I was impressed with her boldness and creativity in finding employment, so I told her: “Send me your résumé and I’ll see what I can do.”

You know how many times I’ve told a young person that and they don’t follow up? Sonny sent me her résumé the next day. My office was so overwhelmed with correspondence following my breast cancer diagnosis that we hired Sonny part-time to help out. She was a rock star. Nothing was too big or too small for her to tackle. A short time later, my assistant, Ayana, got a wonderful opportunity at CNN, and Sonny was promoted to my full-time assistant.

Sonny is smart and indefatigable. How she managed to convince Ben Sherwood, the president of ABC News, that she had no idea how to reach me for hours on end, without getting either of us fired, is what makes her so good at her job. Still she was relieved when our senior executive producer, Tom Cibrowski, came to her desk and said, “Robin’s at the hospital, isn’t she?” It was more of a statement than a question. Tom knew that I wouldn’t be unreachable unless the situation was dire. Sonny nodded yes. It was such a relief to have someone higher on the food chain to take the heat for me being missing in action.

The first call I returned was Ben’s. He told me the White House had called and wanted me to interview President Barack Obama the next day. Same-sex marriage was a hot-button issue that week because of recent statements by Vice President Joe Biden and others in the administration. The interview was a huge get for our team. I told Ben that of course I would do it, and I was excited to be asked. It’s always a privilege to speak with the president, especially one-on-one at the White House. I was still shaken up from my appointment, and so I told Ben that I was dealing with a personal matter and would have to get back to him to discuss the details. He later told me that he thought that was strange: “The president wants to talk to you and you’ll get back to me?”

But I needed just a few minutes to let myself process the fear and frustration I felt with that appointment. I had learned from my first battle with cancer that doctors who spout dire statistics don’t work for me. I have no doubt that this doctor is a good physician—she came highly recommended. And perhaps there are some patients who find her style refreshing, even reassuring in some way.

But it doesn’t work for me. I talked myself through the experience. I called Diane, who urged me to find another doctor. I could hear her on the phone, flipping through her notebook, Dr. So-and-So at this hospital says XYZ. Dr. So-and-So says such and such. I called Ben back. I spent most of the night not thinking about my need for a bone marrow transplant but huddled with my producers, going over topics and questions for my interview with the president.

The next morning, after
GMA
, Tom, my producer Emily and I headed to the airport for our flight to Washington, D.C. When we got there, our shuttle flight had been canceled. We hustled over to another terminal and were able to get on a later flight that would get us to the White House just in time. A car service picked us up at the airport, and we were off to see the president. Then a few blocks from the White House, we were rear-ended. The driver, of course, wanted to wait for the police to file a report, but now there wasn’t the fifteen-minute window we had left for me to stop at the hotel and change. We had to improvise. I told everyone—the driver, Tom and Emily—to please hop out of the car so I could change into my power suit in the backseat. Yes, I lead such a glamorous life. But you can’t be late for the president of the United States. He’s kind of a busy man, running the nation.

We made it to the White House with only seconds to spare. Every time I cross that hallowed threshold, I pinch myself. In my first book, I described seven rules to live by, and one of them was never play the race card, the gender card or any other card. It makes me laugh when people think that because I’m black I somehow have a special relationship with the Obamas. The Bush family was the first presidential family to welcome me, again and again, into the White House. I attended my first State Dinner during the tenure of George W. Queen Elizabeth of Britain was the honored guest, and as I made my way down the receiving line, President Bush—no secret that he was an ESPN fan—called me out, “Hey, SportsCenter!” I remember thinking, “I’m in line to meet the Queen of England, and the president of the United States has just recognized me from a job I haven’t had in years. How cool is that?”

Amazing things happen when you let your passion be your purpose. My father’s passion for flying led him from pretending a broomstick was the joystick of a plane in the basement of his New Jersey home in the years of segregation to a distinguished career as a pilot for the hallowed Tuskegee Airmen. My mother’s passion for education led to a distinguished career in public service that began after her sixtieth birthday, after she’d raised four children and seen them all through college. My passion for sports: the little girl who moved to Mississippi at the age of nine—just me and my RC—but who was always game to see how high she could jump, how fast she could run, what feat her body could accomplish next, led me to the White House for dinner with the Queen. Where else do miracles like this happen to everyday people? One of the things that I think people know is that despite our troubles and our missteps, I am bullish on America. This is my country, the land that I love.

Once we were on the ground, reporters in the White House press corps began to tweet that I had arrived for my exclusive interview. There was much speculation that the president would reverse his position on same-sex marriage. But we had no way to know for sure if that would be the case.

