Everybody's Got Something

by Roberts, Robin

  I always enjoy visiting London. The first time I went, I was about seven years old. We happened to arrive on the Fourth of July. I remember asking my parents: Why are there no fireworks here? Ooops! The entire family was together: Mom, Dad, Butch, Sally-Ann and Dorothy. We stayed at a quaint bed-and-breakfast. Mom enjoyed having afternoon tea: milk, not cream, and lemon was a no-no. It was accompanied by a three-tier tray of delicious finger sandwiches, scones with yummy cream and jam, sweet pastries and cakes.

  Some of my favorite family photos were taken at Hyde Park. One is of me squished between my two big sisters. Sally-Ann was in a full-on teenage rebellious stage. She had a big white headband and a poncho she made by ripping a hole in our mosaic tablecloth. Dorothy struck a model pose with one hand in her pocket and her big white purse slung over one shoulder. I, in pigtails and knee-high socks, stood frozen at attention with both hands by my side. Another photo is of me and my handsome big brother, who is wearing a snappy corduroy blazer. It was a treat to have him on vacation with us. He was in college at Rutgers at the time. We are twelve years apart in age, so I was going into the first grade when he headed off to college. I treasure the picture of Butch and me sitting at the edge of a fountain in Hyde Park, feeding the pigeons.

  My Grandma Sally actually traveled to England in 1953. Her son, my uncle William, was in the military and stationed there. Aunt Bessie was about to have a baby, and Grandma Sally wanted to be there. Grandma had never ventured far from Akron, Ohio. She was terrified of flying (Butch isn’t a big fan of flying, either), so Grandma boarded the Queen Mary and set sail for England. She arrived just in time for Queen Elizabeth’s coronation, and she joined the throngs outside Buckingham Palace. She brought back to Akron little coronation trinkets and keepsakes. She proudly displayed them in her home on Lucy Street, next to the latest issue of Jet magazine.

  How could she ever have imagined that decades later her granddaughter would have dinner with the Queen of England at the White House? I told you about the Bushes inviting me to my first State Dinner…“Hey, SportsCenter!” was how President Bush always greeted me. Well, earlier that day I interviewed Mrs. Bush for a segment on GMA. After the interview I told her about my grandma attending the Queen’s coronation and my mother’s hope that I could share that story with Queen Elizabeth. Sure, Mom, no problem, I’ll just chat up the Queen. When I was going down the receiving line to greet the Bushes along with Queen Elizabeth and Prince Philip, I froze. I was walking away when Mrs. Bush said: “Your Majesty, this is the young woman I was telling you about. Her grandmother was in London at the time of your coronation.” I can’t even remember the Queen’s response. But I do remember Mrs. Bush’s thoughtfulness and my mom’s excitement when I called her later that night.

  Another fond memory I have of London is when my folks joined me at Wimbledon one year. They both enjoyed traveling, and I often invited them to come along with me on assignments. We stayed at the Langham Hilton. It has a glass elevator with the stairs winding around it. Mom and Dad would get in the elevator, and their baby girl would take the stairs and race them to our floor. I can still see them laughing in the elevator as I bounded up the stairs two at a time.

  You have no idea what it was like to see my folks, in their Sunday best, sitting in the crowd at Wimbledon. I had always dreamed of them being there to see me play on Centre Court. Being in the press box for ESPN was a close second. I had a microphone in my hand instead of a tennis racket, but it was every bit as sweet. London will always hold a prominent place in my heart.

  * * *

  When I returned from London, I decided the time had come to tell George, Josh and Lara about my diagnosis. I spoke to George first. George is a true gentleman. He reminds me a lot of my father. Reserved, quiet and devoted to family. Like my dad, George is quick to laugh. He has to be, since he is married to the hilarious, not to mention gorgeous, Ali Wentworth. Since George is somewhat of an introvert, I thought it best to tell him on the phone. I didn’t want to make him uncomfortable with such personal news.

  “I’m just in awe of how you’ve handled this,” George said. “All this time, coming to work, doing your job, never showing a sign that something was wrong. I love you and I know you are going to beat this. You’ll hit it with all the courage and grace you’ve shown your whole life.”

