Dr. Brendan Byrne listened for clues in the astronauts’ voices as they responded to NASA’s Mission Control.
Plunging to Earth at 24,000 mph, or six miles every second, the list of what could go wrong seemed as long as the astronauts’ journey around the moon. The range included minor dizziness to a potentially deadly heat-shield failure.
Byrne, a UVA Health emergency physician and a captain in the U.S. Navy Reserve, had to be ready for everything.
His specialty is “pre-hospital medicine,” which means getting as close to the action as possible so, if something goes sideways, he can start trauma treatment in the field. Or, in this case, bobbing in the ocean.
“It’s bringing the best medicine to the worst places,” Byrne said. “The reality is that most things that can happen to you don’t happen in a hospital.”
Byrne, center in the camouflage, poses with a team of dozens in front of the Artemis II capsule aboard the USS John P. Murtha. The team responsible for the safety of the astronauts and recovery crews included military personnel and civilian NASA workers. (Contributed photo)
That’s why Byrne was drifting in the Pacific Ocean last month aboard the USS John P. Murtha, an amphibious transport dock ship sailing off the California coast.
As the Artemis II crew re-established contact after a fiery punch through the atmosphere, he listened on a radio to the voices of the three men and one woman, attuned to any hint of unexpected stress or discomfort.
There were so many bad possibilities. Capsule leaks. G-force injuries. “Space adaptation syndrome” and the crippling vertigo that comes with it. A broken cotter pin ricocheting through the capsule “causing penetrating trauma.” A heat-shield malfunction and crew hyperthermia.
As the capsule’s parachutes blossomed and the astronauts communicated clearly and calmly, the list of possible catastrophes started to shrink. Yet the danger wasn’t over.
‘So, 9/11 happened.’
Byrne, a Detroit native, earned a degree in French from the University of Michigan. He’d spent time in Belgium as an au pair and planned to attend medical school there. But then came the terror attacks in New York and at the Pentagon.
“So, 9/11 happened,” he said. “I went to a recruiter and said, ‘You know, it’s time to sign up.’”
Byrne wears a radio headset to keep in contact with the recovery crews on small boats. Byrne, a U.S. Navy Reserve captain, has specialty training he would’ve used to save the astronauts if their capsule had lost pressure on re-entry. Fortunately, the return to Earth was nearly flawless. (Contributed photo)
The Navy put him through the Wayne State University School of Medicine in Detroit. Then, for more than 15 years, Byrne repaid the debt. That included internship at a military hospital, residency, multiple deployments, numerous changes in duty stations and six months of Navy dive school, where he became an expert at treating the kinds of life-threatening maladies divers – and astronauts – can suffer from rapid changes in pressure.
In 2016, his active-duty Navy career concluded. He joined the Navy Reserve and started looking for where he and his wife would like to work and raise their four children. The search led to Charlottesville, where Byrne has practiced and taught emergency medicine for two years.
“When we moved to Virginia, it was our 16th move as a family in 19 years of marriage,” he said.
Orders to San Diego
In his role as a Navy Reserve leader, Byrne was part of a conversation about how the branch might staff a medical mission for the Artemis II launch and recovery. He suggested that reserve officers like himself were ideally suited for short deployments. The Navy ordered him to San Diego.
After the rocket thundered into orbit, Byrne set sail aboard the Murtha. His initial charge included not only planning for the astronauts’ health, but also for the dozens of civilians navigating the unforgiving metal environment of a military vessel’s steep stairs, oil-slicked deck and skull-busting bulkheads. One crew member misjudged the stairs and broke his hand. Another nearly lost an eye.
