Everybody's Got Something by Robin Roberts, Veronica Chambers Read Free Book Online Page A

When I told Sally-Ann I had bad news she got out of line and parked her car. Then I took a deep breath and I told my oldest sister that I had been diagnosed with breast cancer. Willie, her college sweetheart and husband of twenty-five years, had died of colon cancer the day before Thanksgiving in 2002. I could hear the fear in her voice that she could lose me, too.
    What is so remarkable about that day is that in the midst of being scared and shaking with my personal crisis, I could become so uplifted and inspired by bearing witness to someone else’s tragedy. As my mom always said, everybody’s got something. I was in Pine Mountain to interview Michael and Jeri Bishop, whose only son, Jamie, had been killed a few months earlier in the horrific shootings that took place at Virginia Tech in 2007. Jamie had been a beloved teacher there, and his parents were still numb with grief. Nevertheless, they had agreed to talk to me for a story that would air the first day the students returned to campus in Blacksburg.
    The Bishops are such lovely people. They welcomed me into their home and fed me delicious cherries. Their warmth touched me, and it was all I could do not to collapse into their arms and cry, “I have cancer.” But I pulled myself together. They had lost their son in one of the most tragic ways imaginable. I was there to comfort them.
    The Bishops spoke so eloquently and movingly about Jamie. When I asked them what they wanted the students returning to know, Jeri said, “I want them to know that they are in the right place at the right time.” Her comment was in reference to President George W. Bush’s words during a memorial service that the thirty-two people killed were in the wrong place at the wrong time. The Bishops felt that despite the tragedy, their incredible son had been where he was supposed to be. He was a passionate teacher making a difference in countless lives.
    I hugged the Bishops good-bye and got back in the car to return to the airport. I was desperate for some privacy. All I wanted was to get home. But wouldn’t you know it, my flight was delayed, and it was almost 11 p.m. before I walked through my front door. I crumbled like an accordion on my couch and had a good long cry. Something I had wanted to do ever since I heard Dr. Knapp utter those words almost twelve hours earlier.
     
    The next day I had a breast MRI, and Amber went with me to meet my surgeon, Lauren Cassell. She’s the absolute best: a little dynamo in designer dresses and killer high heels, a force of nature, adored by all her patients. Dr. Cassell clearly explained the situation to me. My tumor appeared to be a little more than two centimeters. During surgery she would also check my lymph nodes. I barely have a scar thanks to her brilliant work. More important, she expertly removed my tumor and got clean margins the first time. She spends countless hours reviewing X-rays and images of the breast. She’s gifted in knowing how much beyond the tumor to remove. Cancerous tumors are tricky, because it’s not just removing the tumor but also any minute particles it may leave behind. Many patients have to go back a second or third time because the surgeon didn’t get enough. Not the case with Lauren Cassell.
    I endured many months of chemotherapy and radiation. I remember when my hair started to fall out from the chemo. My beloved mother was staying with me. She wanted to be with her baby girl when I began treatment. Two weeks after my first dose of chemo my hair started coming out in clumps. Momma was in my kitchen cooking her world-famous collard greens. I went to her bawling my eyes out, holding chunks of my hair. She sweetly comforted me with one arm, while stirring her collards with the other. I don’t think she wanted me to get too close to her pot of delicious greens. I cherish that memory.
     
    Amber, my dear siblings and friends were there for me every step of the way. Diane Sawyer was a constant source of comfort. We