Garret Griggs
11/20/14
ESS 102 Section AB
Sci-Fi Paper
The Long Nap The last thing I remembered was the sight of the needle entering my skin. It was hardly an irregular sight—I’d witnessed the process performed on my colleagues during training many times before. The needle enters, the serum flows, their faces relax. The HIT, a serum containing the molecule necessary for induced human hibernation, slows their breathing, until finally, each muscle in their body settles like grains of sand passing down an hour glass. A hypothermic state with no dreams, no emotions, no neurological function. Their eyes dilate as they pass gently into the long, dark nap. It’s peaceful, really: this sleep; this death. Death which bears the promise of resurrection; man becoming a modern Lazarus, lying patiently dormant in an iron sarcophagus. But I’ve outlasted Lazarus, haven’t I? He spent four days wrapped in grave-cloths. I’ve spent seven years. “Wake up, Professor Dormer.” A few moments passed before I realized I was breathing. A few more and I moved my toes with a near-audible creak. Hazily, my eyesight filled with a dim red. From my throat croaked a raspy noise, then another. …show more content…
They call it Space Adaptation Syndrome. It’s a condition that stems from conflicting neurosensory inputs from tactile and visual senses, and from the organs of the inner ear . About 67% of people experience it during weightlessness . Symptoms include headaches, cold sweating, fatigue, dizziness, nausea, and vomiting , which usually last 1-3 days . It’s one of the worst feelings I’ve ever had the displeasure of experiencing. NASA has an unofficial scale to measure the levels of SAS felt by an astronaut, affectionately named the Garn Scale after the sickest man ever witnessed in space, former US Senator Jake Garn. The scale goes from 1-10: at Garn 1, you feel pretty much fine; by Garn 10, you would rather be dead . Poor Jake scored a 13 on his own
11/20/14
ESS 102 Section AB
Sci-Fi Paper
The Long Nap The last thing I remembered was the sight of the needle entering my skin. It was hardly an irregular sight—I’d witnessed the process performed on my colleagues during training many times before. The needle enters, the serum flows, their faces relax. The HIT, a serum containing the molecule necessary for induced human hibernation, slows their breathing, until finally, each muscle in their body settles like grains of sand passing down an hour glass. A hypothermic state with no dreams, no emotions, no neurological function. Their eyes dilate as they pass gently into the long, dark nap. It’s peaceful, really: this sleep; this death. Death which bears the promise of resurrection; man becoming a modern Lazarus, lying patiently dormant in an iron sarcophagus. But I’ve outlasted Lazarus, haven’t I? He spent four days wrapped in grave-cloths. I’ve spent seven years. “Wake up, Professor Dormer.” A few moments passed before I realized I was breathing. A few more and I moved my toes with a near-audible creak. Hazily, my eyesight filled with a dim red. From my throat croaked a raspy noise, then another. …show more content…
They call it Space Adaptation Syndrome. It’s a condition that stems from conflicting neurosensory inputs from tactile and visual senses, and from the organs of the inner ear . About 67% of people experience it during weightlessness . Symptoms include headaches, cold sweating, fatigue, dizziness, nausea, and vomiting , which usually last 1-3 days . It’s one of the worst feelings I’ve ever had the displeasure of experiencing. NASA has an unofficial scale to measure the levels of SAS felt by an astronaut, affectionately named the Garn Scale after the sickest man ever witnessed in space, former US Senator Jake Garn. The scale goes from 1-10: at Garn 1, you feel pretty much fine; by Garn 10, you would rather be dead . Poor Jake scored a 13 on his own