Wild Ride, page 9
Jared had been described to me as this billionaire businessman CEO fighter jet pilot; but there talking to me on the screen was a really normal, hilarious guy who started joking around immediately. Kidd was an ex-Thunderbird (U.S. Air Force), and he and Jared seemed to know each other well. Later I would learn that they were great friends who had spent years flying and climbing mountains together.
This was the first time I was hearing the name of the mission, Inspiration4. “Inspiration” because Jared hoped the mission itself and the crew would inspire others. The number “4” was because there would be four crew members and an homage to his company Shift4, a payment-processing company for businesses that he started when he was just sixteen years old.
The mission’s goal was to raise $200 million for St. Jude. Wow! It was the biggest fundraiser the hospital had ever seen. Jared mentioned that he was donating too. He was nonchalant about it. Later I found out that his donation was $125 million. Everyone always asks if he created this mission because he has a personal relationship with childhood cancer. He doesn’t; he just hates childhood cancer and wants to see it eradicated.
Jared outlined the details of the mission. There were still so many unknowns at the time, but he had the basic outline. The amazing thing was that the whole crew would be made up of civilians. Jared had his pilot’s license, but he wasn’t an astronaut, and he had never trained for or been to space.
I had prepared a list of questions, this time with the help of my brother so that I didn’t ask silly questions like whether we were going to the moon. Jared proved to be so approachable and easy to talk to, not the intimidating billionaire I had in mind. I told him how excited I was, and how grateful I was for being chosen. I could tell he was excited too.
He invited me to come out the next week to the SpaceX complex in California, where I would start my medical evaluations and get fitted for my space suit.
“It’ll be the most intense set of measurements you’ll ever have taken,” he said. “Two hundred and twenty measurements, to be exact.”
Then he smiled even bigger. We were going to be able to talk live with St. Jude patients and their families from space. I would be able to bring all of my patients into that moment with me. I thought about how much hope it would give those kids watching it as well as their parents. When I was in treatment and my mom met a healthy adult with a childhood cancer story, she would burst into tears. She didn’t cry much when I was going through treatment, and doesn’t even now, but she was always very emotional after seeing a pediatric cancer survivor grow up to lead a healthy life. Especially because we didn’t get to meet many.
Kidd texted me as soon as the call was over so I would have his number. He said they would pick me up in Memphis the next week to head to SpaceX.
“Pick me up?”
“Private plane,” he explained.
That was a new concept for me. Okay, it was all new for me. As you might expect, processing all this information took a minute. Okay, a few minutes. I was still reeling from hearing that I would be fitted for my space suit in just a few days, let alone that I was going to space.
This was getting very real.
* * *
—
I was to meet up with Jared and Kidd in Memphis’s small private airport, and I had been told that a film crew would be there to capture the moment because our journey was going to be filmed and made into a documentary.
I worked that morning at St. Jude, ran home, quickly curled my hair and changed out of my scrubs, and made it to the airport just in time. A small plane covered in black and gray swirls touched down.
“That’s Jared’s plane,” someone told me.
I stood just inside the door while a sound man put a mic on me; two cameras were facing me, with a sound boom overhead. As if I needed any more reasons to be nervous in that moment! I didn’t comprehend the significance of our mission yet, and I wondered why a documentary was already in the works.
Jared and Kidd walked up, both wearing Inspiration4 vests over T-shirts, jeans, and tennis shoes, what I would come to call the Jared uniform. In my black dress and square-heeled white leather boots, I felt overdressed.
The film crew stood behind us as I got ready to greet the man who would not only change my life but also become such an important person to me.
“Hello!” Jared and Kidd called out, smiling broadly.
“Hey, it’s so nice to meet you,” I responded, looking up at them.
Jared was even taller than I had imagined, a contrast to my five-foot-two stature. He was so friendly, and yet I felt so awkward. The microphone pinned to my neckline wasn’t helping.
We were led to a conference room, where there was a spread of Memphis barbecue waiting for us. The food looked good, but I was nervous and barely touched it. An hour later, it was time to go.
“Nice plane,” I told Jared as we climbed the stairs, ready to head to California.
“Even though the design looks like Mike Tyson’s face tattoo,” he said.
I laughed. “Now I can’t unsee it,” I said.
Okay, he’s cool, I thought. This is going to be okay.
* * *
—
The next morning, Kidd drove us from our hotel in LA to Hawthorne, where SpaceX was located. I was impressed by the collection of tall white buildings and the large rocket booster looming over the front door. It was incredible to see. Here they were making Dragon capsules like the one I would be taking to space and other rocket parts.
A girl my age, also named Haley, the astronaut operations lead, gave me a tour of the facilities. She was tall and mysterious, and while I had no idea at the time that she would become one of my closest friends, I probably should have guessed.
