Gabby_ A Story of Courage and Hope - Alison Hanson [146]
By then, the phone was already ringing, and my BlackBerry was buzzing with e-mails from Gabby’s advisors—Pia, Ron Barber, Rodd McLeod, and several consultants. They were all weighing the pros and cons of Gabby casting a vote.
The debt-ceiling bill—raising the debt limit by at least $2.1 trillion while cutting federal spending by $2.4 trillion—was an uninspiring, unpopular, concession-packed agreement; it would be safer if Gabby skipped it. She understood that voting “yes” would displease many of her constituents. She certainly recognized the complaints of Tea Party Republicans, who wanted to further rein in spending, and of liberal Democrats, who were unhappy with cuts to social-service programs. But she believed that this bill, however flawed, would need to be passed to save Social Security, Medicare, and Medicaid from immediate cuts. If it didn’t pass, many companies would immediately stop hiring. Investors would flee stocks and U.S. Treasuries. The economy could collapse.
For Gabby’s aides, however, the question wasn’t just whether she should vote “yes” on this controversial bill. The question was should she be voting at all. They feared that pundits or political adversaries would start asking: If Gabby could show up for this vote, why wasn’t she showing up for other votes? The honest answer, of course, was that this vote was by far the most critical one of the term. Though Gabby was still very much in recovery, she felt a responsibility to be there.
“Even if we explain that,” Pia said, “there still could be a lot of fallout from this. I’m not sure she should do it.”
I understood the trepidation of Gabby’s advisors and why they were looking at the decision from all angles. They’d helped Gabby every step of her career by making smart, rational choices. But Gabby was leaning toward trusting her gut. She knew the bill was flawed but necessary. She wanted to do what she could to help the country avoid a monumental crisis. She thought she should go to Washington, and I agreed.
Before she got on the plane, though, we had to consider another question: Was her vote truly needed?
That morning, no one seemed to know for sure if the bill had enough supporters to pass it. The Democrats were going to caucus at noon Eastern Time, the Republicans at 1 p.m. By then, it would be clearer how everyone was lining up, but it would be too late for Gabby to make it to Washington for a late-afternoon or early-evening vote.
I told Pia: “Whether or not she walks onto the floor and votes, I think she needs to head to Washington. She can always hang out in her office, see how the vote is going, and then make a decision about whether to vote. But if she doesn’t fly in, she won’t have that option.”
Pia saw the wisdom in that. “OK,” she said. “How fast can Gabby get here?”
A mad scramble ensued. I quickly packed my bag and Gabby’s. Then I sped around the house trying to guess what else she would want me to bring. I contacted the Capitol Police and made arrangements to get Gabby out of therapy so she could go directly to the airport. We needed a day nurse and a night nurse to join us, and I was relieved when Kristy and Kay said they could make it. There was so much to do in just a few minutes. Jen Cox, Gabby’s operations director, worked her magic on the phone, coordinating airline reservations. Pia coordinated the rest. As for me, I was so busy I felt like I was in the space shuttle simulator.
I remembered to pack Gabby’s official House of Representatives voting card. It’s the size of a credit card with her photo on it, and without it, she wouldn’t be able to use the voting station on the House floor. Luckily, the FBI had gotten it back to me; it had been in her wallet on January 8. I also brought her “112th Congress” pin, which identifies her as a member and allows her on the House floor. About the size of a quarter, Gabby was wearing it on her red suit jacket the day she was shot.
There was