Everybody's Got Something

by Roberts, Robin

  Anne Sweeney, the president of Disney/ABC Television Group, made the trip from Los Angeles to join us in the studio that morning. She and Disney chairman and CEO Bob Iger had already assured me several times that I would have whatever I needed to fight this. Every time I speak with Bob, I remember when Mom had met him at a wedding in the 1980s. His assistant at the time, Karen, was getting married to Mom’s best friend’s son, Andy. I think I was a teenager before I realized “Aunt” Wanda really wasn’t my aunt. She and Mom were more like sisters growing up together in Akron. Bob wasn’t the CEO of Disney then; he was a high-ranking executive with Disney/ABC and was based in LA. Mom got his business card and told him about her very talented daughter working in Nashville. I’m sure she told him he should hire me, and a few years later, there I was.

  It didn’t matter to Bob or Anne how long I would be on medical leave. Though I had literally screamed out loud when doctors first told me it would be approximately six months. The most important thing to Bob and Anne was that I return to good health. Again, such grace, and for that I am so grateful. I can’t tell you how many horror stories I’ve heard from others about losing their jobs while out on medical leave. Come on, here you are, fighting for your life—and you have to worry about your job? The constant threat of joblessness that so many patients face infuriates me beyond belief. Thanks to Bob, Anne and Ben, I knew my anchor chair would be waiting for me.

  But it was much more than that. The way they rallied around me was not only a comfort to me but to Amber and my family as well. To my siblings, I’ll always be their baby sister, living the farthest from home, in New York City. With Dad gone and Mom so sick, they worried about me even more. Seeing the genuine concern from my colleagues and especially my bosses put them at ease. When I sat down on the couch with our team: Josh to my right, George to my left and Lara and Sam next to George, I noticed that the stage managers had Velcro-ed a box of Kleenex to the couch. “Never a good sign,” I joked. Then I took a deep breath, and with nothing on the teleprompter I spoke from the heart:

  We’ve often said that you, our viewers, are our family. As family, we want you to hear things from us. As many of you know, five years ago, I beat breast cancer. You, your love, and your prayers, helped me win that fight, and that’s something I’ll never forget.

  Sometimes the treatment for cancer can lead to other serious medical issues. That’s what I’m facing right now. It’s something that’s called MDS: myelodysplastic syndrome…It’s a rare blood disorder that affects the bone marrow. Dr. Richard Besser has been holding my hand through this and he’ll have a lot more information about MDS on our website.

  The reason I’m sharing this with everybody now is because later today, I begin what’s known as pre-treatment. It’s a PICC line in my arm and I didn’t want you to be concerned if you saw a bandage tomorrow. It’s going to be there to draw blood that has to be monitored regularly and also to administer drugs…for a period of time. All to prepare me for a bone marrow transplant.

  You have heard me say I’m abundantly blessed. In fact, in Good Housekeeping, in an article written before this diagnosis, I said, “I’m freaking blessed.” The reason I say I am blessed is because my big sister is a virtually perfect match. She’s there with Diane and Anne Sweeney.

  Up until that point in the announcement I had managed to hold it together, but as I shared the miracle of Sally-Ann being my match, I could feel the tears welling up and my voice begin to catch. “She is going to be my donor,” I said.

  Sally-Ann pointed heavenward and whispered, “Thank you.”

  I took her cue and joyfully said, “Yes! Thank you, Lord!”

  Then I continued sharing what I knew and what I believed about the path ahead:

  The doctors tell me this is going to be a tremendous help in me beating this. Bottom line: I am going to beat this. My doctors say it and my faith says it to me.

  George, Lara and Sam all joined in assuring me that I was not alone in this battle and I recalled something that my former colleague and dear friend Chris Cuomo had shared with me. He said, “Focus on the fight, not the fright.” That is why I was so touched when Josh said, “I know I speak for everybody at home, but especially those of us on the couch. This is why you have a team. So we can be here for you. We want you to know. This is our fight, not your fight.” I was so moved. I stopped holding back the tears and reached for the Kleenex.

  I know how lucky I was to have colleagues who are such close friends and to have friends who are like family. I was about to begin, literally, the battle of my life. Again. But I also felt, wholly and completely, freaking blessed.

  After I made the announcement, I was numb. Our studio crew seemed to be in shock. I retreated to my dressing room with Sally-Ann. Amber was waiting for me there with other close friends. Friends who were there to comfort Amber as much as me. Not much was said nor needed to be said. Everyone in that room had known for a few months what I was facing. My cell phone wasn’t the only one buzzing constantly; so were theirs. So many people were reaching out it was overwhelming. This was the very reason I waited to go public. Already life was different, changing rapidly.

  Sally-Ann and I locked eyes. Her life was different now, too. She’s beloved in New Orleans, where she has been on the air since the 1970s. In the Big Easy, I’m Sally-Ann’s baby sista. She’s a vital part of the community, having launched a mentoring program called Each One Save One. But now Sally-Ann was known far beyond the South, all across the country. I knew Sally-Ann was exhausted, so I told her to get some rest at my apartment before we headed to the hospital to begin pre-treatment chemo.

