Gabby_ A Story of Courage and Hope - Alison Hanson [63]
Bob concluded his toast by saying, “To a bride who moves at a velocity that exceeds that of anyone else in Washington, and to a groom who moves at a velocity that exceeds seventeen thousand miles per hour.”
Gabby and I sat together, her hand on mine, as Bob spoke. We were both moving at zero miles an hour, not our usual pace, but we felt completely content.
On the day Gabby was shot, before I arrived at the hospital to see her, my mind raced with all kinds of terrible thoughts. But even in that early chaos, there was a moment when our wedding vows came into my head. We had promised to be faithful partners “in sickness and in health, in good times and bad . . .”
I wasn’t sure how I’d find Gabby that day, but I expected the worst, and I knew our future had changed forever. “So this is what those vows mean,” I thought.
In the months that followed, I often told Gabby, “I’m here for you. We’re a team.” That’s what we had promised each other when we exchanged wedding rings—to be there for each other in the worst of times.
Though she couldn’t fully articulate it, I knew Gabby often felt like a burden. I’d remind her that she had been there for me in my times of need. After my brother was diagnosed with prostate cancer in 2007, I figured that as his twin, I’d better get myself checked. Sure enough, I had it, too.
Gabby came with me to my doctors’ appointments, she searched the Internet for medical information, and she kept on me to get second opinions. In 2008, after a mission in space, I elected to have surgery to remove my prostate. In the months that followed, I coped with all the troubling side effects familiar to prostate cancer patients, from incontinence to sexual dysfunction. The urologist had me taking Viagra every day for more than a year, and I even had to regularly give myself very unpleasant injections in very private places.
This experience taught me a lot about myself and the process of recovery. One thing that stuck with me was that if you are religious about rehab and if you follow a prescribed course of treatment, you can recover completely, despite the odds or the conventional wisdom that might leave you thinking otherwise.
Throughout my medical odyssey, Gabby was incredibly supportive. She had faith that I’d fought off the cancer and would get completely back to normal. “But no matter what happens,” she told me, “I’m in this with you for the long haul.” It wasn’t immediate, but I did make it back to 100 percent.
Now it was my turn to be there for Gabby. In the wake of her injury, without hesitation, I said those same words to her. “I’m in this with you for the long haul.”
I’d even kid with Gabby about my cancer scare. As a result of her injury, she had to get regular shots of Botox in her arms and legs to help with spasticity and to deaden her nerves. It was no fun getting the shots, and from time to time she’d complain about them.
“Listen, Gabby,” I said to her one day. “Your shots are easy. Do you remember where I had to give myself shots?”
She remembered and laughed. She grimaced through the next needle with little protest.
There was another time, three months after Gabby was shot, when I found myself thinking again about our wedding vows. As always, I was trying to determine what Gabby understood and what she recalled about her life. So I asked her a few questions.
“Hey, sweetie, do you remember our wedding?”
“Yes,” she said.
“Do you remember your wedding dress?” I was probing.
“Yes.”
“What kind of dress was it?” I asked, and she paused for a long time. No answer.
“Did you buy it?”
“Nooooo,” she said. “Borrowed.”
“Yes! That’s right. And what kind of dress was it?”
She couldn’t answer, so I gave her a hint. “Ver . . . Ver . . .”
“Vera Wang,” she said. She got that right, too.
“So, Gabby, do you remember what happened that