Sometimes, though, David revealed his inner turmoil -- though at great cost to himself and the people who cared for him. Given the news that Dr. Wilson had a heart attack and was in intensive care, he smeared excrement all over the inside of the bubble; hospital workers spent three days cleaning the mess. Murphy theorized that David's reaction betrayed his deep fear of abandonment: Wilson's heart attack was one more piece of evidence that people would leave him, and that he was powerless to follow.
Other fears manifested themselves in recurring dreams. In one, David was attacked by thousands of spiders. In another -- which disturbed him even more -- the King of Germs dispatched thousands of his wives to invade the bubble. David was able to kill the wives, but the king simply married more to send after him.
"I don't know if it's a bad dream or if they're really pouncing on me," he told Murphy. "Maybe I'm crazy. Maybe I'm losing my mind."
Murphy tried to turn the dreams into games and think of ways he could kill his dream world enemies. Though he learned to cope with the nightmares, she says the fear of insanity plagued him from then on.
In 1977, NASA developed for David what was known as the Mobile Biologistical Isolation System. Basically, it was a $50,000 space suit that would allow David to venture outside the bubble. That July, Murphy joined the crowd in David's room: David's parents, NASA engineers and hospital staff, all gathered to see his first adventure in the suit. A camera crew was on hand to record the event.
To get into the suit, David had to crawl through an eight-foot tunnel that connected the suit to the bubble. Every movement was scheduled, but as the countdown began, Murphy says David asked her to hold him with the gloves that extended into the bubble. He wanted to be as far from the space suit as possible.
"I don't believe this," he said. "Mary, can you believe this? Look at that thing at the end of the tunnel. Now that's what I'm afraid of. Germs could be in there."
When the time came for David to crawl into the tunnel, he balked, and said he needed a few more minutes. After those minutes passed, he repeated his request -- and after those minutes, asked yet again for a few more. Finally, after the camera crew left the room, David entered the tunnel, pathetic and trembling. At one point, he got his head stuck in the suit and let out a bloodcurdling scream.
But once in the suit, he discovered it wasn't so bad. He held his gloved hands in front of his faceplate, grinned from ear to ear and said, "I like it." Never before had he taken more than six steps in any direction. But with his mobile support system, he was able that day to travel about 30 feet down the hallway, where he got a cup of ice and handed it to a nurse. It was the first time he'd ever given something to another person.
Though David seemed excited by the excursion, he voiced reservations about the suit before each of his six subsequent outings. When he outgrew the suit, it was replaced -- but he never wore the replacement.
Years later, when David saw a videotape of the made-for-TV movie loosely based on his life, he was most amused by the movie's treatment of the space suit. In The Boy in the Plastic Bubble, John Travolta played a 17-year-old boy who'd lived his entire life in sterile isolation. David laughed at the idea that his character could simply wear the space suit back into the isolator without contaminating the bubble.
In the grand tradition of made-for-TV movies, The Boy in the Plastic Bubble ended on an upbeat note: Travolta, without consulting anyone, simply decided to walk out of the bubble, join his buxom girlfriend on horseback and ride off into the sunset -- presumably to a good time and a certain death.
Certainly, the movie was a long way from realism. But unlike the press, Hollywood at least recognized that David's situation could not and should not go on indefinitely.
Newspapers and TV revealed no such shreds of grimness. In September 1977, the Houston Post reported cheerfully that "a sixth birthday is extra special for most boys and David's will be no exception." The article maintained that David "continues to thrive and develop at above-average rates." To the outside world, David was just a happy, healthy child, miraculously unscathed by the sterility of his life.
Reality was less pleasant. "The summer before David's eighth birthday marked the beginning of the end," Murphy wrote. "Painfully aware of being different and not belonging to a peer group, he inevitably concluded, 'Let's face it -- what do I have in common with kids my own age? Nothing.' "
His explosive rages grew more frequent. After exhausting himself, he'd be aghast at his behavior, afraid that people would leave him and not return.
Murphy was disturbed by David's preoccupation with death and fascination with fire. He drew giant flames to burn down the hospital or his home. He'd then pretend to extinguish the flames by urinating on his drawing.
