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

Chapter 8

The first day of class was over, and Ryan, having returned to his small apartment, took in a light dinner and set to work. Weekends of academic freedom were, for now, a thing of the past. He would still go to the cemetery on occasion, but he would take at least one textbook with him. He enjoyed the quiet sanctuary of his small apartment, but sometimes he just needed some air.

Two days later, he acquired a lab partner. Her name was Carol, and she gave the strong impression of being highly dedicated to her studies and seemed to hold the attitude that her future was carved in stone -- unchanging and irreversible. She presented herself as a rather thin woman with long, dark hair tied up behind her head. Her expression seemed to indicate that the wheels in her head were in constant motion. Ryan noticed immediately that her simple beauty was highlighted by a pair of black, wide-rimmed glasses. But in spite of her appearance, Carol was all business and at this point in her career, dating was nothing but a distraction. She refused to jeopardize your future over a boyfriend or even a night spent rolling between the sheets.

The anatomy lab was, essentially, a large morgue with body trays that rolled out from the walls and stainless steel cabinets containing everything needed for the flaying of well-preserved flesh. The lab was taught by Dr. Annil Zoser, a small, unassuming man. Originally from Egypt, he received his M.D. from Harvard Medical School. However, in spite of his stature, he carried a commanding personality as well as a degree of intelligence many found intimidating.

Once again, they listened to the discussion on the display of respect for the dead, and while participating in this lab, every student would do so with an absolute minimum of conversation. Dr. Zoser pointed out that even this would be done quietly. Like any autopsy, the dissections would be conducted in a dignified manner. This discussion was short, and there were no questions. Dr. Zoser then proceeded to assign each pair of students a cadaver, with Ryan and Carol being assigned the body of an elderly woman who passed on at Maine Medical Center of a malignant brain lesion. Cadavers of the elderly seemed to be in ample supply due to the population shifting toward that particular age group. So no one was forced to deal with the experience of dissecting the body of a child.

Dr. Zoser instructed everyone to open the sliding steel tray from the wall and remove the sheet from their assigned cadavers. No one seemed particularly horrified by what they saw, although some were visibly nervous. He paced up and down the room, examining the expression on each student’s face.

“If you’re going to become doctors,” he began. “You’d better get used to seeing this because you are going to see far more during your careers.”

Ryan stared at the plastic-covered face for a few moments. He had never seen death before. At least, not up close. But nonetheless, he found it intriguing and noticed that, in spite of the plastic that surrounded the head and face, he could still make out the open eyes and relaxed smile typical of lifelessness.

“Please note,” Dr. Zoser continued. “You are about to begin the dissection of someone who once had a life, a family, children, a job. This is the last service they will perform for society, and you will keep this in mind as you work.” He then asked that the plastic be pulled away from their faces. Some instructors might have wanted it left on in order to foster the development of objectivity, but Dr. Zoser wanted to provide the students with a constant reminder that life should be respected at all times.

Ryan and Carol looked at each other and silently asked which would perform this first task. Without a word, Carol picked up a pair of tissue scissors and carefully cut the plastic wrapping up the side of the head. “Please be careful as to how you do this,” Dr. Zoser said. “You do not want to cause injury before you have learned to heal.”

Carol had removed the plastic covering without so much as the slightest nick. Both Ryan and Carol stood gazing at the woman’s face, noting the yellow pallor of her skin and how her flesh had sagged with gravity. Without the flow of blood, tissue loses its tension and drifts downward. Ryan found the facial expression rather ghastly, and for a time, he would make a conscious effort to avoid looking at it.

Dr. Zoser continued pacing, again taking note of the student’s expressions.

“Are there any questions or problems at this point?” No one responded.

“Good,” he continued. “Let us begin.” As he circulated among the students, he instructed them to deftly make an incision down the center of the body. Carol looked up at Ryan with an expression that said, ‘It’s your turn’. By this time, everyone was wearing a face shield and heavy latex gloves, prompting the two to don the necessary protection as well. Ryan picked up the scalpel and placed the edge of the blade delicately against the cadaver’s skin, just at the top of the breastbone. For one brief moment, his eyes focused on the contact point between the blade and skin. Somewhere deep within all of us is something that reacts to events that, although real, don’t seem to make sense. This ‘something’ has a voice, and it usually asks only one question. ‘Is this really happening?’ This voice generally makes itself known when the mind cannot rectify what it believes should not be happening, perhaps generated by a separation of social complexity into a delicate balance of what needs to be done and what should never be done, at least within the walls of an anatomy lab.

Breaking away from the moment, Ryan took a deep breath of preparation and glanced up at Carol. Even with her attitude of strength, she also felt a degree of anxiety. After all, this was a first for her as well. She looked back at Ryan with a momentary expression of concern while giving him a slight nod. Ryan gave the blade an almost unimaginably light degree of pressure. Being suddenly caught up in that moment, his mind became hyper-perceptive to the smallest detail of an act many outside the walls of UNE would consider taboo. Later, he would swear that he could feel the edge of the blade breaking the skin as it slid down the front of the body. There is only one word remotely capable of defining that one moment of Ryan’s life. Surreal.

