I can almost always be sure that pretty much everyone on the planet knows about stuff before I do, so I will not be surprised if this has been discussed before, especially since the article I'm quoting came out well over a year ago.
I am a huge Scott Kelly fan. He spent a year in space at considerable short- and long-term risk to his own health in a study that also did extensive testing on his twin brother (also an astronaut -- check out the picture of the two of them when they were little boys) who remained on Earth. But will science untangle the mechanism behind his strange symptoms upon his return to earth -- which look like some blend of Mast Cell Activation Syndrome/Disease and Orthostatic Intolerance with some other stuff thrown in.
Here's the article.
I am a huge Scott Kelly fan. He spent a year in space at considerable short- and long-term risk to his own health in a study that also did extensive testing on his twin brother (also an astronaut -- check out the picture of the two of them when they were little boys) who remained on Earth. But will science untangle the mechanism behind his strange symptoms upon his return to earth -- which look like some blend of Mast Cell Activation Syndrome/Disease and Orthostatic Intolerance with some other stuff thrown in.
Here's the article.
I struggle to get up. Find the edge of the bed. Feet down. Sit up. Stand up. At every stage I feel like I'm fighting through quicksand. When I'm finally vertical, the pain in my legs is awful, and on top of that pain I feel a sensation that's even more alarming: it feels as though all the blood in my body is rushing to my legs, like the sensation of the blood rushing to your head when you do a handstand, but in reverse.
I can feel the tissue in my legs swelling. I shuffle my way to the bath room, moving my weight from one foot to the other with deliberate effort. Left. Right. Left. Right. I make it to the bathroom, flip on the light, and look down at my legs. They are swollen and alien stumps, not legs at all. "Oh sh*t," I say. "Amiko, come look at this." She kneels down and squeezes one ankle, and it squishes like a water balloon. She looks up at me with worried eyes. "I can't even feel your ankle bones," she says.
"My skin is burning, too," I tell her. Amiko frantically examines me. I have a strange rash all over my back, the backs of my legs, the back of my head and neck – everywhere I was in contact with the bed. I can feel her cool hands moving over my inflamed skin. "It looks like an allergic rash," she says. "Like hives."