Character Driven (30 page)

Ultimately, I decided that I would go to Golden State and accept the challenge of being a leader there. That almost didn’t happen. After all the upheaval of that summer, I was ready to sign and eliminate a few of the many unknowns in my life. When my agent called me to outline the details of their offer, I told him I was good to go. He let the ownership know that a deal was in place. A few hours after that, I got a voice-mail message from Kobe Bryant. He said that he wanted to talk to me and that he hoped that I would come back to the Lakers. I tried to call him back, but couldn’t reach him. He might have been able to persuade me to stay except for one thing. I’d given my word that I was going to the Bay Area to sign with Golden State. I couldn’t back out on that, and I didn’t.

It would be an understatement to say that things didn’t work out with the Warriors the way any of us hoped they would. For various reasons I started fewer than half the games the two seasons I was there. My numbers were decent and I averaged more points per game than I did in L.A., playing fewer minutes in some cases. It was good to be one of the offensive options, but something wasn’t right. I could tell from the start. I’d signed a big contract, I was making more money than ever, I was supposed to be in the position that I always wanted to be in, but I was really, really not happy. The old line about being careful what you wish for was ringing in my head. I felt empty in a way I hadn’t before in my adult life. What was the point of working so hard if I felt so unfulfilled?

I’d always been a reader, and at the start of that year I’d undertook to reading a number of self-improvement and personal-development books. At the time, I was reading Dr. Gary Smalley’s book
The DNA of Relationships
. I saw so much of myself in that book. I was at a kind of crisis point in my life, and I somehow found that book and realized that the approach I took on the court was getting in the way of my being successful off the court. I was so used to working hard and taking a problem/solution approach to everything that when Candace approached me about something, I immediately went into the tell-me-what-it-is-and-I’ll-fix-it mode that had worked so well for me in developing my off hand, perfecting my free throw stroke, etc. What she wanted was to be heard and not diagnosed and analyzed and to have a five-point plan implemented. I also couldn’t be the take-charge kind of person I was on the basketball court. I needed to listen to her and not just do something.

What I also realized was that not everything was about me: sometimes how she was feeling and responding didn’t have anything to do with me. And finally I learned that unlike on the court where my actions were all that mattered, with Candace what I said mattered as well. I was of the belief before that “Hey, I’m helping out around the house, I’m doing this and I’m doing that, so why do I have to say I love you? Can’t you see I do based on all the stuff I’m doing for you?” All that emphasis on doing I’d had in place since I was a kid had been my undoing in my relationship with her. Instead of trying to shoulder more responsibility, I needed to learn to share the responsibilities and figure out ways that the two of us could manage the tasks we needed to be together happily.

So, I called her late in 2004. We hadn’t spoken since May of that year. I told her about what I’d been thinking, and she knew that I’d loved her for a long time and that I’d finally stopped putting up obstacles. The ups and downs weren’t going to be over, but I was firmly committed to riding them out together. In February of 2005, we got married. Our wedding day—February 19—was over All-Star weekend, and we had a nice backyard ceremony at the house I still owned in Encino. My uncle George Johnson officiated.

Things just seem to have a way of working out for me since then. Even though my time at Golden State wasn’t the best for me, that we missed the play-offs in 2006 meant that I was home in the late spring and early summer to be with Candace full-time as we awaited the arrival of the twins. Otherwise, I might have been preparing for the finals and not there with her during that last critical month. I had a good time putting together the nursery, even if being left-handed meant that assembling the crib got a bit frustrating. We were also blessed that Candace’s mom could be there for the birth, and I was surprised to walk into the hospital and find my mother sitting there. Everyone else was in on it but me, and I was so glad to see her.

Since marrying Candace, I’ve experienced a peace that I never had before. I still take the game seriously, and I do hate losing, but I use the long drive or flight home to let go of that. I definitely have learned to keep things in perspective. I play a game that I love and one that I have been so blessed to be a part of and that entertains millions, but when I come home, neither the twins nor Chloe care about the minutes I played, they just want to play with me. Instead of reading the paper to see what people think of my performance, I read
Five Silly Monkeys, Brown Bear, Brown Bear, Mama Llama
, and
Daddy Hugs
. The game continues to sometimes confound me with all its ups and downs and dramas. But play-off losses don’t define my life. I’ve gained so much more than I can ever really begin to count.

In the wake of Tatum’s diagnosis, I understood that box scores only tell one small part about anyone’s life. I started out this book by saying that all the experiences I’ve had helped us to be in a position where Tatum’s eye could be saved. In reality, a lot of me was saved as a result of all those experiences as well. At more than one point, things could have taken a very different direction for me. Thanks to my parents, my coaches, and my extraordinary wife, I’m at a place now where I am playing better than ever. There is no logical explanation for how that can be. When I should be on the downside of my career, the ball seems to be bouncing back up to me more easily than ever. Having let go of some of the concerns I had and the need to constantly be in control of everything and to take care of business, and instead leaving the rest up to someone far greater than me, has made all the difference. Having all those teammates on my side and knowing that I don’t have to do it all feels better than I ever thought possible.

Knowing that I had helped myself by finally committing fully to my life with Candace gives me a lot of satisfaction. Having a family to come home to after games has really helped me with my priorities and allowed me to really see what is important. It’s ironic that we use the term
court vision
in talking about basketball and in general we use the word
see
to talk about understanding. I was well on my way to putting things into the proper perspective when Tatum’s diagnosis rocked our world. I’ve already talked about that dramatic first procedure and the game that followed. A lot of people know elements of that story, but that was just phase one of her treatment. Unlike in playing good help defense, I had no moment of indecision about whether to stay home or to go help out. In a sense, I did both. The second treatment was scheduled for May 30, the same day that the Jazz were going to face off against the San Antonio Spurs in game five of our Western Conference Final. Our backs were against the wall, trailing San Antonio three games to one and facing elimination on the road.

