Digger - The Doctor Will See You Now by Clifford Beck - HTML preview

Chapter 7

The summer passed more quickly than Ryan had anticipated, and he soon found himself sitting in the front row of his first class. The course covered such matters as the normal state of the body, how everything worked when it worked correctly. This course would be several semesters long and culminate in a lengthy summary of the body in its disease state. The first two years of school would be five semesters long. There would be no breaks. The second half of the program consisted of multiple internships and a few classes. After graduation, a three-year residency would be necessary in order to become a licensed physician. It was a certainty that, from day one, the learning process would have no end. There would always be something new in the way of research or refinements within the current knowledge base.

A medical student and a social life are a contradiction in terms, and Ryan would be no exception. But between semesters, there would only be a two-week break. This time was usually reserved, at least by medical students, for more studying. There would never be enough time for learning. He did, however, find that his decision to live a singular life helped immensely and he would never have to deal with people -- roommates, noisy neighbors or the criminal element. At least, not in that part of town.

Time seemed to be lost on classes and constant bookwork, and by the end of the semester, Ryan had done well, with mostly A’s and one or two B’s. It was his difficulty with hematology that held him back from a 4.0., and the spring semester would offer its own challenges. It was during that time he would take a very comprehensive course in anatomy, as well as the accompanying lab. So through all the work, at least this class would be as interesting as it would be difficult.

After winter break, which again was occupied by the reviewing of material from the previous semester, Ryan found himself, once again, sitting in class. But one class was particularly different — anatomy. It was held in a large semicircular theater. Much like one would expect to see during the early twentieth century. The desks had been constructed in an ascending arrangement. Down on the floor, there was a stainless steel table covered by a white sheet that had been neatly draped over a somewhat familiar shape. The professor, Dr. David McKeenan, stood leaning on the edge of what was, in fact, a rolling mortuary table. He introduced students to the course and handed out a twenty-page synopsis, which included required reading, papers and an outline of the material to be covered. It wasn’t just a matter of where things were, but how they worked as part of the overall system.

The first topic of discussion was the preservation of dignity for the dead. The only reason medical schools, like UNE, had access to cadavers was because the living had, at one time, made arrangements to leave their bodies as biological gifts to science. Thus, it was important to show the dead a considerable degree of respect. After all, they had made a decision that, in many cases, affected their families as well.

Doctors tend to think with the mind of a scientist. Objectivity is key to making an accurate diagnosis, and that requires an emotional detachment from the human element -- emotions, feelings, grief and everything else that goes into the idea of humanness. And while everyone else in the class saw the idea of dissecting a human body as an intellectual exercise, Ryan was drawn by something else – curiosity -- and had suddenly become overwhelmed by it. Most of the class had likely never seen a dead body before, save for the occasional funeral. But that was different. Mortuary technicians are artists in their own right, using makeup and appliances to create the illusion of life. But what lay on the table was not a well-tended human shell. Its face and head were tightly wrapped in plastic to suppress any remaining humanity. Cadavers were held by most medical schools for two or three years, so they went through the embalming process repeatedly and were kept in cold storage.

Drained of its natural fluids, it took on an icy white pallor, and as Dr. McKeenan displayed the details of its exterior, Ryan noticed how loose the joints were, how the skin moved with lifelike flexibility. After the first forty-five minutes of class, Dr. McKeenan donned a face shield and a pair of heavy kitchen gloves. A sterile field was not necessary for the dissection of human remains, but standard precautions were observed without exception. A stainless steel tray had been placed near one end of the table, and from it, Dr. McKeenan retrieved a scalpel. And as the class watched, he traced the blade's curved tip down from just below the throat to midway between the navel and the pubic bone. Without a word, he broadened both ends of the incision out toward both shoulders and each side of the hips. Teasing back a large flap of skin, he exposed the musculature of the chest and abdomen. Having had its fluids replaced during the embalming process, the underlying tissue also took on a ghostly pale hue.

In order for the entire class to see the process, a camera had been set up. The video signal was fed into a digital projector, and an otherwise gruesome undertaking was played out in detail for all to see. Ryan watched in rapt attention as Dr. McKeenan separated the opposing side from the muscles beneath. He found that the symmetry of the muscles overlapping layers a thing of beauty, perhaps chiseled, line by line, by some divine hand. He wondered what it might be that could create such uniformity and well-ordered detail. But matters of divinity were to be left behind in medical school, replaced with symptomatology, numerical ranges, dosages, frequency, and test results. Apparently, God has no place in the objectivity of medical science.