She walked me through the rocket factory and into the astronaut training room, where I was going to be fitted for my space suit.
“Try these on,” someone said, handing me a pile of clothes.
I went into the changing room and slid into a tight black long-sleeve shirt, tights, and socks to wear for the fitting.
Once changed, I was greeted by a team of space suit engineers.
“I’m Maria,” said a blond Swedish woman with a tape measure around her neck. By the end of our session, I would find out that before working for SpaceX, Maria had helped create superhero costumes for films. It certainly felt like I was being measured for superhero gear.
The process took hours. My hands and feet were traced, and all the different angles were measured. She wrapped the tape measure around every inch of my arms, legs, and torso and read the numbers aloud, 220 measurements in all. The engineer flanking her documented each figure with diligence, every inch a crucial part of the whole.
Next the team fitted me for my seat in the capsule, taking care to get the width and height of the seat just right to ensure that I’d be comfortable for the long hours preceding liftoff.
After Maria measured every bit of me, she handed me a space suit helmet to try on. I slid it over my head, suddenly in a world separate from everyone around me, all outside sounds muffled. I turned my head from left to right, looking around, getting a feel for it.
Later in the day, Jared joined me in the astronaut training room. We went and sat in our training capsule, an exact replica of the Dragon capsule that would be our spacecraft.
“This is where we’re going to live for three days,” he said.
“Home sweet home,” I replied.
We were both quiet for the next several minutes as we looked around, studying the structure. I was imagining what it was going to be like to live in this capsule in space. Imagining who else would be joining us. Imagining what the views would look like.
* * *
—
I spent three days at SpaceX on this first trip, and I was back two weeks later to continue my medical evaluations. During my second trip, I had a meeting with our SpaceX mission manager, an attorney, and a big stack of papers. Together we went through the likelihood of every negative outcome.
“I don’t care what you tell me,” I said. “I’ll sign anything to go to space.”
Yes, I understood that severe bodily injury and death were possibilities. It was not my first time around a consent form. One of my job duties is obtaining consents from all the new patient families and explaining to them the risks associated with the various procedures and medications.
Yes, I understood the risks. Yes, I accepted them. I signed the forms.
On the previous visit, I had met with SpaceX’s main flight surgeon, Anil, and provided him with my medical history. He and three other physicians had converged around me to do a basic physical exam, listening to my heart and lungs, looking in my ears and feeling the lymph nodes of my neck, and walking me through a neurological exam.
I had been asked to flap my hands back and forth, and I had done so with haste.
One of the physicians laughed. “Wow, you’re fast.”
I said, “Gotta go to space!”
It turned out to be the most extensive medical evaluation of my life, even more than my checkups at St. Jude. Every system of my body was thoroughly evaluated.
Then some of my tests came back abnormal and more tests were added on. Hearing the word “abnormal” made me want to cry. I felt the most nervous I’d been since getting the call. I’m not a fan of going to the doctor in general, and usually I have Mom next to me, assuring me that everything will be fine. Since I’ve become a PA, I’m even more nervous when I have to be in the patient role. Too much knowledge can be a bad thing.
I was frightened, but I didn’t want to look weak in front of the SpaceX physicians. Astronauts have to be strong, and I needed them to give me the green light.
I endured test after test, until I was finally medically cleared for spaceflight.
My first win.
CHAPTER 11
Inspirati④n
It was on my second trip to SpaceX, on February 1, that Jared announced to the world the first all-civilian mission to space. At that point, only two of four crew members had been selected—Jared and me—but my involvement was still a secret.
Ultimately, the four Inspiration4 crew members would each represent a different pillar of inspiration. Jared would represent “Leadership.” As the St. Jude ambassador, I was representing “Hope.” The other two seats would be won through contests.
“Generosity” would be claimed by someone who had donated to St. Jude; anyone could donate and be entered to win in a lottery. (My friend Gabrielle would wind up entering more times than I could count.)
“Prosperity” would be won through a contest: Entrepreneurs whose businesses ran through Jared’s website Shift4Shop could enter by making a Twitter video about their story and business. That winner would be chosen by an independent panel of judges.
Jared and I had no say in who would be selected as our fellow crew members. I thought constantly about who would be sitting in those seats, hoping they would be cool, hoping we would all get along as well as Jared and I did.
In this first big announcement, Jared revealed that he was leading the mission as a fundraiser for St. Jude. He said that the “Hope” seat had been filled, though he never said who would be sitting in it. He did drop a lot of hints, revealing that it would be a former St. Jude patient currently working as a medical professional for the hospital. He used the pronoun “she.”