  * * *

  I dropped her off at home then stopped by our GMA office with Dr. Rich Besser. I knew the staff would have a lot of questions, and I knew that as ABC’s chief medical health editor, Rich would have answers. I wanted to ease our team’s concerns. This was new territory for all of us. How long would I be in the hospital? How long before I could come back to work? Would they be allowed to visit me, hug me?

  It was standing room only in our office. We have TV monitors everywhere, and it was odd to see my announcement being played over and over on various networks. Thankfully, someone grabbed the remote and turned off all the TVs. I began by saying I knew many of them had recently battled their own health issues. Sandra and Thea, both producers, had faced their own challenges, and I called them out. I wanted them to know how their bravery inspired me. Another producer, Gary, had just had a death in the family. He had recently returned to work, and his eyes were so sad. I let the team know that he was still grieving and in need of their good wishes, too. I wanted them to know that this moment wasn’t just about me. Everybody’s got something. I wanted them to know I saw their somethings, too.

  I showed the team pictures from our party on the rooftop, that beautiful Thursday night in April, after we bested the Today show and became the number one morning show in America. “This was the same day I was diagnosed,” I explained. “But it didn’t stop me from going to the party, dancing, doing the limbo with Sam.” I held up a photo. “Look at all of your smiling faces. There’s no reason not to continue smiling in my absence. I am confident that our team will continue to flourish, and I’ll be cheering you on from the sidelines.”

  I didn’t realize that this was Will Reeve’s first day as a GMA intern. Will is the son of Christopher and Dana Reeve, and I had known him as a child. So much about this past year involved things coming full circle.

  I first met Will’s mother in the 1990s. Dana Reeve had a daytime talk show with Deborah Roberts. I would fill in for Deb, and I remember seeing pictures of Will. He was the cutest little boy, and he would come to the studio. Dana and I would spend time talking after the show and often ran into each other at charity events.

  I remember thinking, “Wow, here she is juggling her husband’s illness, being very active in the fund-raising and the research.” She believed with all of her heart that Christopher Reeve was going to walk again. He, too, was convi
nced he was going to walk again, and although it didn’t come true for him, it moved mountains for the spinal cord injury patients who benefit from his legacy.

  I’ll never forget the first time I met Christopher Reeve. Even though he was in a chair, he had a larger-than-life presence. He was Superman in that chair. It was inspiring to see the joy with which Dana juggled the various roles in her life: caregiver of Chris, Will’s mom, media personality. She was also an actress and a cabaret singer. She was talented in so many ways.

  We knew that Chris’s future was uncertain. But it was a shock when Dana, a nonsmoker, was diagnosed with lung cancer and died less than two years later. It was such a tragedy. I remember looking at Will, an orphan at thirteen, and thinking that he seemed so tiny to be facing such a monumental loss. I remember seeing the news coverage of Will at his mother’s memorial, with his older siblings. His hands were in his pockets and his head was down and I thought, “Oh, my gosh. Is he going to be okay?”

  I always have such an affinity for the interns we have at GMA. They often reach out to me through my assistant, Sonny. So I have a lot of one-on-one meetings with the interns in my office. I also host a lunch for the interns every year, and I truly believe that I get as much as I give to them. The college students who come to work with us every summer are so creative and so energetic. I love the sparkle of infinite possibilities in their eyes. They are such bright lights, I know I’m going to be working for at least one of my former interns someday.

  So I pay attention to the new faces on the studio floor. The moment I saw Will Reeve I thought, “Wow, he’s an Adonis. He’s such a wonderful combination of both his parents.” He is just this handsome, charismatic young man. He turned out okay. Better than okay. His parents did such a miraculous job with the limited time they had with him here on earth. Meeting him, you would not think he had any hardship in his life. Back at school that fall, Will wrote a paper about my announcement and the fact that it fell on his first day of work at GMA.

  My right wrist began the summer of 2012 bare and untanned, but then I was rummaging around my room and stumbled upon an old Livestrong bracelet I had taken off after my mom died of lung cancer six years earlier and figured that it was good a time as any to put it back on. So, I began my internship at ABC’s Good Morning America on June 11th with a Livestrong bracelet, an empty briefcase and not a clue what to expect.

  I walked into the 66th Street headquarters at 9:30 a.m. that morning expecting some kind of welcoming committee or at least a place to put my stuff, but the girl who greeted me at the elevator seemed anxious and preoccupied and told me to sit in the office chair in the corner until everyone arrived.

  Nobody came to talk to me, so I pulled out my phone and looked up the news, just in case anybody needed me to report a story or make a lunch reservation. It was the first thing that popped up. Breaking News. Robin Roberts, GMA co-anchor, has been diagnosed with myelodysplastic syndrome.

  I absorbed what I was reading and looked up and into the newsroom, where it finally made sense. Robin had tearfully announced her diagnosis on air that morning after keeping it secret for a few months while she sorted out her new life. I looked back down at my phone to do some research on MDS, in case anybody needed me to report on it. Suddenly, everyone who has ever appeared on ABC Television hurried into the newsroom and congregated by a TV mounted on the wall. Someone cued up that morning’s show and played Robin’s announcement. Faces darkened and BlackBerrys appeared, and then she walked in and the phones went back into pockets and the faces tried to smile.

