Gabby_ A Story of Courage and Hope - Alison Hanson [89]
A breathing tube was inserted in Gabby’s throat as doctors worked frantically to determine the extent of her injuries. Her skull was fractured and her brain was swelling. She had fractures in both eye sockets.
Gabby was taken into surgery right away, where doctors removed much of the left side of her skull, in pieces, to relieve the pressure caused by the swelling of her brain. The pieces of skull were placed in a freezer in case they later could be used in reconstructive surgery. Even though bone and metal shards from the bullet had gone deep into Gabby’s brain when she was shot, the surgeons didn’t attempt to remove what they couldn’t easily reach. Yes, there was a risk of infection. But doctors knew they could do further damage to Gabby’s brain if they tried digging for stray pieces of bone or bullet.
As all of this was going on, and I was on that plane bound for Tucson, Gabby’s parents were making their way to the hospital. After Gloria had gotten the news that Gabby had been shot, she had begun to pray. As she described it, she had gone into a metaphorical “closet” and closed the door. She’s a Christian Scientist and she prayed silently to herself. “I knew Gabby was OK,” she later told me. “She was God’s child.”
At the hospital, as Gloria and Spencer waited for Gabby to emerge from surgery, a psychologist approached Gabby’s sister, Melissa. “I think your mother is in shock,” he said.
Gloria heard him. “I am not in shock!” she said. “I am praying.”
After a while, Gabby’s family was moved to another room. “Are you putting us in this room because our daughter is dying?” Gloria asked the nurse on duty there.
“No, but expect the worst,” the nurse said. Gloria returned to her private prayers and meditations.
Meanwhile, Pia, Gabby’s chief of staff, was still in Washington, arranging to fly to Tucson. On her way to the airport, she stopped at Gabby’s office on the Hill, where about ten staffers and former staffers had gathered. Gabby had hired a young, energetic, idealistic group. They tended to be people who felt things deeply. When Pia arrived, the emotions in the room were overwhelming. It fell to her to tell them that Gabby was alive, though critically injured, that two fellow staffers were also shot, and that Gabe Zimmerman had been reported dead.
It was a crushing announcement for the group. Gabe was their friend. For some, he was a mentor. Jennifer Cox, Gabby’s loyal operations director, had even dated Gabe for a while. Everyone was crying about Gabe, crying about Gabby, crying about Pam and Ron, cursing the senselessness of it all.
Before Pia left, she told them, “Take care of each other.”
Just about then, at 2:30 p.m. Tucson time, the plane carrying me, my mother, Claudia, and Claire landed at Tucson International Airport in the area reserved for private planes. Two police cars were waiting for us.
We were driven straight to the hospital, where I arrived feeling very apprehensive and scared about what the doctors would say. Having been an emergency medical technician when I was a teen, dealing with gunshot wounds in the inner city, I knew what a bullet to the head usually means: long-term disability, paralysis, an inability to speak, a loss of cognitive function. It was likely very bleak. But then I thought about Gabby: She’s tough. She’s a fighter. She’s a tireless worker. I had a clear, uplifting epiphany that Gabby would do what she needed to do to claw her way out of this.
I was ushered into a room at the hospital where I met her doctors, all of them weary from the day they’d just been through. Besides Dr. Friese, there was Marty Weinand, Mike Lemole, and Peter Rhee. They showed me her CAT scan. I’d recently had an MRI of my own brain for some space research on the optic nerve, so I was familiar with the landmarks and some of the anatomy. “Your wife is going to survive,” Dr. Rhee told me. “But she could be in a coma for four to six months.”
By that point, Gabby had been taken out of surgery and was on her way to the intensive-care