Gabby_ A Story of Courage and Hope - Alison Hanson [136]
“Block of time!” she exclaimed, gesturing with her left hand for emphasis.
And then I understood. She recognized that as a caregiver, it was important that I take time for myself. She wanted me to have a “block of time” to work out at the gym.
“OK, Gabby,” I said, “I’m going to take a block of time at the gym and then I’ll come home.”
From such small exchanges, our ability to understand each other blossomed.
When we had first settled into my home in League City, I was a little concerned that the press might stake out the house, trying to get videos and photos of Gabby. But the media turned out to be generally very respectful of Gabby’s privacy, as they’d been since January 8. (With the exception of the two news helicopters and the ten cameramen and reporters who showed up the first day Gabby was home, we didn’t see much of the media in the neighborhood.)
We knew, of course, that people wanted an update on how Gabby was doing and what she looked like now. For that reason, a few days before Gabby left TIRR, her office released two photos of her. Taken by Gabby’s friend P. K. Weis, one of the photos was a simple portrait of Gabby wearing glasses, her hair darker and shorter than people remembered. The other photo showed Gabby and Gloria together, both of them smiling. Except for that grainy footage taken of Gabby boarding the stairs onto that NASA jet in April, this was the first time since the shooting that the world got to see Gabby. We heard from countless friends and strangers telling Gabby she looked great. She was buoyed by their good wishes.
Though Gabby kept improving, it was sometimes dispiriting for her to go to outpatient group therapy, where many of those with brain injuries weren’t as far along as she was. In her “group communication” sessions, there were eight men and Gabby, no other women. Only one of the men could speak at all. Gabby came home at night and would tell me about it. “Scary,” she said.
I hadn’t been in favor of Gabby joining group therapy until Jimmy Hatch, a friend of Gabby’s, visited us. Jimmy is a Navy SEAL, and in 2010 Gabby had helped him through bouts of depression related to injuries he’d received in Afghanistan. He’d been in group therapy for service-related head trauma. “Gabby ought to try it,” he told me when he came to Houston. “She may find comfort seeing other folks with similar problems. It could motivate her to improve.” Gabby had helped Jimmy. Now he had come to help her.
Gabby did well in group therapy, but it was hard to watch others who struggled there.
Kristy drove with Gabby to rehab, and she’d sometimes peek through the window of the therapy room to see what was going on. Most of the patients were silent, slumped over, not too alert. “Gabby sits there, singing away,” Kristy told me.
It was sad to hear about these other patients, and it only made us more grateful for Gabby’s progress.
Gabby began venturing out into public more. One day, for occupational therapy, she went shopping at a drugstore for an hour, reading labels and filling her cart. She bought various toiletries, including toothpaste for me. I had asked her to get Aquafresh, which I normally use. But she bought me Tom’s natural toothpaste, because it had fewer chemicals. She always had that stuff in Tucson, and even though I told her it tasted horrible, that’s what she got me.
It was a surreal scene at the drugstore, with two Capitol Police officers wearing their suits and strolling the store with empty carts. Everyone in the store had to know they weren’t shoppers; it was obvious they were there for Gabby’s protection.
Gabby’s first public appearance before a large group came on June 27 at a NASA awards ceremony. I wasn’t sure she should attend; her previous outings had been subject to detailed advanced planning. This outing would be impromptu. But Gabby insisted she wanted to be there. I had announced my retirement from NASA and the Navy a few days earlier, and Gabby knew this was her last chance to see me get a NASA award.
My Endeavour crew and