  Robin, flanked by her cohosts and Dr. Richard Besser, stood at the front of the room underneath the televised version of herself and walked everyone through her disease and her plan. She was stoic, passionate and strong, but most everyone else lost the battle and cried. She, however, insisted that she would not. She was a fighter, supported by God and her family and friends and statistical advantages.

  I got to talk with Robin when she had (increasingly rare) free time, and we spoke about how we had met years ago when she was friends with my mom, and she told me how she admired my mom for her strength and resiliency, and that she looked up to me, of all people, for those same qualities. I told her that I got by on luck and the love of family and friends, and that she deserved my admiration far more than I deserved hers. She said that that’s how we all get by.

  A few days before she left to prepare for her transplant and subsequent quarantine, Robin handed out these multicolored bracelets. She said the colors represent springtime and regrowth. Wear them if you want, she said, so you don’t forget about me completely while I’m gone. At least remember the prayer. It’s called the Prayer for Protection.

  I shed a lot of tears reading Will’s paper. He embodies resilience, strength and courage.

  After addressing the staff, I went to my private office to catch my breath. Sonny, my rock, quietly stood at the door, gently telling my colleagues not to come in right now. I needed a moment to myself. I didn’t want to check my e-mails or voice mail. I just wanted to be still. I closed my eyes and took deep, long breaths. Time seemed to stop. When I opened my eyes, Sonny was still standing guard. Thank you, Sonny.

  Chapter 14

  Assembling My Team

  When Sally-Ann and I got to the treatment room later that day, we turned on the TV. It happened to be on CNN and at that very moment, they were doing a story on what I had disclosed that morning. The anchor, Alina Cho, was sensitively and thoughtfully discussing my situation. Then she began to interview Dr. Gail Roboz, the director of the leukemia program at New York–Presbyterian Hospital. Even though I wasn’t her patient, Dr. Roboz explained my condition better than anyone had at that point. There was something special about her that resonated and comforted me.

  The nurse preparing me for chemo spoke highly of Dr. Roboz. Although she was at a different hospital, the nurse was very familiar with her work. Sensing my interest, she asked me if I wanted Dr. Roboz’s phone number. I think my response was: “Uh, yeah!” It was at that moment that I realized good doctors and nurses want only what’s best for the patient.

  How many medical segments had I done on GMA? You hope that it helps people. You hear from the viewers that they were sitting at the breakfast table or ironing a shirt for work and they heard something on TV that saved their lives. Then it happened to me. Television, the medium in which I work and have dedicated my life to, helped me find a great doctor when I needed her most.

  I called Dr. Roboz from the car on my way home. I thanked her for her professionalism in discussing my case. She knew I was seeing another doctor at another hospital and simply said I could consult with her any time. “I’d be happy to help in any capacity,” she said. She was obviously knowledgeable, but also upbeat and humorous. She was realistic about the odds, but she also made me believe that I could beat this.

  Sally-Ann could tell how much better I felt after talking with Gail. I knew I wanted to switch doctors, but how? It was a real dilemma, because I’d just started my pre-treatment consisting of five consecutive days of chemo. As the nurses explained to me, this was a different kind of chemotherapy from the treatment I’d received before. It was as if my body was a pasture and this chemo targeted just the weeds. It wouldn’t affect the grass.

  I needed two doctors to lead the team for my care. One would be an oncologist, someone who knew MDS inside and out and would guide me through the chemo and pre-treatment regimen that would prepare my body for the transplant. The second doctor would be a transplant specialist, someone who would supervise the care of both me and my donor, Sally-Ann, then lead me through the transplant and the critical period afterward when my body needed to rest, heal and, hopefully, accept Sally-Ann’s cells.

  Instinctively, I knew I wanted Gail to take over as my oncologist, but I had already started my pre-transplant treatment at one hospital; could I possibly switch midtreatment? I know this sounds silly to say, but I didn’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings. Maybe it’s the Southerner
in me. Always trying my best to be polite and considerate of others’ feelings. Would it be rude to go with another doctor? Will people think I’m being a diva? That I don’t trust them? That I don’t believe in them?

  Diane and Rich had already talked to numerous physicians across the country on my behalf. They found two doctors they were hoping I’d switch to but wanted it to be my decision. When I mentioned Gail Roboz to both of them they could barely contain their excitement. She had been their top choice, too! Rich made the initial call to my current doctor to explain my decision. The doctor could not have been more professional. He totally understood and just wanted me to be comfortable, and that was the only thing that mattered. I would complete my week of pre-treatment with him and then continue with Gail. No hard feelings.

  Gail’s mother and father are both renowned doctors, and they can do the hula, too (I found that out when we happened to be vacationing in Hawaii at the same time). They are very cute. She didn’t tell them I was a patient, and she knew they watched GMA. So before Gail appeared with me on GMA she gave them a call. They said, “You weren’t going to tell us?” As doctors, both of them are very discreet, but Gail valued my privacy.