Gabby

by Gabrielle Giffords

  When I finished telling Gabby my story, I felt kind of bad. Here she was, reacquainting herself with language, and I was using an inappropriate word. She’d heard it before, of course. Now she’d heard it again.

  We ended up laughing together about it. Since I was retiring as an astronaut, I didn’t feel a great need to follow orders and force myself to conjure up unnecessary negative comments about my crew.

  “Maybe that makes me a . . .” I didn’t say it, and Gabby just laughed.

  Gabby and I would sometimes play a game called “How did you vote?” We did it partly for the sense of nostalgia, and partly because it got Gabby to think hard and engage her recollections.

  Our game worked like this. I’d bring up an issue that came before Congress during her time in office, and she’d recall how she voted.

  “The climate change bill?” I asked. That was the 2009 bill aiming to reduce greenhouse gas emissions by 17 percent by 2020.

  “Voted yes,” Gabby said. Yes, she did.

  “Cash for clunkers?” I asked. That bill provided federal vouchers for up to $4,500 for people to trade in their old cars for new ones that got better mileage.

  “Voted no,” Gabby said. She was right.

  I also quizzed her on her stand on positions. “Do you support Roe v. Wade?” I asked.

  Gabby shook her head back and forth, but she said, “Yes.”

  “That’s the perfect answer for a politician!” I said, and she instantly realized she was moving her head the wrong way. She nodded up and down. Yes, she supported Roe v. Wade.

  Gabby got every question right. She knew how she voted. She knew where she stood.

  By late July, Gabby was closely following the debate in Washington over raising the debt ceiling. If Democrats and Republicans couldn’t reach a compromise, the government would default. The partisan bickering was upsetting to Gabby. She had always vowed to reach across the aisle, to work out a compromise. Every day, she waited for signs that her colleagues back in Washington had found solutions. The whole mess saddened her.

  Then, on July 31, President Obama announced that an agreement finally had been forged. Speaker Boehner’s office issued a statement outlining the terms. There were still representatives in both parties, however, who were unhappy with the deal, and vowed to vote it down.

  And so Gabby wondered: What if it all came down to one vote? What if her vote could make a difference and get the bill passed?

  “The right thing,” she said to me. That’s what she wanted to do, if she could.

  I saw her mind at work. She recognized that the country was teetering on the brink of default. Trillions of dollars would evaporate out of the world economy overnight. She wouldn’t feel right if she remained on the sidelines, allowing that to happen.

  Certainly, she knew that she’d be safer on the sidelines. Taking a stand on a controversial vote will always come back to haunt a politician. Gabby set that possibility aside. She’d survived so much in the seven months since January 8, the risk of political fallout was survivable, too.

  I texted her friend Representative Debbie Wasserman Schultz, chairwoman of the Democratic National Committee, who is close to the legislative leadership. Debbie was tallying how many “yes” votes could be counted on in her own party. She also had some sense of the Republican support.

  “You got the votes?” I texted.

  She texted back, “Unclear at this point. It may be close.”

  I went into the bedroom, where Gabby was getting ready to go to sleep. “They might need your vote in Washington tomorrow,” I said. “What do you think?”

  “I’ll go,” she answered.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Back to Work

  On Monday morning, August 1, Gabby got into tennis shoes and a comfortable sweat suit, ready for her regimen of therapy. “This may be just an ordinary, demanding day of rehab,” I told her before she left. “Then again, it may turn out to be very crazy. If you’re needed in D.C., are you sure you want to go?”

  “Yes,” she said. She was resolute.

  Gabby and her nurse on duty, Kay, headed out of the house at 8 a.m. I called after them, “I might be seeing you soon!” Gabby smiled at me and waved goodbye.

  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 also the urgent
matter of what Gabby would wear. All of her suits were way too big on her now. Since January 8, she had dropped from 128 pounds to 115, from a size four down to almost a size zero. If she was going to appear on the House floor, she needed something appropriate to wear. So I charged Jen with finding some clothes in D.C. Just in case, I packed for Gabby as well as I could. (If you think flying the space shuttle is dangerous, try packing for your wife.)

  As Gabby and I headed to the airport—I was coming from home, she was coming from TIRR’s outpatient facility—her deputy press secretary, Ashley Nash-Hahn, offered to help. Over her lunch break, she ran into a Washington mall to buy black pants and three blazers for Gabby to choose from. Ashley selected one teal blazer, another houndstooth, and a third in basic black. She found pants with a wide leg opening to accommodate the brace Gabby now wore on her right leg.