At 1:30 p.m. sharp, President Obama walked into the room, and our team all rose to greet him. I’d interviewed him several times, the first being in 2007, when he first announced he was running for office. He always remembers that I was one of the few national journalists to request interviews with him. At one point, he was so far behind Hillary Clinton in the polls that many reporters discounted him. I never did. I never count out anyone.

I began the interview by asking the president straight out, “So, Mr. President, are you still opposed to same-sex marriage?”

He said, “At a certain point I’ve just concluded that for me, personally, it is important for me to go ahead and affirm that I think same-sex couples should be able to get married.” The president of the United States had just officially endorsed marriage equality. It was historic, and my interview made headlines all around the world.

One of the things that touched me most was how the president spoke about how his views had evolved, where so many of us learn and grow: at the dinner table. He said, “You know, Malia and Sasha, they’ve got friends whose parents are same-sex couples. And I—you know, there have been times where Michelle and I have been sitting around the dinner table. And we’ve been talking…about their friends and their parents. And Malia and Sasha would— It wouldn’t dawn on them that somehow their friends’ parents would be treated differently. It doesn’t make sense to them. And frankly, that’s the kind of thing that prompts—a change of perspective. You know, not wanting to somehow explain to your child why somebody should be treated differently, when it comes to the eyes of the law.”

Many fellow journalists wondered why President Obama selected me for that interview. I can’t remember another time a reporter was scrutinized like I was. The person asking the questions is not important; the answers are what people care about. You know what my biggest concern was when I was sitting across from the president of the United States? It was when Emily held up a large note card that read:
LIPSTICK ON TEETH
. I’m not joking. In fact, she framed the card and has it hanging in her office.

There was so much ahead of me in my health journey, but I’ll always remember that spring 2012 as being the kind of roller-coaster ride where I ricocheted between screams of joy and cries of fear. I was diagnosed with MDS on the very same day that
Good Morning America
became the number one morning show for the first time in 852 weeks. I met with Dr. Doom and Gloom on the very same day the president of the United States invited me to the White House for an announcement that made history. I’ve always been a person who is focused and present. It’s part of my athlete DNA. You’ll never score, literally or metaphorically, if you’re mentally making your to-do list while you’re supposed to be lining up to take your shot. But that spring, when the highs were so high and the lows were so low, I learned even more the importance of being in the moment. As I sat across from the president, I tried to let myself feel all the goodness and the grace of my position, how lucky I am to do what I do for a living and how much my hard work in the field has paid off. When we reached number one, I tried to let the sweetness of the moment sink in. For over a decade, I had gotten up at 3:45 a.m., headed to the studio and given our beloved viewers and our talented team—both in front of the camera and behind the scenes—everything I had, and it had paid off. We were number one. As much as I could, I let myself feel it.

I remember getting a call from one of my
GMA
senior producers, Kris Sebastian, just after my interview with the president. She said: “Do you have any idea how big you are right now? How big this story is?” I was so much in the moment when I was doing the story. I was the one sitting there across from the president of the United States when he uttered those historic words. But once it was over, all I wanted to do was get home to Momma.

Dorothy had already taken a lot of time off from work and had gone back to Mississippi. Once I got home, I would have to manage caring for Mom, for the rest of her visit to New York, by myself. I know that a lot of you have done this juggle: managing your own health issues while at the same time managing the care of an elderly parent.

When I walked into my apartment after getting home from D.C., Mom was scooting around my apartment in her power chair. I was mentally and physically exhausted from the day’s events. I told Mom that I needed a moment just to catch my breath. I went into my bedroom to change into my sweats and then I heard a terrifying crash. I went running to Mom’s room and was so relieved to see that Momma was not hurt. The damage, as I quickly surveyed the room, was minimal. The end table was overturned, and the glass lamp that once sat on it was shattered into a gazillion pieces all over the floor. The cord of Mom’s power chair got tangled with the leg of the end table. Mom was leaning down in her chair, trying to pick up pieces of glass.

“It’s okay, Momma,” I whispered. “I’ll clean it up.”

I softly implored her to go in the living room while I picked up the slivers and fragments.

What I saw in the living room breaks my heart to this day. Mom was slumped in her chair like a scolded child. Her head hanging down, she said, “I’m so sorry, honey. I can’t do anything right. I’m destroying your beautiful home, I should just leave.” All I could do was hug and tell her how much I loved her. I wasn’t mad—how could I be? But she didn’t seem to believe me.