From the First Cut to the Final Goodbye

A few weeks ago, the anatomy faculty hosted a memorial service to commemorate those who had donated their bodies to further our medical knowledge.

The ceremony opened with "Amazing Grace" being played on the bagpipes by one of the students (none other than my anatomy partner). As the notes bellowed through the chapel, we all sat reflecting on the time spent with these cadavers in the anatomy lab. I remembered how I felt sad and strange after the professor made the "first cut" into our cadaver, the first time turning our cadaver over and seeing his face, holding his hand for hours on end as I worked to find those small muscles, arteries, and nerves of the hand. I remembered how grateful and, strangely, proud I felt that our cadaver had such large, well-preserved muscles and (relatively) little fat. I remembered how somehow our cadaver had escaped being shaved before donation, and little hairs would end up all throughout our dissection. I remembered the awe of holding his heart in my hand, the fear of puncturing his intestines, and the satisfaction of finding that nerve/artery/vein/lymphatic vessel after hours of searching and meticulous dissection. I reflected on all the time I had spend with our cadaver and how much I had truly learned.

Other students read poetry, sang songs, gave spiritual reflections, and told stories. We lit a candle and laid down a flower for each cadaver, silently thanking them for providing us with such an enormous gift, their own bodies, so that we could learn from them and use that knowledge to become the best doctors we can be.