  Ashley also needed to find shoes for Gabby, and buying those was a complicated task. Gabby had worn only sneakers since January 8. And because the brace on her right leg went from her knee to the tips of her toes, she needed a size 8 shoe for her left foot and a size 10 for her right. To give Gabby a few choices, and to make sure she could cobble together a pair of shoes in both sizes, Ashley came back from her shopping expedition with six boxes of shoes. She’d return whatever didn’t work or fit.

  As Gabby and I were heading for the airport in separate cars, my phone rang. It was Kay, the nurse, making sure I had brought Gabby’s medications. I had assumed that Gabby’s meds were in the bag she took to rehab each day, but I was wrong. I had to turn the car around.

  Even with that mix-up, Gabby and I were able to make a 12:51 p.m. Continental Airlines flight from Houston to Washington, boarding last so we wouldn’t be too conspicuous. It was Gabby’s first time flying commercial since January 8, and though some passengers may have recognized her, they just nodded politely. Gabby was still in the sweatpants and sweatshirt she’d worn to rehab.

  I had printed out the eight-page, section-by-section summary of the debt-ceiling bill before leaving the house, and brought it on the plane for Gabby. She studied it, line by line, and it was actually not so hard to follow. She understood the major points, and so did I. Among them: The bill saved $1 trillion over ten years, balanced between cuts to defense and non-defense spending, by capping discretionary spending. It also established a bipartisan “super committee” to achieve an additional $1.5 trillion in deficit reduction.

  Gabby and I were able to watch CNN on the plane’s television, and Gabby paid close attention to the speculation about whether the measure would pass. No one was sure what time the House would vote, and it was possible that Gabby would miss it while we were still on the plane.

  We landed at Reagan National Airport just after 5 p.m., and voting hadn’t yet begun. In case Gabby decided not to vote, almost no one knew we were coming to town. But given the magnitude of the day politically, the airport was crowded with lawmakers, House staffers, journalists. We decided Pia would quickly push Gabby through the airport, and I’d follow a couple minutes later. One of us might not be noticed. But the combination of the astronaut people had seen on TV and the short-haired woman in a wheelchair was a give-away. They’d figure out who we were and our cover would be blown.

  Representative Steve Cohen, a Democrat from Tennessee, was the first person at the airport to recognize Gabby. “Gabby!” he called out.

  “Steve!” she said.

  He wanted Pia to stop the wheelchair so they could chat, but she told him, “Congressman Cohen. We’re trying to be discreet here.” He lowered his voice and they all got on the elevator together, where he and Gabby had a more private reunion.

  The Capitol Police had a car waiting for us. Ashley was there, too, with the three outfits she’d bought and the six pairs of shoes, in case Gabby needed to change in the car on her way to the Capitol. When we learned that we had over an hour until the vote, we went to our hotel.

  A final decision had to be made. From the hotel room, Pia led a teleconference with Gabby’s trusted advisors from Tucson, Rodd and Ron, and we all went over the pros and cons of Gabby casting this vote. It now looked as if the bill would pass easily. So we looked at the long-term implications of taking a stand on a very unpopular vote. The discussion lasted a half hour. “My advice is don’t do it,” said Rodd. We all knew Gabby wasn’t the type to take the safe or easy way out, but the general feeling was the same as Rodd’s: she shouldn’t do this.

  Finally, with time running out, Gabby reviewed the recommendations of her staff. “It’s up to you,” I said finally. “You tell us what you want to do.”

  “Vote,” Gabby said. She gave her now trademark fist pump, then added: “Let’s go.”

  Though she couldn’t fully articulate her reasoning, I knew Gabby. She’d traveled all this way. She knew her vote would have meaning beyond the final tally because people would recognize the effort she had made to come. It was her way of showing that the mechanics of government, while messy, are still vital, and that it is an honor and a responsibility to cast a vote in Congress. She thought maybe her coming to vote could be a statement about the need to break the gridlock, to resist knee-jerk partisanship, and to remember the high calling that is statesmanship. Her presence could speak to the idea of not avoiding difficult choices.

  “OK,” I said. “That’s Gabby’s decision. We’re on!”