I wasn’t able to tell my colleagues that I was going to space yet. I was nervous about telling them, because I knew the training and mission would take me away from my PA role and consequently they would have to take on a bigger workload while I was away. My colleagues are intelligent people who pay attention. They put the clues together: my mysterious work with fundraising, my conspicuous absence from work on the day of the announcement…
Within hours, my co-workers were texting me, telling me how happy they were for me. They didn’t ask if I was the one going; they just knew. One said that she had already bought Inspiration4 gear in support of our mission. I neither confirmed nor denied my involvement, but I was so touched by their unwavering support.
The day after the announcement, I wrote in my journal, “People keep saying my life will change. I don’t know how much I believe that. I’m just a girl going on a trip. I’ll never feel deserving of this opportunity. God has special plans for me that I’ll never feel I deserve. Maybe my life will change? Time will tell. But tonight, I feel gratitude, hope, and confidence in this mission.”
* * *
—
A few weeks before my announcement as the second crew member, Jared gave me the go-ahead to tell a few close friends my news. Lauren was coming to Memphis for the weekend, and I mentioned that I had some big news to share.
Along with being my cousin, Lauren is my very favorite person and best friend. She always has been. Now she was standing in my guest bedroom doing her makeup in the mirror. I looked at her applying mascara, pursing her mouth and raising her eyebrows as she waved the wand near her face.
“Well,” she said, “are you going to tell me your news?”
“Yeah,” I said. “It’s kind of crazy. I’m going to outer space.”
She yelped and spun toward me, nearly painting a stripe down her cheek in the process.
“I could cry,” she said as I explained more about the mission. “I’m proud of you. I’m nervous. But I’m just so proud.”
I told my other closest friends that I had a big secret, and we made a FaceTime date.
I started the conversation by asking if they had any guesses.
“Dating show?” said one.
“Nope,” I said. I hated to disappoint, but no, I was not going to be on The Bachelor.
Finally, I told them the truth.
“Wait, what?!”
“No way.”
“You’ve got to be kidding.”
They were absolutely stunned when I told them I was going to be an astronaut.
Gabrielle texted the next day. “I still can’t believe you’re going to fucking space.”
Yeah, me either.
* * *
—
The second big announcement about the mission, on February 22, was to reveal my involvement. My mom had come with me on this trip, enjoying a tour of SpaceX while I was in meetings to discuss the entire mission profile. Seeing the facilities and meeting the engineers gave her a lot more confidence in the mission. The plan was for us to fly together from SpaceX to the St. Jude studio in Memphis, where we would reveal to the world that I was the second crew member. We still had no idea who the people were who might be joining us.
Memphis had a freak ice storm at the same time, which froze the underprepared pipes and disrupted the water supply. Instead of flying to Memphis, we flew to New York City to do the announcement.
From a laptop in Jared’s kitchen with the skyline of Midtown Manhattan in the background, I told the world I was going to space. I had too many follow-up interviews to count.
At the end of the day, I had hundreds and hundreds of unread texts and messages. It felt like everyone I’d ever known reached out that day to express their shock and excitement for me. I just felt so happy.
Before the announcement, especially when I was going through the extensive medical evaluations, I was so worried that the opportunity would somehow slip away and no one would have ever known. Now the world knew. I didn’t have to keep the secret to myself anymore.
I was going to be an astronaut.
In every interview I gave about going to space, I was asked what I was looking forward to the most. Every time, I said that it was the call with the St. Jude patients from space.
* * *
—
By early March, we knew who our two other crew members were going to be. Everyone had gotten there through such different means. Chris Sembroski would take the “Generosity” seat, having gotten his ticket through the lottery, winning out over 72,000 other people. Even more incredible was that it was actually one of his friends who’d won the seat on Inspiration4. That guy couldn’t go, and so he gave his ticket to Chris. Dr. Sian Proctor was a geoscientist and a community college professor who had set up her space-themed art and poetry website, Space2Inspire, through Jared’s company. She won the “Prosperity” seat through the viral Twitter video contest. What a prize!
We were definitely the lucky ones.
In late March, we all converged on Cape Canaveral. I liked my other crew members immediately. From the moment we met, Sian exuded the kind of confidence and warmth I would come to see was her signature.
Chris hugged me when we were introduced. “I’m so excited!” he said, and then he hugged me again.
* * *
—
I was able to bring a plus-one to our full-crew announcement in late March at Cape Canaveral. “Hayden,” I said, “will you come with me?” I knew he would appreciate the history of Cape Canaveral and geek out on the tour.
“YES!” he said.
It was good to have my brother by my side as we toured the launchpad.
“Do you see that?” he said, pointing at a sprinkler. “I modeled that in college.”
I felt so proud of him.
“My brother modeled that!” I kept saying.
We toured the Falcon 9 rocket factory and I made mental notes as the team pointed out the different stages of the rocket and how it would all work together to take us to orbit.
Hayden asked the engineers technical question after technical question:
“How does the thrust vectoring work?”
“What type of propellant do the engines use?”
“How many engines can you lose and still make it to orbit?”