Carol assisted in creating the flaps that would be separated from the layers of muscle underneath, just as they had seen in class. By this time, the experience was well outside the wall of subjectivity, and when the separation of tissue was complete, Dr. Zoser asked the students to pause and examine the exposed muscle. Ryan, again losing himself to the moment, carefully placed his gloved fingertips on the lines that separated one layer of muscle from another. The embalming process left everything beneath the skin pale and somewhat firm. He ran his fingertips down the layered muscle along the side of the chest he wondered how such wonderful symmetry could be achieved. Having noticed Ryan’s intimate involvement with the cadaver’s musculature, Dr. Zoser inquired to him for his impression. “The muscles are very smooth,” Ryan began nervously. “But they overlap with perfect arrangement.” This might have seemed ghoulish to many, but these were medical students, and beneath the blanket of objectivity, they all shared a deep appreciation of the human body as art.

They continued carefully slicing at the underlying tissue that held skin to muscle. With this approach, Ryan was learning about the human body from the outside in. And in spite of the body’s symmetry, once the abdominal cavity had been breached, Ryan also discovered that not everything looks the way it does in the books. Now, he became heavily invested in the dissection process, fascinated to the point of blocking out everything else. It wasn’t until Carol touched him on the arm that he was thrown back into the here and now and, leaning in, quietly requested to make the next set of incisions. “Sorry,” he whispered.

He stood by and watched as she exposed the lower abdomen, displaying the reproductive organs and bladder. He observed everything as layer after layer of tissue was cut away. But it was more than simple observation. Ryan had fallen under a spell of intoxicating engrossment, fueled by the smell of preservatives and the expression of mortality. And even though he made every effort not to look at the cadaver’s lifeless face, Ryan found his attention drawn to it to the point of distraction.

The anatomy lab was the last class of the day, and Ryan, again, locked himself away in his apartment. Studying always began immediately after classes ended. And always ran late into the night. Ryan generally studied until one or two o’clock in the morning. Weekends were no different. There was simply more time. However, that night, Ryan turned in at roughly one thirty in the morning. A certain degree of agitation kept him tossing and turning for most of the night. By morning, he rose in a state of exhaustion that required four cups of coffee to overcome. He proceeded through his day unable to concentrate -- distracted by something he couldn’t define. In class, he found that keeping up with the lectures was difficult and struggled to write his notes in a way that was both efficient as well as legible. Even Carol, who rarely spoke to anyone, noticed that Ryan seemed out of sorts. In between classes, she inquired as to his tense expression. “Oh, you know. Lots of studying, not much sleep,” he replied.

“Well,” she began. “You might want to get caught up over the weekend. You don’t want to fall asleep in class.” She expressed her concern as only that — concern and only in passing. Carol didn’t give off any particular ‘vibe’ and showed no other interest in her brief concern for his exhausted state. She knew that everyone experienced that at some point, and likely often. Ryan simply had to learn how to manage it.

He succeeded in getting a few hours of sleep that night and began the next day’s classes with noticeably improved focus. At some point in the day, he found himself again, standing over the body of the elderly woman he had been introduced to two days before. Embarrassingly, Dr. Zoser was forced to prompt his attention to the task of dissection upon discovering that Ryan was having difficulty with the cadaver’s facial expression. Even Carol noticed it. Handing out green surgical towels, he suggested that anyone having trouble focusing should drape the towel over the cadaver's face, and Carol was quick to do so. This seemed to force Ryan’s attention back to the day’s objective. But he still felt preoccupied.

After class, Dr. Zoser held him back as the room emptied, addressing Ryan in a professional manner. “Mr. Archer,” he began. “I couldn’t help noticing that you seemed to be distracted today. It is only natural for one new to this lab to be somewhat bothered by the sight of death. Please don’t be embarrassed. A lot of students' experience this, and if there’s anything I can do to help, do not hesitate to let me know, all right?”

Ryan was ready to offer a simple explanation -- lack of sleep, the workload -- anything to avoid talking about the subject. He wasn’t sure why he was becoming so fascinated by the sight of death. Maybe it was just human nature to take an interest in the things we don’t understand. Yet, many people are not so captivated and make a conscious effort to distance themselves from what is, on a deep level, a reminder of their own mortality.

That night found him, again, alone in his apartment. Studying was becoming more difficult and a full night’s sleep harder to come by. The source of his agitation was beginning to emerge in the unconscious chaos of his dreams, and it was during a visit to this dream world that he found himself in a cold blackness. Unable to move, his attention was suddenly captured by the sound of something metal. It echoed in his sleeping mind as the consuming darkness was, without warning, broken by a glaring light. Within the hazy reality of this somnolent reality, he found himself both paralyzed and naked. Opening his eyes, he was startled to see his own face staring back at him. Powerless to escape, he continued to watch as his nightmarish twin raised a scalpel and, setting the edge of its blade against his skin, began a slow, deep incision down the center of his body. His mind screamed in pain, and just before being shaken back into the waking world, his senses were overcome by a voice whispering from the darkness of his disturbed sleep.

“You like this, don’t you?” it asked. “We know what you’re thinking, Ryan.”

Ryan bolted up in bed with sweat pouring off his body, leaving his bed soaked. As frightened as he was, Ryan rationalized it as the product of stress. It was only a dream, and dreams possess no reality of their own. They do, however, serve as a mirror for one’s own reality and the emotions that accompany it. He got up and wrapped himself in a blanket. It was near the middle of January, and the cold wind seemed to constantly blow through the walls. He walked to the window and looked out at the entrance to the School of Pharmacy. His apartment was on the second floor, giving him that much more privacy. It was only the second semester, and not unlike the first, he felt as though he’d never be able to keep up. After roughly ten minutes of staring at the campus, Ryan decided to sleep on the couch. He wandered back to his bedroom and retrieving his pillow returned and arranging both pillow and blankets, closing his eyes and quickly drifted off into a guarded sleep.