Gabby_ A Story of Courage and Hope - Alison Hanson [150]
Then she excused herself, went into the bedroom, and napped for an hour. I went out to get us a pizza.
Photos of Gabby in the House chamber made the front page of newspapers across the nation the next morning. There were scores of editorials written about her, and Gabby’s office sent me links to some of them via e-mail. One of my favorites came from The Record, a newspaper in northern New Jersey. I was moved while reading it to Gabby, and so was she.
The editorial began: “Finally, nobility. After months of rancor and pettiness, one small woman brought Washington to its feet. Her ‘yes’ vote did not affect the outcome; the bill passed by a wide margin. But for a few minutes, it changed the tenor of the debate. For that, America should be grateful.”
The editorial continued: “Giffords’ physical rehabilitation is far from complete. . . . We do not know how much more progress she will make or whether she will ever return to full-time duty in the House. But on Monday, she did return. Without speaking and without fiery rhetoric, she brought all of us to the same conclusion: This nation is worthy of personal sacrifice . . . We can compromise on how we fund America; we cannot compromise on how we define America. That definition does not require words. Just look at Gabrielle Giffords.”
By tradition, presidents often thank astronauts for their service after a successful flight. Coincidentally, the crew of STS-134 had been invited to meet with President Obama at the White House the day after the debt-ceiling vote. Members of my crew were bringing their spouses, and naturally, I wanted Gabby to come, too. The president would be glad to see her, and I knew he’d be impressed by her progress.
“No,” Gabby said. “Back to work.”
What did she mean? “In Congress?” I asked.
“No, no,” she said. “Rehab.”
I was surprised. Given the option of visiting the president in the Oval Office and spending five hours in rehab, you’d think the choice would be obvious.
“Sweetie, you can miss one day of therapy,” I said. “Your therapists will understand.”
“No,” Gabby said again. “Fly back for therapy.”
I saw from the look on her face that she was adamant about this. Her job was to commit herself to every facet of rehab, and to get better. Improving her speech, using her arm, returning to Congress—so much hinged on that hard work. That was her foremost responsibility.
I knew there was no arguing it. “I’ll tell the president that you say hello,” I said, “and that you didn’t want to miss rehab. He’ll understand.”
Gabby met with her Capitol Hill staff in the hotel conference room, and then she and Jen, along with the two nurses and her security detail, headed to the airport. I went to the White House without her.
Jen later told me about the plane ride back to Houston. Gabby watched CNN for a while and smiled whenever the news crawl at the bottom of the screen announced: “Giffords returns to House.”
At one point, Gabby turned to Jen and said, “I am optimistic.”
The next morning, I was at NASA headquarters in Washington, and I got an e-mail from Jen. She had accompanied Gabby to the outpatient rehab facility. She wanted me to know about an encounter Gabby had minutes earlier.
Gabby was in the waiting room before going in for rehab. She was wearing the orange zip-up that she’d worn on her last bike ride with Raoul, the night before she was shot. She didn’t look like the congresswoman in the teal suit who was all over the news.
And yet, there in the waiting room, a young girl in a pink T-shirt and sweatpants recognized her. The girl had a patch over her eye and walked with a slight limp. She obviously had a weakness on one side of her body. Like Gabby, she must have been there because of a brain injury.
“I saw you on TV,” the girl said. Gabby’s appearance on the House floor was still being played in a steady loop on news programs.
Gabby smiled at the girl. “I try,” she told her. “I will try.”
The girl looked to be about nine years old, the same age as Christina-Taylor Green, who was lost on January 8. Gabby motioned for the girl to come closer,