By Heather Archuletta
Like most Gen-X children born in the Apollo years, I grew up convinced the Moon was conquered, lunar colonies would become common, and a Mars landing would surely be achieved by the turn of the millennia. When I worked at NASA, I was somewhat taken aback by a common joke in the aerospace industry:
Q: How do you make a million dollars in space?
A: You start out with a billion, and try to get to Mars.
Were we truly that far off course? Other jokes one might hear among peers, when we aren’t putting rover wheels on our heads for cheap laughs: “You don’t ride in a space capsule, you wear it,” or “How many astronauts does it take to change a lightbulb?” (A: Just one, but the checklist is 142 pages long.)
Comedy quips also reveal that space can be tedious. Very tedious. Skilled crews are selected with extreme care, in extreme competition, but for even a handful of people to survive in low Earth orbit (LEO), nearly every minute must be micromanaged by procedures and ground controls in multiple nations.
The era I spent at the space agency saw the emergence of many more psychologists added to the mix, and they now walk the thinnest tightrope with their research on how to keep astronauts healthy on longer-duration missions. What we see in popular entertainment is “space opera,” laden with fantastical technology; even documentaries champion milestones or the rigors of physical training—but rarely (with Space: The Longest Goodbye an exception) the mundanity of psychological parameters.
Early crew selection efforts pushed the “hero” angle of astronauting, but the truth is, no one knows how anyone will react if they travel millions of miles from Earth.
The pioneer of space simulations, Dr. Duane Graveline, endured a week of water immersion in 1959. You read that right. He floated in a tank for 7 days to mimic weightlessness. At the time, LIFE magazine called bioastronautics a “bizarre new science” and noted that early psychological concerns revolved around merely ensuring the crew “didn’t get bored” on long missions.
NASA’s chief architect of the Saturn V rocket, Wernher von Braun, predicted in 1969 that humanity would reach Mars—by 1985. It’s tempting to shrug as the decades pass, but the industry continues to ride the line between discouraging dreaming and admitting that space is hard.
The Pillownauts: My Experience in Spaceflight Simulations
Between 2008 and 2011, I served as an astronaut analog (someone who can play the role of an astronaut during a simulated crewed mission) at NASA’s Johnson Space Center, where I got to see just how hard it is.
Carrying on Graveline’s legacy, analogs participate in simulations designed to emulate spaceflight. For example, some analogs spend weeks in leaning habitats, slanted at 24 degrees, removing much of the weight off the human body to produce the 38% gravity found on planet Mars.
I personally did two simulations, one in an apparatus tilted 9.5 degrees to emulate the 6% gravity of Earth’s Moon, and another in an electronic bed tilted backward -6 degrees head-down, to emulate the microgravity experienced by crews on International Space Station (ISS) which would be experienced on a long trip to Mars. All simulations are designed to study how various forms of weightlessness affect bodies and minds (and thank goodness water immersion is no longer used!).
Heather Archuletta typing upside down during NASA astronaut analog training
It is wildly expensive to put even perfect physical specimens into space, and failures can be fatal. Analogs, who can test on the ground in safe locations, save much time and money.
Competition was fierce, and the screening process was intense. I was one of 16,554 applicants—21 were accepted. Most were ruled out by blood panels, bone scans, exertion tests, and the Class IV Flight Physical. Some were disqualified by psychological screenings, which included written essays, lengthy personality questionnaires, and live interviews by psychiatrists.
Once inside the “glorified hospital wing” that is the Flight Analog Research Unit (FARU), adherence to protocols is strictly observed. Up at 6 a.m., just like the ISS crew. Lights out at 10 p.m. No leaving the quarantine facility and no direct sunlight. No caffeine, no salt, no sugar, no snacks between the meals specially measured for your height and weight.
No unauthorized exercise outside the testing regimen: EKGs, organ ultrasounds, immune system assessments, bicycling to exhaustion, and what seemed like endless blood draws. I also got pretty tired of wearing electrodes.
As in space, a phase of sickness came and went. The room spun, and I had headaches unlike any I had ever experienced before. My back screamed in fiery pain. My eyes changed shape and watered constantly. Swallowing food took a new set of muscles. My face swelled, I was constantly nasally congested, and the very fillings in my teeth throbbed.
