The First Incision

On Friday, my small group and I dissected our very first cadaver. I made the first incision right down the back. My heart pounded as I did it because all eyes were on me and I so badly did not want to freak out and end up cutting something very important on the first attempt with a scalpel. The day was really shocking for many. Fortunately, the day was not as shocking for me because a few days prior, Matt, Sara and I went down to the lab together to look at Sara's cadaver and basically de-shock ourselves from seeing an actual dead body for the first time. That initial moment, when Dr. Snow uncovered the white muslin sheet covering the body, was a tingling moment, for lack of a better description. I could feel a little pressure building in my head from the intensity of the moment, but I wasn't going to faint or anything (which I have done in the past...post describing that incident to come shortly). My worst fear was to see the face of the cadaver because I had heard rumors that was the hardest part to deal with. Usually on cadavers, the face has been mutilated due to the preservation process causing it to look grotesque and slightly unnatural. Luckily, all the cadavers were lying on their chests and would remain to do so for the next couple of labs until we turn them over to begin studying the thorax and abdomen. I was really comforted by that because I honestly did not think I was ready to face the face (I'm sorry...I couldn't resist).
For those who aren't familiar with standard procedures for dealing with cadavers in the medical school setting, the cadavers are voluntarily donated to medical schools around the country. After the bodies have been used, they are cremated and, sometimes, depending on the school that you attend, a memorial ceremony is held for the families of the donated bodies. Usually, medical students honor those who donated their bodies and thank the families for allowing the donation to be made, because without them we wouldn't really be able to learn about the human body.
It's really strange because I don't even know the name of my cadaver. I don't know how many children she had, if she was married, what her profession was, whether she lived a fulfilling life until her death or not. All I know is that she was 93 when she passed away of conjunctive heart failure, she had suffered from shingles, and she is very small for a female. Over the course of this year, I will be developing a very intimate relationship with her, looking at each nerve, muscle and organ in her body, studying every detail, memorizing every muscle, and major nerve. That's the most amount of attention I've ever paid on anyone whose name I don't even know.