Gabby_ A Story of Courage and Hope - Alison Hanson [35]
We also had to consider well-wishers’ motivations. We’d hear from lawmakers, Democrats and Republicans, asking to stop by, and we’d have to think: How close to Gabby is this person? Honestly, there was a concern, too, that someone from Washington might use a visit to assess Gabby’s competence and her ability to remain in office. That’s only natural in the cutthroat world of politics. Competitors want inside information they can pass along, or that will help them raise funds or recapture congressional districts. Especially in the early months after Gabby was injured, we thought she was entitled to privacy as she tried to heal. That’s why we didn’t release photos of her, we didn’t go into great detail describing her recovery to the media, and we didn’t encourage a parade of politicians—even allies and friends—to walk through her hospital room.
We also learned to closely study the list of would-be visitors. Some were people Gabby hardly knew or had met once or twice. Others were merely curiosity-seekers. Several times, doctors from out of state introduced themselves at the front desk and said they’d come to see Gabby. They flashed their credentials. When the security detail discovered that they had never treated Gabby and didn’t know her, they weren’t permitted to go to her room. We were taken aback that medical professionals would behave this way.
Other strangers stopped by, too. Though they likely meant well, they were turned away. Because Gabby was the victim of an assassination attempt, the U.S. Capitol Police guarded her room in shifts, twenty-four hours a day. The gunman in Tucson had been captured, yes, but there were concerns that a deranged copycat might seek to finish the job. Those of us who loved Gabby had to be cautious and alert. The security issues were stressful for all of us.
In late January, after Gabby first arrived at TIRR Memorial Hermann, the rehab hospital, former president George H. W. Bush wanted to come by and welcome her to town. It was very kind of him to call, but things hadn’t been easy for Gabby early on, so I asked him to wait.
“Well, why don’t you come by our house and bring your daughters?” he said. “Barbara and I would like to say hello.”
He was reaching out as both the eighty-six-year-old elder statesman who lives in town, and as someone who seemed genuinely concerned about Gabby and her loved ones. The girls and I took him up on his invitation and stopped by the Bush house in Houston’s Tanglewood neighborhood.
We stayed for two hours, talking about Gabby’s career, her recovery, my upcoming shuttle mission, and the girls’ life in Texas. It turned out to be a lot of fun. At one point, Mrs. Bush asked Claudia where she was thinking about going to college. “Maybe Pepperdine,” Claudia said.
“Well, how about Yale?” President Bush said. “I went to Yale. That’s a good school.”
That’s when Barbara said, “You know, our son George went to Yale, too, and then he went to Harvard. I don’t know why people say he’s the stupidest president ever!”
“Yeah, I never got that either,” I said, and we all laughed, especially Mrs. Bush.
President Bush and I were both naval aviators, and I told him that I had served during the first war with Iraq in 1991. “I was one of your guys over there in Desert Storm,” I said.
He asked for details, including what ship I’d flown from—it was the USS Midway—and then he told me, very soberly, “Thank you for your service.”
The visit to the Bushes’ house was surreal in some ways, especially when I thought about the chain of events that brought me and my kids there. I flew thirty-nine combat missions in the Persian Gulf, but it wouldn’t have occurred to me during the war that twenty years later I’d be hanging out at the president’s house, receiving a personalized thank-you. Or that I’d be there because my wife was seriously injured in the line of duty during an attack on U.S. soil, also while serving her