Downed By a Bug

Downed By a Bug

David C. Russell

"Hey Glen, want to go grab a coffee?" Gus asked.

We had been practicing the outerspace simulation for a few hours. In less than forty-eight hours my feet would be off the ground and I would be doing the real deal in outer-space.

"Sure, I need a break and so do my eyes," I said, rubbing my right eye with the

back of my hand.

"You rady to make history?

How does it feel to be ranked with Columbus, Magellan, Sinatra, Lewis and Clark?"

"How did Sinatra get into your list?"

"Doesn't he sing the song, Fly Me to The Moon?"

"Okay Gus, I'll let you have that one. It hasn't really hit me; this feels more like a to-do list, two days away,”" I said.

"Will JFK and Jackie invite you and Anne to the Whitehouse to celebrate your achievement?" Gus egged on.

"You're some dreamer. You want to orbit the earth instead?" I asked.

Gus and I were on good terms, though we did tend to take badgering one another a little too far at times. A couple of the other astronaughts had succumb to our cold snap; yes, Florida does get freezing temperatures most winters though short-lived. Two were down with the flu. I was feeling a little groggy at times but pushed on.

The next day we did a dress rehearsal of the actual mission to orbit the earth. However,

a problem developed that could have become rather serious.

"John, you hearing anything we say?" asked Officer Walters as he

tapped on the window of the Mercury spacecraft?

"What did you say?"

"Hear anything, you deaf?" he inquired.

"Leave the craft and let me take a look-see," he ordered.

Sure enough, the communication system revealed a short in one of the internal circuits.

This reduced the sending/receiving of communications to a big fat zero.

"How long will it take to get this up and running?" I asked.

"Might as well take an early lunch. I'll send you word when we're ago," he said.

A couple hours passed before he returned. I played a few hands of the card game Hearts

with one of the other NASA personnel. The turkey sandwiches that day looked tempting. I was only to have space mission goodies until landing. That would be mid afternoon tomorrow.

Suddenly, Gus's earlier questions started to plague me.

Back in the craft, the communication system was restored. I recited the drill that would be part of the flight pattern from 'blast-off' through the actual orbiting of the planet. We had practiced the landing drill the previous day.

"Something's causing me to feel dizzy," I said.

"Try a couple sips of Tang. It might help," said a Mission Control officer.

Within minutes, the nausea and stomach cramps subsided; I felt almost solid as a rock.

"When do you fire up the engines to initiate 'blast-off"? Commander Walters asked on the radio.

"Before T-sixty seconds," I replied.

"Are you allowed to nap once in orbit?" asked another Mission Control staffer.

"No. Tomorrow may be a long, exciting, stress-filled day enough," I said. I heard chuckles come back to me.

Another wave of dizziness hit me when we wrapped up the rehearsal. Someone passed me a

packet of unsalted crackers that may have been around since Truman was President from taste alone.

I did have some beef puree for supper. Breakfast would come early morning, and would likely be a bowl of Ralston, a sort of warm puree wheat cereal.

Before turning in, I called my wife, Anne. Our sons were attending a school basketball game, so the we indulged ourselves.

"You ready to rock the world tomorrow?" Anne asked.

"Hope not, just orbit the damn thing. I'm fighting the beginnings of some bug," I confessed.

"If you're not well enough to do this...."

"I will be well enough. The show must go on. America is counting on me," I said.

"Well, know that I love you even though you're acting a bit childish," she said. I could always count on Anne for feedback wanted or not.

"I cannot wait to see you in three days," I said.

"You changed the subject?"

"Of course not. My heart is aching to be with you," I said.

"That may be so. We have been apart from each other on sporadic occasions, and your

heart survived," she said.

We bantered like that for a little more before sharing our ongoing love and saying good-night.

I was up between three and four a.m., and on the spacecraft by six a.m. Tourists and news crews were in my distant field of vision, announcements pre-flight were heard given to the public by Shorty John Powers.

To those listening, his voice sounded gentle, informative and calm in tone.

"We are still on for 'lift-off’ before nine a.m. The Astronaught is in readiness according to all concerned," he said.

I went through the preflight checklist with the engineers to ensure all dials, knobs, buttons and such were in fine working order. All in order!

Outside, I noticed a couple young lads playing catch in the tourist area. Thoughts of my boys and

Myself playing catch in the yard when some years younger, occurred. Would this space mission be like those memories?

How many people get to say they orbited the earth from outer-space?

I desired for my aspirations to be ongoing through this life. Besides, the pay at this point was fine but wouldn't last indefinitely.

"Ladies and gentlemen, we are at T-20 minutes and counting," said John Powers.

I felt the wave of dizziness begin to intrude once again. I sipped some Tang, but it remained so. A wave of nausea ensued, and what they call the ‘swims’ was added to my state of being. At T-twelve minutes before flight, nausea set in.

"Trouble on the craft," I said.

"Everything looks fine from here," said Officer Walters.

"Trouble on the craft," I repeated.

A couple detail persons peered into the craft and messaged back to Mission Control that I looked horrible.

"What do you mean by that?" Officer Walters pursued.

"Glen, did you go off decorum last evening?" he asked.

"No sir."

Then, everyone heard my next enunciation. It was not English, but in the clearly understood language of illness.

"Darn it all! Glen's sick. He just threw up," Officer Walters said.

His words carried in the stillness of the moment. He was heard in the distance by CBS newsman, Walter Cronkite.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Walter began, "The Mercury space flight of John Glen may be canceled. There may be problems with something internal aboard the spacecraft this morning," he said to the viewing nation.

John Powers got on the Mission Control system mic and said much the same as voiced by Cronkite. The TV news persons could have that info to chew on between commercials for another hour or so.

"He is having a repeat bout," Commander Walters said.

Soon, three paramedics were attending me and treating me like a newly injured football player who sustained injury at a key point in the game. Well, this had been the key point. Thankfully before the supposed two-minute warning.

"Astronaught, John Glen, is being carried on a stretcher to the sick bay for observation and physical examination," NBC newsman Chet Huntley reported.

John Powers came up with the summation spin that would probably go into the anoles of history,

"Ladies and gentlemen, this Mercury flighgt will obviously be canceled today and rescheduled within the next week. The flight was downed by a bug. It appears that Astronaught Glen is coming down with the flu. The mission being scrubbed is felt due to unnatural circumstances.”

In retrospect, people chided me for days to come as a result of John Powers summation.

"Downed by a bug."

Gus would be one of the first. "Don't let anything or anyone bug you, John."

"My husband was laid low by a bug," Anne commented to friends.

"We can check motor vehicles and appliances for bugs, not astronaughts or spacecraft,"

our family physician quipped.

I had sense how the proverbial groundhog must feel every February, especially when he may not see his shadow. He turns around, thinks, Oh well, and slithers away from the mob of onlookers to borough back home until later.

End