Gabby_ A Story of Courage and Hope - Alison Hanson [102]
I knew Gabby. She didn’t need to say a word. That was her position.
On January 9, I had suggested to my bosses at NASA that they should select a backup commander in case I wasn’t able to return. They agreed, naming the veteran astronaut Rick “C.J.” Sturckow. C.J. did an outstanding job in a hard and uncertain situation. I’m sure he would have loved to fly on the mission, but he told me he was just my placeholder, that he hoped Gabby would improve and I’d return to training. “I’m just keeping your seat warm,” he said. That was very gracious and honorable of him.
As Gabby’s condition stabilized, I gave an interview to the Houston Chronicle. It ran on January 25 and began: “Astronaut Mark Kelly, the husband of U.S. Rep. Gabrielle Giffords, said Monday he’ll decide within the next two weeks whether to leave his wife’s bedside and command NASA’s final launch of space shuttle Endeavour in April.”
One of my managers at NASA took offense to that article. He brought me in to the office and reminded me that the decision wasn’t mine to make. NASA would determine if it was appropriate for me to return to the mission.
He started by telling me that it made sense to give me my job back. After all, I’d been training to command this particular mission for almost two years. My crew’s ability to work as a team couldn’t be replicated with a substitute commander in the short window before liftoff. I knew each crew member’s strengths and abilities. They knew what I expected of them, and how I wanted them to approach their duties. They also knew what to expect of me. We had trained together for every possible contingency or eventuality. Sure, we could end up being felled by what astronauts call “the unknown unknown,” but on the emergency scenarios we could predict, my crew and I were prepared.
“For mission success and safety, the right decision is for you to be the commander,” the director of Flight Crew Operations said. I exhaled, relieved. Then he said, “But I don’t know how it will look if you come back. The optics aren’t good.”
The optics?
He was concerned that the media would think that since I had been through such a harrowing few weeks with Gabby, I wouldn’t be able to focus, and the crew and mission would be at greater risk. He was worried that NASA would get criticized.
I couldn’t believe it. He had just told me that for safety reasons and mission success, I was the right guy. Now he was concerned about a little criticism? Was he really considering putting my crew at greater risk because of “optics”?
I came very close to saying to him, “I’m going to go outside and dig a hole so you can stick your head in it!”
Instead, I sucked it up. I wanted my job back.
“You know, we’re going to get criticized either way,” I said. I reminded him that NASA’s flight surgeons and psychologists had already interviewed me. Yes, I was dealing with stresses, given my wife’s condition. But the doctors determined that I’d have no trouble compartmentalizing my personal responsibilities and my duties in flight. Like so many military men, I’d been doing that my entire career. The NASA doctors gave me 100 percent approval.
I was told by my manager that before he’d make a decision about giving me my job back, I needed to spend a week doing two T-38 check rides and a few evaluations in the shuttle simulator. What did he think? That in the three weeks since Gabby was injured I’d forgotten everything?
I wasn’t happy. I saw this evaluation period as unnecessary. It also took me away from Gabby’s bedside immediately, when I had planned to have another week to meet with her doctors and get certain affairs in order before going back to work full-time. But I did as I was told because I’d gotten the message from my boss: My return wasn’t up to me. It was up to him. And I needed to prove myself. (Fortunately, I had an advocate in Peggy Whitson, the chief astronaut, and that helped.)
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