Everybody's Got Something by Robin Roberts, Veronica Chambers
Authors: Robin Roberts, Veronica Chambers
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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
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
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