The interview and selection process is grueling—intentionally so, I think. We were interviewed, we took written tests, and we went through extensive medical testing. We had even more thorough eye exams than in the Navy, though in this case there was only one doctor in the room, not a team of four, and that doctor made no effort to try to intimidate us.
A lot of the medical tests were ones you would expect to get in a normal physical—blood tests, urine tests, reflex tests, questions about our family histories, that sort of thing. Some of the tests went into more depth than we had experienced before. We had all known to expect this. Obviously, astronauts have to be in exceptionally good physical condition and to have as low a risk of developing health problems as possible. Minor issues could disqualify astronaut hopefuls—for example, one occurrence of kidney stones could disqualify you from flying in space. NASA can’t risk a recurrence that would incapacitate an astronaut or require a costly early return. Anyone who had ever slipped a disc, had a heart murmur, or had been diagnosed with any of a number of otherwise generally inconsequential illnesses or injuries was possibly ineligible. Interestingly, a history of gallstones would disqualify an applicant, but not having a gallbladder was fine.
The medical tests could be anxiety inducing. There was nothing we could do to prepare for them or to maximize our chances, other than getting into the best physical condition we could beforehand. I had been running every day at lunchtime since I got the call for the interview. Since the government shutdown had stretched on for months, I ran so much that my heart had started skipping a beat every minute or so. I talked to Dave Brown about it in confidence. Aside from being a pilot, he was also a medical doctor. He speculated that my resting heart rate was getting so low that the backup mechanism for making sure my heart didn’t stop altogether was kicking in. Then my heart compensated by skipping the next beat, resulting in something called a premature atrial contraction (PAC). If that was what it was, it wouldn’t pose a threat to my health but might still be enough to disqualify me. With so many applicants, NASA can afford to set aside candidates with even the tiniest chance of developing a health problem.
As part of the process we went through in Houston, we each had to wear a Holter monitor, a device that records the heart’s activity, for twenty-four hours. While I was wearing it, I was aware of every time my heart skipped a beat, wondering if it was going to ruin my chances of becoming an astronaut. The NASA flight surgeon assigned to me for the interview process was Smith Johnston. He communicated with me as much as he could without breaking any rules (he wasn’t allowed to tell astronaut hopefuls whether or not we were medically qualified). Smith let me know that while my PACs could be an issue, he would do his best to convince the medical review board not to let them hold me back. He also mentioned that my cholesterol was unusually low—who knew cholesterol could be too low?—which I attributed to the rabbit diet I had been on for the last few months. As with the running, I had been so determined not to leave anything to chance that I had almost overdone it.
The week’s most memorable test was the proctosigmoidoscopy. It’s like a colonoscopy that doesn’t go up as far, and without any sedatives or anesthetics. It’s painful and humbling, and as with so many other things we went through that week, we wondered how much we were being tested for toughness as well as for medical issues. I remember lying on my side on the examination table when the gastroenterologist came in and greeted me; I noticed there was a TV screen behind him, and on the screen was the image of a pair of shoes. It took me a moment to figure out that I was looking at the tops of the doctor’s shoes, and that the monitor was showing the view from the camera at the end of a long, flexible scope in his hand. A split second later, the view changed: now I was looking at my own asshole. It was not a view I had ever seen before (and hope never to see again), and I didn’t have much time to contemplate it before the image became an interior view.
Besides being incredibly painful, what made this procedure more unpleasant was that the doctor needed to pump air into me in order to be able to see, and at the end of the procedure when I was allowed to get up and get dressed, that air remained. I was scheduled for a tour of Space Center Houston right afterward, so I walked over there trying not to expel all that air (and other matter) in an attention-getting way. As with everything else, I wondered whether the challenge not to shit my pants in public was part of the test, to see how we would deal with this kind of discomfort and embarrassment. It’s true that life as an astronaut, especially on the space station, has more than its share of physical humiliations.
Finally, it was time for my interview with the selection board. I stood in the hallway outside a conference room as Duane Ross, who ran the astronaut selection office, was inside reading an essay I had been asked to write about why I wanted to be an astronaut. As I waited, I remembered the paragraphs I had written and rewritten as if my life depended on them.
The main reason I want to be an astronaut is that it is the most challenging and exciting job I can imagine. I want to play an integral part of humankind’s boldest endeavor ever, and truly feel that I would be an asset to the human space program.
In today’s society, our children are in desperate need of role models to inspire and motivate them to excel in sciences and math. The inspiration to explore and achieve the human space program provides to our children today will result in countless intangible benefits for future generations. I want to be a part of this future and feel the human space program would provide the best forum to serve as a role model for our children.
America has always had lofty goals to inspire achievement in all aspects of our lives. In this century we have used human flight, in our quest to fly faster and farther than anyone has ever done before, as a benchmark for technological achievement. The Wright Flyer, the Spirit of St. Louis, and the Bell X-1 are all examples of great achievements that have inspired previous generations. The human space program is now and forever will be this country’s inspiration, and I want to play an integral part in it.
The entire world needs spaceflight to advance scientific discoveries in medicine, engineering, science, and technology. Just as the Apollo program resulted in countless tangible benefits that improved the daily lives of all individuals, the human space program is necessary if we are to continue our great history of technological achievement. It would be an honor to be a part of any discovery made as a result of the human space program.