  A few days later I received an e-mail from George. He’d had more time to absorb what I told him. It was one of the most thoughtful e-mails I have ever received. He shared scripture with me. That comes easier to him than you may think, because his father is a Greek Orthodox priest and his sister is a nun. I felt closer to George than I ever had at that point. It was at that moment I realized just how much we do have in common.

  I told Josh and Lara together. Josh and Lara are extremely talented and pure energy. Full of life like two big, affectionate golden retrievers. I love it when we hang out after the show, as we often do. It was most difficult to tell them because they were so emotional—we just kept hugging each other and crying. I could sense they were truly scared for me, and I knew they were also wondering what was going to happen with the show. As I had looked to Charlie and Diane for guidance, Josh and Lara now looked to me.

  Everyone wanted to know what I needed, and I told them, “What I need, more than anything, is normalcy.” When you’re facing a health crisis, you crave normalcy. So much in your life is not normal anymore. You feel reluctant to tell anybody, because you don’t want to be treated differently.

  When Nora Ephron died of leukemia, I could tell that some people she knew were upset that she hadn’t shared her diagnosis. What I know is this: Each of our journeys is different and personal. There’s not a one-size-fits-all when it comes to this or any other type of life-threatening illness or challenge. You’ve got to do what is best for you.

  I understand why Nora chose to be so private about her illness. Because you just want to be you, she just wanted to be Nora. She just wanted people to say, “Hey, let’s go to dinner. Let’s do this or that.” When you tell people you’re sick, your friendship changes. As much as your friends don’t want it to and they try not to change, they can’t help it.

  What I wanted most of all was for friends to be normal. Don’t treat me like I’m on the Titanic. “Don’t you say your good-byes, Rose.”

  When I address a group of people and talk about my story and they’re asking me questions—especially when it’s a cancer-related forum—I will say to the audience at some point, “There are people sitting next to you that you might not even know that they’ve gone through this or are going through that, and they don’t want you to know, and that’s their right.” And I can look out at the audience and see the people who have kept their battles private almost exhale. They’ve been wondering, “Am I a bad person for not telling people? For not sharing this?” I take that pressure and guilt off of them and say, “No, that’s your decision. That’s your choice, as this has been my decision.”

  Recently, my friend and colleague Amy Robach agreed to do a mammogram, on air, as part of a “GMA Goes Pink” campaign to kick off Breast Cancer Awareness Month. The idea was for Amy, who’d never had a mammogram, to demystify it for women who might be nervous. As Amy explained, “I’m forty, and the truth is I’d been putting off getting a mammogram for a year. Between flying all over the world for work, running around with my kids to school, ballet and gymnastics, like so many women, I kept pushing it off.” Amy was nervous about the producers asking her to do her first mammogram on air and she came to see me. She knew that I was a believer in “make your mess your message.” But she was apprehensive about having cameras film such a private moment. Remembering the thousands of women who went in for mammograms after I revealed my breast cancer diagnosis on air, I urged her to do the segment. “If one life is saved because of early detection, it’s worth it,” I told Amy.

  She was so nervous that morning, but she bravely did her first mammogram on air. I remember that she had this gigantic smile on her face when the segmen
t was over. “It hurt so much less than I thought!” she said. “It was like nothing.” Then a few weeks later, there was a diagnosis: Amy had breast cancer. She later told me, “Robin, your words kept echoing inside of me: If I got the mammogram on air, and it saved one life, then it would be all worth it. It never occurred to me that life would be mine.”

  Chapter 12

  Knox-Vegas

  As many times as I’ve been to Knoxville, or Knox-Vegas as I like to call it, this particular trip in June was special. I was to be inducted into the Women’s Basketball Hall of Fame. Despite her health woes, Mom wanted to be there. So I arranged for a private plane to first pick up my brother and his family in Houston, then stop in the Pass for Mom, Dorothy, her daughter Lauren and Sally-Ann’s daughter, Judith. With Butch was his daughter, Bianca; his son, Lawrence; and Lawrence’s very pregnant wife, Kelli. She was carrying twins! My niece Lauren looks like my sister Dorothy’s twin. She is studying to be a nurse and is currently a doctor’s assistant. Judith is the first doctor in the family…a proud graduate from my parents’ alma mater, Howard.