Surrounding doctors assured me I’d be fine, and the nausea I was feeling was also felt by astronauts while they adapted to microgravity: fluids that normally pooled in the legs rush into the head. Internal organs float out of the pelvis and settle in the chest. That spinning sensation? Yeah, that will go away. Feeling blue, like you made a mistake and want to go home? That will pass, too. The assurances were comforting, but they were stingy with doses of Tylenol.
Still, I wasn’t complaining.
Unlike many Mars sims where test facilities were designed to be capsule habitats, we had rooms with televisions and board games to use in our spare time. Our “crew” ran tests together, dined together, and discussed our symptoms.
We discovered commonalities that probably weren’t coincidence. Most of us were marathon runners. None of us had wisdom teeth. None had ever broken a bone. None had mental health issues.
Regardless, we all weakened.
We lost muscle mass and our bones became more porous. We missed the outside world, especially pizza delivery. We worried about slowing metabolism. One man became obsessed with the daily care of his pet fish, and carried on full conversations with it. Another dissolved into silent tears each time his wife called, even before he picked up. At one point, I would have committed a crime for a chocolate bar.
I carried on with my normal tech job, and recorded my daily musings in a blog I named “Pillownaut” (a joke about how we were allowed one flat pillow during sims), and tried not to become dismayed over issues back home.
The neurological valuations repeated most often were posturography to test the components of balance, and the Spaceflight Cognitive Assessment Tool for Windows (WinSCAT), a computer program that assessed concentration levels, working memory, attention, and mathematical skills.
At 5-day intervals, we had visits from psychiatrists to evaluate any possible signs of depression, anxiety, or changes in sleep patterns. Happily, none of our tests showed abnormal results, but we could tell that mental health was increasingly on the minds of crew selectors, since psychosocial adaptation has been increasingly recognized as critical for exploration missions.
A Hard Return to Gravity
Coming out of the head-down tilt 54 days later was a blinding explosion of pain.
Weeks of physical therapy followed my “return to gravity” (i.e. standing up!) and when anyone asked how they could also join this cool project, I showed them the picture of me in a wheelchair with swollen feet. I couldn’t walk. I had trouble concentrating. I couldn’t drive. I stumbled into walls and doors due to depth perception issues, upon which my brother thought it amusing to ask, “Are you trying to get to Hogwarts?”
No, I’m trying to get to Mars.
For many years, I and other “crew” members agreed to interviews and speaking engagements at schools. One common question I received, from fourth-graders to college students, was: “Do you want to be an astronaut now?”
“Confidence is an admirable must, and heroics may be required in times of need, but the downside is how these attitudes can foster a lack of truthful communication. Crew members may hide injuries or dark thoughts, knowing they may be de-selected from missions if they are anything less than perfect.”
Not really. My water phobia ruled out the SCUBA training requirement, as suited Extra-Vehicular Activity (EVA) repair simulations take place underwater. Astronauts diaper-up for launch, defecate in suction pumps, sleep while floating, cannot shower for weeks or months, constantly conduct repairs on outdated equipment, and the food is mediocre at best despite decades of attempts to make freeze-dried fare more palatable. My career still sounds better.
But hey, you can apply with a bazillion other Type-As to become an “Astronaut Hopeful.” If you pass the interviews and physicals, you might reach “Astronaut Candidate” pools. These two stages are known fondly as AsHos and AsCans, because overachievers are hilarious that way.
Heather learning to walk again in post-study rehab at NASA
There are more convicted serial killers in Earth history than there are astronauts, but let’s say you are the rare specimen who jumps all the hurdles and makes it to mission selection. Could you wrap your destiny around Mars?
The Right Stuff vs. The Psychology Problem
One of the first things you learn in any investigative pursuit is that, unlike most other animals, humans change their behavior when aware they’re being observed. As psychologists parse the sheer span of time a Mars mission would require, and study how humans may react to being “trapped,” they must take into account that potential crew may not always be forthcoming about what they feel.
While astronauts are no longer selected solely from the blazing bravado of the test pilot corps, astronaut and analog cultures are still laced with the air of “invincibility.” Confidence is an admirable must, and heroics may be required in times of need, but the downside is how these attitudes can foster a lack of truthful communication. Crew members may hide injuries or dark thoughts, knowing they may be de-selected from missions if they are anything less than perfect.
Looking back, my WinSCAT answers were more about what I knew the psychiatrists wanted to hear, not always how I was truly feeling.