We stuck to the schedule that Dr. Abramson had recommended and were in New York. The second time through the process was a bit easier, and we had worked out the details so that I could make it to San Antonio in time for the game. Fortunately, the procedure went well again, but the results of the game were not as good as they had been against Golden State. We lost, falling short of the finals and a chance at an NBA championship. I was disappointed, of course, but I had more important things on my mind. I needed to get away from the game completely and focus solely on my family and Tatum’s treatment. From the very start of our working with Dr. Abramson, we had a lot of questions on our mind about follow-up care. Once it became clearer that the treatment was having some positive effects, those questions became more prominent in our thinking: What will we have to plan for in terms of Tatum’s diet? Exposure to the sun? What additional treatments and appointments would she need? Would we continue to have to go to New York for every visit? We would go to New York if there was no alternative, but what were our options? We wanted to be sure that we did everything we could to maximize the chances of a successful outcome for Tatum. Nothing else mattered.

By the end of June, Tatum had undergone the third and final treatment Dr. Abramson thought would be necessary. We were all very aware of the level of toxic chemicals an infant could take, and monitoring the tumor would guide us on whether she would need additional treatments in the immediate future and long term. That meant we would have to be constantly vigilant—again, knowing when to stay home on defense or when to make the move to help elsewhere. The priority was always to defend Tatum and my family to the maximum of my ability. Finding the right doctors and the right after-care mattered more than anything else. I was not about to abandon my responsibilities or shift too many of them to Candace just so that I could continue to play basketball. If the best thing for me to do was to retire so that I could be with my family full-time, I was prepared to do that. That didn’t mean that was what I wanted to do, but we had to consider all scenarios.

Fortunately, Tatum’s response to the treatment was so good—both in terms of the tumor and her general well-being—that we were all able to stay very positive. She was a little fatigued after the treatments, but that could just as easily have been from the changes to her schedule and the travel as the chemotherapy. Seeing that she was doing well made it easier for us to remain upbeat and focused on a good outcome. I think that was critical to the success of the treatment. Today, two years after her last treatment and with no signs of the tumor and no indication that the cancer has spread, we remain optimistic but take nothing for granted. We also haven’t allowed ourselves now or back then to feel sorry for ourselves, nor have we been stuck on high alert. We’re not at the edge of an emotional cliff, and we take it the proverbial one day at a time and remain grateful and prayerful for all the blessings we’ve received.

The Utah Jazz organization and the people of Salt Lake City particularly and people around the country generally were wonderfully supportive of us. I can never repay Jazz fans and management for the kindness and consideration they extended to my family. It’s both funny and sad that a few people have looked at the situation we were in and thought that I had somehow orchestrated all of it to get out of Utah. Nothing could be further from the truth. I had a contract with the Jazz that would have paid me in excess of $20 million. I was playing for a team with a wonderful combination of youth, athleticism, and veteran savvy. I was playing for a Hall of Fame coach in front of an adoring mass of devoted fans. If it weren’t for Tatum’s cancer, I could easily and happily have ended my career in Utah.

Unfortunately, in terms of my basketball career, I had to make a decision based on what was best for my family. So after considering the options and consulting with Dr. Abramson about possible locations where Tatum could receive the best after-care, I approached my agent at the time and told him that I would list the cities I would consider playing in based on the kind of medical facilities available there. Based on what Dr. Abramson told me, and he did this reluctantly, Salt Lake City did not have a pediatric oncologist with experience in the kind of tumor Tatum had. This is no knock on the doctors and medical centers in Salt Lake City. But we needed a relationship with specialists familiar with the specific disease Tatum had, and only a few places in the country had such doctors.

Obviously New York and New Jersey were on that list because that would mean that we could easily see Dr. Abramson. Cleveland and Boston were also possible because of their proximity to New York and because of the treatment options available there. Golden State, Miami, Memphis, and Los Angeles were also possibilities.

I broached the subject of leaving the Jazz in a face-to-face meeting with General Manager Kevin O’Connor. I took him through my thinking about Tatum’s after-care and stressed that I did not want to live in one city and have my family be in another. Being an absentee/ part-time dad was not something I ever wanted. I wanted and needed to be home for my wife and our kids. As he had been throughout Tatum’s health crisis, Kevin was supportive and said that he, of course, understood and that he would find out from ownership what might be done to achieve our mutual goals. A few days after that meeting, discussions centered around the possibility of trading me to one of the cities on my list. If you know anything about the economics of the game and how it influences personnel decisions, midlevel exceptions, salary caps, and all that, then you know how incredibly complicated this could all get. As much as I wanted the Jazz to benefit somehow, I knew that I couldn’t let basketball decisions dictate where my family and I ended up and what doctors we would be forced to see.

As much as I’d learned about letting go and not trying to control everything, in this area I had to exert total control. Cancer is powerful and all-controlling. I knew that I had to do what was best for my daughter’s health and for my family. The choice of where we went had to be mine and based on doctors, quality of life, comfort level, and access to our support system. I wanted to choose and interview (meet face-to-face with Tatum’s doctors) and not sit passively by while other people made life-altering decisions. I don’t for a minute blame the other people involved for thinking of basketball. That’s what they are paid to do, and if I were in their shoes, I would have been trying to look for a similar win-win situation. But I couldn’t settle for just any old kind of win. I had to have complete dominance over what I can’t even call a “game.” This was far more important than that. I began to push for the Jazz to grant me a complete release from my contract. My agent wasn’t too thrilled to hear that, and he recommended that I at least press the Jazz for some kind of buyout/settlement. I knew that wasn’t going to fly. Why would the Jazz pay me anything to leave the organization?