  Gabby had gone through her clothing choices and selected the teal “wrap blazer” with a ruffle and a belt to tie it up. The bright color was more her style. She had two blouse options, one in turquoise and one in purple, and she chose the more modest purple one. Ashley smartly had bought loafers with traction on the soles, but Gabby looked at the shoes and wasn’t sure if they’d work. She opted for the white sneakers she’d been wearing since morning rehab.

  Jen, her operations director, helped put makeup on Gabby. Kristy, her nurse, used hairspray to fluff up Gabby’s short hair.

  Kristy thought Gabby seemed contemplative and serious. It was understandable that Gabby would be nervous, thinking about stepping into that giant room filled with more than four hundred of her colleagues. She knew they’d be measuring her progress and her ability to speak. But she also knew they’d be very welcoming and thrilled to see her. She was excited to see how everything would unfold.

  We drove the two miles to the Capitol, and when we pulled up, voting had already begun. It would last only fifteen minutes total, so we needed to get moving. Gabby almost fell getting out of the car; I had to grab her arm. It was the excitement, the anticipation, the rush to get inside. I worried about how things would go for her once she got on the floor. It would be crowded. People would be approaching her. Could she stay steady on her feet?

  Gabby’s friends Debbie Wasserman Schultz and Adam Smith, a congressman from Washington State, were waiting for us on the curb. We all got into an elevator and headed up one floor. Standing right there when the door opened was Bill Livingood, sergeant at arms of the House.

  “Livingood!” Gabby called out, with a smile, and then hugged him. (Bill would later say that there are long-standing members of Congress who don’t even know his name. For Gabby to greet him so affectionately and by name was very meaningful to him.)

  John Boehner was also in the hallway, and he was gracious. “Welcome back, Gabby,” he said. She hugged him, too, and wisely refrained from telling him, “Stay out of my district!”

  It would fall to Pia and Debbie to escort Gabby into the chamber—without a floor pass, I’d have to watch the proceedings from the Democrats’ cloakroom—and I squeezed Gabby’s hand goodbye and wished her luck.

  Within seconds, at about 7:02 p.m., they made their way through the door and onto the floor. “Oh my God, it’s Gabby Giffords!” someone said. The murmuring started at the door and then spread quickly throughout the room. Pia noticed dozens of people, Republicans and Democrats, with tears in their eyes. Within ninety seconds, the entire room was cheering, applauding, and moving in her direction.

  A cro
wd of people surrounded Gabby. She greeted some by name. To others she said, “Good to see you” or “I missed you.” She was completely poised. It was an electric moment, but Pia knew that all the good wishes and embracing would have to wait. The clock was ticking. Before the voting period ended in about four and a half minutes, Gabby would need to make her way to one of the forty-six voting stations scattered throughout the chamber.

  The closest machine was about five steps away, but a mob of House members was in the way. Pia and Debbie held Gabby’s arms and helped navigate. “Let Gabby through!” Debbie said in that Long Island train-conductor accent of hers. Given the crowd, it took two minutes to walk those five steps.

  When Gabby reached the machine, she knew exactly what she had to do. She steadied her left hand on the voting box, which is about two inches wide and four inches long, and stuck her card into the slot. A blue button was supposed to light up, indicating the voting station was activated. The light didn’t work. Before anyone could say anything, Gabby pulled out her card and tried again. This time, she got the blue-light signal to proceed.

  For the next step, Gabby needed to negotiate the three other colored buttons on the box. The green button would indicate a “yea” vote, the red button “nay,” and the amber button “present.” Members were reaching out to lend Gabby a hand, and Debbie told them, “Back away! She can do it!” Of course she could. Gabby had voted here hundreds of times. She pressed the green button, and her “yea” vote was reported with all the others above the Speaker’s dais. A moment that seemed impossible on January 8 was now a reality.

  The voting continued but attention in the room was laser-focused on Gabby. Members crowded around her, everyone speaking at once. Vice President Joe Biden approached her and was very affable. “I rushed over as soon as I heard you might be here,” he said.

  The civil rights legend John Lewis, whom Gabby had voted for in early January to be Speaker of the House, made his way to her side. Pia saw that Gabby was thrilled by his attention. Gabby responded to him so respectfully, mindful that she was a junior member of Congress and he was a civil rights pioneer with twenty-four years of service in the House. She knew he’d been beaten almost to death during several protest marches, and that his skull had been fractured when he marched in Selma in 1965. As always, she was honored to be in his presence.