Space: The Longest Sim
Every 26 months, the blue planet and the red planet make a “close approach,” whereby a rocket from Earth would only need to travel 34 million miles (rather than the average distance of 140 million miles) to Mars. Propulsion technology dictates the timeline, and such a voyage would take about 250 days. A crew might need perhaps 15-20 days to conduct science and gather samples while awaiting a launch window back to Earth, which could take another 250-ish days.
Trapped in a metal tube for nearly 2 years? People get punchy. Food had better be interesting and satisfactory, or people get depressed. Holidays and birthdays become more meaningful. Communication with family or friends becomes everything.
Such findings were confirmed by the longest simulation ever conducted: The Mars500. This project’s crew endured 520 days (nearly eight times longer than what I had done!) in a “spacecraft” of five modules, from which scientists studied their psychological response to long-term confinement.
Like NASA sims, this Moscow Institute of BioMedical Problems project sought healthy, highly motivated individuals. How would they react in cramped conditions with few personal items, no showers, and no outside help with any repairs to their equipment? But none of the crew of five men elected to leave.
Like astronauts and other analogs, they had cameras on them 24/7, with little privacy. All had immense physical ability, intelligence, and engineering skills—but what became important inside a confined space over time was how humans connect and collaborate.
While there were no outright fights, the crew spent increasing amounts of time in bed or engaged in personal activity rather than with one another. Four members suffered psychological issues. One suffered chronic sleep deprivation, and one showed signs of depression.
Aren’t crews highly trained to rise above and behave with noble stoicism? Sure. Everyone begins a sim or a mission with that goal. We primates can try to take our nobility with us into the solar system, but we will also carry along the basic aggressions that helped our species survive in the first place. Every human has their hot buttons and weak points, and we’ll take those with us, too.
Could you leave your spouse behind for 520 days? Your kids? Your cat? What if you get a kidney infection? What if you crack a tooth?
Maybe you’ll start fantasizing about the simple act of going to a restaurant or walking in a park. Could anyone honestly say they would never miss seasons or trees… or beer? (You probably don’t want to know what happens to beer in weightlessness.)
Red Planet Realities
The cold, thin atmosphere of Mars escapes the planet regularly. The low gravity and lack of magnetic field make it easy for solar wind to scrape away even more of the meager “air” composed mostly of carbon dioxide. Anyone who expects to live on Mars needs pressurized suits, habitats, and vehicles that can withstand 50 times more radiation than humans living on Earth.
Mars is much further from the Sun, so it’s anyone’s guess how Earth food would grow, even if dust storms were rare (spoiler alert: they aren’t).
Even the loudest science cheerleaders get droopy in the pompoms when it comes to precisely how a Martian colony would survive. Terraforming is not a thing. Creating a self-sustaining ecosystem is still science fiction that we cannot even succeed at on Earth. (The infamous example: Biosphere 2 ended early due to oxygen and food shortages.)
Cosmic radiation is a mountain of unknowns and would create immunological hurdles and probable cancers. Living in such vastly different conditions might exacerbate any existing psychological issues, and create more mental health challenges as time passes. No one wants to rain on the Mars parade, but we should balance the pioneering dream with realistic expectations.
One great thing about all that Mars research is that it made me far more appreciative of our beautiful blue water ball. Perhaps that exercise is worth it. Few if any people will endure the hardships and isolation of a Mars trip, but the studies to get us there may prove a needed exercise in gratitude.
Resources:
- NASA Simulations
- Neuro testing of astronauts + Neuro testing of analogs
- ASCAN Ten Commandments
- Moscow Institute of BioMedical Problems [Mars 500]
- “The Space Show” featuring Heather Archuletta & Dr. Duane Graveline
- European Space Agency Pillownauts
- Astronomy: “Why haven’t humans reached Mars?“
- Wohlforth, Charles and Hendrix, Amanda R., “Beyond Earth: Our Path to a New Home in the Planets,” Pantheon Books, c.2016.
- Roach, Mary, “Packing For Mars; The Curious Science of Life in the Void,” W. W. Norton, c.2010.
Heather Archuletta is from San Francisco and after working in the software and semiconductor industries, she joined a NASA program for space flight simulations, which studies the long-term effects of weightlessness on the human body and mind. These projects help Johnson Space Center scientists learn more about how to keep astronauts healthy for long-duration missions. Her “Pillow Astronaut” blog, which describes the flight sims in both personal and medical detail, has been featured in Wired, Popular Science, Forbes, and Universe Today, as well as news outlets in Europe, India, Scandinavia, and Russia. Read more about Heather’s participation in NASA “bed rest studies.”
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