  Anyone who has followed my journey knows that I have been blessed with an incredible family. There have been times when I’ve felt as if I almost need to hide that light under a bushel—because I was born with the jackpot: successful, community-minded, high-achieving parents who let us know how much they loved us every single day and siblings who hold me up, help me grow and make me laugh. It has been this way for almost half a century and now the loving and learning and living goes on with a whole new generation. I treasure nieces and nephews and, even though I can’t believe my brother and sisters are old enough to be grandparents, there are now grandkids and great-grandkids in the mix, too.

  I know that I have cleared incredible hurdles in my career and with my health because of this family and because of this hard-earned love. I used to try to play it down, but not anymore. I am not going to apologize for the idyllic childhood and the wonderful siblings and the Christian home I grew up in. I know how blessed I am and I am thankful, but I also know it’s not that way for everyone. I was talking to a young woman recently who was going through her something and she said, “I don’t have sisters to watch my back like you do. I didn’t have the kind of mother you did.” And I said to her what I’ve begun saying to people across the country, “Then why not let the legacy of love and support start with you?” The Robertses of Pass Christian, Mississippi, didn’t spring up from a well of familial perfection. My parents worked hard to create a certain environment for us and then there was a responsibility for my siblings and me to hold up the traditions, to mend the fences when we wanted to tell each other off and keep on stepping, to keep the love going for one another and for the generations to come.

  When I suggested to this young woman that she could be the one to turn the tide, the one to begin a circle of love and support with family and friends (I believe family doesn’t need to be just blood relatives), you should have seen her face. We live in a society where we believe we can change anything: our bodies, our bank accounts, our careers, our hometowns. We are mobile and proactive, and we are big dreamers. It’s the American way. But when it comes to matters of home and hearth, we too often believe that the hand we were dealt is the only one we’ve got. It’s not. People need to take more ownership and say, no I haven’t been loved. No, I don’t get along with my siblings and it has never been this way in my family, but you know what, starting now it is. It’s going to be different. Why not be the one to start the kind of family you’ve always wanted to be part of?

  I’m blessed that I am able to do special things for my family, such as arrange a private jet when my mother’s health was failing…I never take it for granted, and they fight me every step of the way. They don’t want me to feel like they expect me to do anything extravagant for them. To the contrary, when Mom arrived at the airport, she slipped me a twenty-dollar bill. She does it every visit. She calls it “greasing my palm.” So sweet.

  A number of old friends were in Knoxville for the ceremony, and I was grateful to be able to tell them about my treatment face-to-face. A group from my alma mater, Southeastern Louisiana University, made the trip from Hammond to support my entry into the Hall of Fame. They were touched that I told them personally before the rest of the world found out.

  I got a chance in Knoxville to share the news with ESPN executive John Walsh and his wife, Ellen. I love them, and they were also very close to my mom. Val Ackerman, onetime president of the WNBA, I remember pulling her aside and telling her in the lobby. I remember telling Pat Summitt about my diagnosis. I wondered, how am I going to do this? Here she is, dealing with all of her health challenges. But I told her, and her embrace was more than a hug—it was as if she was physically gifting me with a wellspring of strength and courage that would be with me for months to come.

  I wanted to tell my friends, as many as I could in person, because I’d learned a few things since my breast cancer diagnosis. This is how naïve I was in 2007. I thought I was just telling GMA viewers because they are like family. They invite us into their homes every morning for breakfast. I told everybody who is close to me, so now I’m going to tell everyone else. I didn’t realize back then that for a morning show anchor to share a major medical diagnosis on TV was a media moment that would be picked up by digital, radio, print and TV outlets all over the world. When I sat in that chair and shared my news with the GMA family, I didn’t think, not for a second, that it would mushroom the way it did. This time around, it was important for me to get to as many relatives and friends as I could. Being in Knoxville for my entry into the Hall of Fame was a great balance to the bad news that I had to share. The celebration of my athleticism was a reminder that “I’ve got the physical chops to deal with this.”

