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By Root 567 0

had done, not to mention the effects of fear and cold, had caused my penis to disengage. If so, I would be urinating into my flight suit. And I was certain there would be a lot of urine. I could imagine it soaking my coveralls, dripping from the seat onto the back instruments, and shorting out an electrical circuit. My “accident” would be a gossip topic for decades. “Remember that Mullane guy? He pissed his pants on the launchpad. They had to delay the launch to dry out the instruments.” God, I’d rather blow up. I tried to hold on, but soon realized that would be impossible. Praying for a miracle that I was still safely ensconced in latex, I decided to give it a shot. But I quickly discovered it was impossible to urinate on my back. Even though the urge was overwhelming, painful, even, I strained but nothing happened. There are some things even the world’s best training program can’t prepare you for. In desperation I loosened my harness and struggled to roll slightly to my side. In that new position I was finally able to open the floodgates. After a moment I tried to put on the brakes to determine if I was leaking, but I would have had better luck damming the Atlantic. Urine poured from me like water into the flame bucket. I felt no spreading wetness so my miracle had been granted. The condom was still attached. I collapsed in glorious relief. You would have thought I had already reached MECO.

There was little to do in the cockpit. After some radio checks with the Launch Control Center, they moved on with their prelaunch activities. We were left alone. Others complained about the state of their bladders. Judy and Charlie joined in from downstairs. I didn’t envy them their position. They had no instrument displays or windows. They would be riding an elevator with no idea of what floor they were passing. Judy reminded us she did not want to hear any sentences ending in the wordthat, as in, “Did you seethat !” or “What wasthat !” We all laughed. When you are blind to thethat being referenced, it would be very disconcerting to hear any such exclamations.

We fell silent and just listened to the LCC dialogue. When the Range Safety Officer’s (RSO) call sign was heard there were some joking comments on the intercom to cover the fear his grim function generated. The RSO would blowDiscovery from the sky if she strayed off course. If the RSO ever transmitted the Flight Termination System ARM command, a red light on Hank’s instrument panel would illuminate as a warning. I wondered what sick engineer had thought that would be helpful.

With each passing minute the mood in the cockpit grew more intense. Then we heard the dreaded wordproblem. At T-32 minutes a problem was noted with the Backup Flight System (BFS) computer. The launch director informed us he would stop the countdown at the planned T-20 minute hold point while the experts sorted it out. There was a communal groan on the intercom. The flight rules would never let us launch without the backup computer working properly. After all the emotional capital we had invested to this point, the thought of getting out of the cockpit and repeating that investment tomorrow was enough to make us physically ill. We all prayed that the offending circuit would fix itself. But God didn’t hear us. Following several minutes of troubleshooting, the LCC called, “Discovery,we’re going to have to pull you out and try again tomorrow.”

I was crushed, totally spent. We all were. Our nerves had been in constant tension for four hours and we had nothing to show for it. I looked forward to a repeat of this tomorrow like I looked forward to a root canal.

Within the hour we had been extracted from the cockpit and were on our way back to the crew quarters. The spouses were driven out for lunch. Donna put on a brave face but it couldn’t mask her exhaustion. The other spouses looked similarly beaten.

Then, the script was replayed. The tearful good-byes. Another review of checklists. Hank’s political commentary. A fitful sleep. The nauseating smell of cooking bacon. The wake-up knock on the door. Olan’s