I smell dead people
A few weeks ago chalsedonysmith invited me to come and see some dead people.
She recently graduated from a registered massage therapy program and she's allowed to take guests to the human anatomy labs she attends as part of her professional development. I had to think about that invitation, but it was one of those opportunities that would have made me kick myself later if I had turned it down. So today I saw dead people.
They were laid out on a dozen metal gurneys in a lab at the Canadian Chiropractic College. The first thing that hit you on entering the room was the strong smell of chemicals. Someone had prepared the cadavers beforehand, opening up their skins like leather coats to reveal various muscle groups or cutting deeper to expose the internal organs. The preservatives gave the muscles the look and texture of overcooked meat. Each body's face and hands were wrapped in gauze, further depersonalizing it and making it look like nothing so much as a large turkey halfway through Christmas dinner. People, as it turns out, are mostly made of meat.
I worked my way through the Anatomy Colouring Book a couple of years ago, so I was able to recognize most of the major bones and muscles. After an hour or so, I could bring myself to touch various bits of the bodies (with latex gloves on, of course). Lungs are spongy and a little bit softer than styrofoam packing peanuts. A liver feels like, well, liver. I never did pick up the brain sitting in a wet and grubby rubbermaid box. Things that squelch still squick me out just a bit too much.
A sawed-off cranium, stripped of its flesh, is pinkish and delicately translucent, like a porcelain bowl. When you die, you are beautiful and fascinating, but also shreddy and messy, like pulled pork. I'm glad I worked up the nerve to go and see. Now if only I could forget that formaldehyde smell.
She recently graduated from a registered massage therapy program and she's allowed to take guests to the human anatomy labs she attends as part of her professional development. I had to think about that invitation, but it was one of those opportunities that would have made me kick myself later if I had turned it down. So today I saw dead people.
They were laid out on a dozen metal gurneys in a lab at the Canadian Chiropractic College. The first thing that hit you on entering the room was the strong smell of chemicals. Someone had prepared the cadavers beforehand, opening up their skins like leather coats to reveal various muscle groups or cutting deeper to expose the internal organs. The preservatives gave the muscles the look and texture of overcooked meat. Each body's face and hands were wrapped in gauze, further depersonalizing it and making it look like nothing so much as a large turkey halfway through Christmas dinner. People, as it turns out, are mostly made of meat.
I worked my way through the Anatomy Colouring Book a couple of years ago, so I was able to recognize most of the major bones and muscles. After an hour or so, I could bring myself to touch various bits of the bodies (with latex gloves on, of course). Lungs are spongy and a little bit softer than styrofoam packing peanuts. A liver feels like, well, liver. I never did pick up the brain sitting in a wet and grubby rubbermaid box. Things that squelch still squick me out just a bit too much.
A sawed-off cranium, stripped of its flesh, is pinkish and delicately translucent, like a porcelain bowl. When you die, you are beautiful and fascinating, but also shreddy and messy, like pulled pork. I'm glad I worked up the nerve to go and see. Now if only I could forget that formaldehyde smell.