Everybody's Got Something by Robin Roberts, Veronica Chambers Page B
Authors: Robin Roberts, Veronica Chambers
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Southern home from the 1920s that miraculously survived Hurricane Katrina. Set on twelve bucolic acres, the mansion features a chapel, a gazebo and a great room where they serve traditional afternoon tea by the fireplace. More than 250 guests turned up for Mom’s book party, and it looked more like a wedding when we entered the banquet hall, full of white linen round tables and big bouquets of hydrangea.
It’s a funny thing how much being on national TV is like being a military brat. When you’re on TV in every town in America, you don’t really have a home base. But that’s why my home in Mississippi is so important to me, because it gives me my home base. When I walk through that door I smell an aroma that could only be home. I sit in Momma’s chair, and see that rickety old TV, and it’s grounding, it’s nurturing. If I only stayed in New York City and went to all the premieres that I’m invited to, and all the trappings of being where I am…Well, that’s never going to happen. I can’t even finish that sentence, because it would just never happen. It doesn’t speak to me. It’s not who I am or who I will ever be.
I remember Mom beaming as my big sister Dorothy sang the title of Mom’s book: “This is My Story , this is My Song , praising my Savior all the day long.” Our cousin Steven accompanied Dorothy on the piano. There wasn’t a dry eye in the house.
No one at that reception could have imagined the pain we were experiencing as a family. After the book signing we returned home, and I took out swab kits for my sisters. My best shot to beat MDS was a bone marrow transplant. Doctors told me it was my only option for a possible cure. I desperately needed a genetic match.
I have two sisters and one brother. Butch is the oldest, and while he wanted to be considered a candidate to save his little sister’s life, his age and his own health issues ruled him out. Sally-Ann is the next oldest. She’s a television anchor in New Orleans. They love her there and she loves them right back. Dorothy is the next oldest. She’s an artist and an administrator and probably the most creative person I know.
Dorothy and Sally-Ann were eager to swab the insides of their cheeks. But before we began, Sally-Ann’s longtime prayer partner and sister-in-law, Phyllis, led us in prayer. I certainly was in need of a miracle. I didn’t tell them that there was only a three-in-ten chance that either would be a match. A lifetime in sports has taught me that the beauty of life is that odds are meant to be defied. Miracles happen every day.
I was remarkably calm as my sisters took the test to see if one of them might be a match. Sure, I went through a range of emotions, anger, fear, etc. But Mom always taught me we have choices. Never more so than after Dad died, when she said, “You can have sad sorrow or happy sorrow.” I choose to be happy even in difficult times. Uplifting thoughts and actions. Nowhere is it written that we shouldn’t be happy. We don’t get extra bonus points for drudgingly going through life.
In the weeks that it took to get the results, I prayed every day for a miracle. Diane Sawyer was a wonderful resource, doing the legwork of investigating what the best next steps for me would be when—“not ‘if,’” she would say—I found my match. Every time I talked to Diane on the phone, I could hear her flipping through pages of her notes. If the match is such and such, this would be your best hospital. Depending on the type of donor you have, and what kind of match it is, this would be your best bet.
The plan was for my nieces to take the test next, if it turned out that neither Dorothy nor Sally-Ann were a match. I remember asking my mother if my dad had any children we were never told about. I said: “Mom, I promise not to get mad, in fact I’m giving you this onetime pass to come clean: Does Daddy have any other children?” Momma was horrified, she said, “Oh, mercy, no!”
I pride myself on
It’s a funny thing how much being on national TV is like being a military brat. When you’re on TV in every town in America, you don’t really have a home base. But that’s why my home in Mississippi is so important to me, because it gives me my home base. When I walk through that door I smell an aroma that could only be home. I sit in Momma’s chair, and see that rickety old TV, and it’s grounding, it’s nurturing. If I only stayed in New York City and went to all the premieres that I’m invited to, and all the trappings of being where I am…Well, that’s never going to happen. I can’t even finish that sentence, because it would just never happen. It doesn’t speak to me. It’s not who I am or who I will ever be.
I remember Mom beaming as my big sister Dorothy sang the title of Mom’s book: “This is My Story , this is My Song , praising my Savior all the day long.” Our cousin Steven accompanied Dorothy on the piano. There wasn’t a dry eye in the house.
No one at that reception could have imagined the pain we were experiencing as a family. After the book signing we returned home, and I took out swab kits for my sisters. My best shot to beat MDS was a bone marrow transplant. Doctors told me it was my only option for a possible cure. I desperately needed a genetic match.
I have two sisters and one brother. Butch is the oldest, and while he wanted to be considered a candidate to save his little sister’s life, his age and his own health issues ruled him out. Sally-Ann is the next oldest. She’s a television anchor in New Orleans. They love her there and she loves them right back. Dorothy is the next oldest. She’s an artist and an administrator and probably the most creative person I know.
Dorothy and Sally-Ann were eager to swab the insides of their cheeks. But before we began, Sally-Ann’s longtime prayer partner and sister-in-law, Phyllis, led us in prayer. I certainly was in need of a miracle. I didn’t tell them that there was only a three-in-ten chance that either would be a match. A lifetime in sports has taught me that the beauty of life is that odds are meant to be defied. Miracles happen every day.
I was remarkably calm as my sisters took the test to see if one of them might be a match. Sure, I went through a range of emotions, anger, fear, etc. But Mom always taught me we have choices. Never more so than after Dad died, when she said, “You can have sad sorrow or happy sorrow.” I choose to be happy even in difficult times. Uplifting thoughts and actions. Nowhere is it written that we shouldn’t be happy. We don’t get extra bonus points for drudgingly going through life.
In the weeks that it took to get the results, I prayed every day for a miracle. Diane Sawyer was a wonderful resource, doing the legwork of investigating what the best next steps for me would be when—“not ‘if,’” she would say—I found my match. Every time I talked to Diane on the phone, I could hear her flipping through pages of her notes. If the match is such and such, this would be your best hospital. Depending on the type of donor you have, and what kind of match it is, this would be your best bet.
The plan was for my nieces to take the test next, if it turned out that neither Dorothy nor Sally-Ann were a match. I remember asking my mother if my dad had any children we were never told about. I said: “Mom, I promise not to get mad, in fact I’m giving you this onetime pass to come clean: Does Daddy have any other children?” Momma was horrified, she said, “Oh, mercy, no!”
I pride myself on
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