  I knew that when I returned from Knoxville, I would go public with my diagnosis. It was time. I was going to begin pre-treatment for the transplant, which would entail having a PICC line put in my arm. PICC stands for “peripherally inserted central catheter.” It’s a small tube that’s inserted into a peripheral vein, usually in the upper arm. The line would enable my doctors to have prolonged and safer access to my veins. Since the line would stay in my arm, it would be hard to hide. It has to be bandaged to prevent infection; it has to have a sleeve cover.

  The PICC line would facilitate the pre-treatment for the transplant, which would be supervised by my oncologist. It was going to be a daunting series of daily chemotherapy sessions to wipe out my entire immune system so it could be built back from scratch with new life from Sally-Ann’s stem cells.

  The night before the induction ceremony, a reception was held for all the honorees and our family and friends. I had the pleasure of sharing an intimate evening with the other inductees: Olympians and National Champions Dawn Staley, Nikki McCray and Pamela McGee. Dawn was recently inducted into the Naismith Basketball Hall of Fame in Springfield, Massachusetts. While at ESPN I covered her college games at Virginia and Nikki’s at the University of Tennessee. Pamela is closer to my age. She, her twin sister, Paula, Cynthia Cooper and the legendary Cheryl Miller won back-to-back national titles at USC.

  Six-foot-five Inge Nissen was one of the first Europeans to come to the US to play at one of the first powerhouses in the women’s game, Old Dominion. She also happens to have a wicked sense of humor. She had us all cracking up at the dinner. Also honored was Nancy Fahey, head coach at Washington University and the only coach in NCAA Division III history to win five national championships. She had a fun bunch of friends and players with her in Knoxville. You could hear them comin’ from a mile away…good times!

  Mom caught a chill, so Butch ran back to the hotel nearby to get her a blanket. All he could find was a bedspread, so he wrapped that around Mom. It was quite a sight to see Mom in her wheelchair, draped in the hotel bedspread. But I was so happy she was there. An informal Q-and-A session, moderated beautifully by Debbie Antonelli, the esteemed basketball analyst, closed the evening. As always, Mo
mma got in the last word. She addressed the room and said that she was thankful that she was well enough to make the trip. She said that at her lowest moment, she remembered something she had once heard: A prisoner was behind bars and had a decision to make. He could either look down at the dirt in his cell or look up, outside his window, and see the stars. Mom said, “I decided a long time ago, when I was hurting, not to look down, but rather to look up at the stars. Sitting in the audience tonight, as I look at my daughter and all of the inductees who share the stage, I am surrounded by stars.” That was Mom. She defied so many odds from her humble beginnings to become one of the most eloquent women I have ever been blessed to know.

  It’s funny how you can so quickly connect the dots when you’re looking back. My mom suffered a stroke a few weeks later. This was her last trip, even though we didn’t know it at the time. She sat next to me at the induction ceremony, and Amber was on the other side. There were little signs that Mom wasn’t doing well. She was kind of quiet, especially for her.

  When they called my name, my six-foot-nine nephew, Lawrence, escorted me up to the stage so I could accept my award. He played college basketball at Baylor and Mississippi State. For a few years he was in the NBA with the Memphis Grizzlies, and he is still playing professionally overseas. After I accepted my award, I saw Pat sitting to the side of the stage. I said, “You’re going to have to come over and say hello to Momma.” Sure enough, Pat came over, bent down and hugged Momma. Seeing them together like that meant so much to me. I don’t know of two braver women.

  Chapter 13

  Breaking the News

  After returning from Knoxville, back home in New York, I didn’t sleep much. Monday, June 11, was the day I would share the announcement of my illness with GMA viewers. That was because it was also the day I was to begin pre-treatment for my transplant. I kept going over in my head what I planned to say, and I couldn’t stop wondering how it would be received. The next morning, I huddled with Diane and Rich Besser in the loading dock before I returned to the studio to tell the world that I was once again facing a life-threatening illness. As I said earlier, for the longest time, the three of us considered ourselves a stealth team, contacting in secret doctors and hospitals across the country, looking for the best possible care.