How Do You Thank Someone Who Has Taken You From Crayons to Perfume??

When does medical school officially begin?? Is it when you are given your white coat, when you sit through your first orientation activity, when you listen to your first lecture, or, even when someone first mistakes you for a doctor??? While medical school commencement is truly is an amalgam of all of these things, the answer to this question is medical school starts, when the classic, and often stereotypically represented, course of anatomy starts. Little did I know...that day was today.

I entered the lecture hall for "anatomy orientation" already feeling emotionally drained and physically tired from the beginning of the day's activities (and the past week and a half's lack of sleep). Suddenly, as if to throw off my whole definition and concept of orientation, I heard these words spoken by our course instructor: "Today, you will meet your donor", and it was as if the whole room's, mine included, emotions drastically shifted. While we all knew this day was coming, we were not really prepared (though some of us had hoped) for it to come so soon. You could hear little whispers of people talking about their emotions, trying to figure out if they were excited, nervous, scared, or sad. These whispers were set against 2nd year Medical and PA students speaking about their experiences with the course and their donors, and what they had learned. They read poems and spoke in metaphors, but most of all, they stressed the emotionality of the experience, something beyond any lab we have previously done throughout our scientific education. Almost immediately, all of those students who had previously been excited to cut into a body (I will admit to being one of them), began to be nervous and a little more humbled.

We were told that all of our donors had chosen to give their body to Yale for this sole purpose, likely because they believed in medical education or science. We were then confronted with our own thoughts of what we would do in this situation: Could we, especially since we had (in terms of education) benefited from our own donor, later in life give our bodies to Yale for that same purpose? The general consensus...was no. But, for a mostly scientific, and not too religious heavy group of minds, why was this answer so widespread? Was it a fear of death? A fear of confronting death? Or even, a fear of what happens to your body when you are dead? Our innate fears and apprehensions of donating ourselves only further made us grateful for each person's decision to donate his or her body to us, and to our scientific education. 

One by one we slowly were split into Societies and then into 4 person dissection teams. As the names were flashed across the screen, we all could not help but hold our breath that our group studied like us, thought like us, and even felt like us, as this journey would soon be a shared one with three virtual strangers. As I saw my name flash across the screen I was happy that my group was filled with people that I knew, but not too well, as their more studious personalities could help to not distract me from the daunting task at hand. In fact, it was clear just how serious they were when we met at the top of the stairs to discuss whether or not we wanted to "remove the band-aid" and reveal the face today, as our conversation took the longest of any group called from our society. Together we decided to take a moment of silence each day before dissection to thank the donor, yet, we also chose to reveal the face now, as it might be much harder to all the sudden see it later during a craniotomy lab (also, honestly everyone else picked this option and we would've been confronted with faces all around the room otherwise).

We arrived at our table, number 27, which was fitted with ventilation to protect us from both airborne pathogens and that preservation smell associated with anatomy courses in the past, and spent our moment to thank the donor. In our gloves, we then slowly removed the plastic and could see the faint shape of a tiny woman begin to form. Immediately, I thought like a student, and was excited that we got a woman, and a tiny one at that, as this likely meant our dissections will be easier as she will have little to no muscle/fat to move out of the way. But, I quickly felt the importance of the next moment, and I held my breath as we removed the gauze wrapping covering her face. With every inch uncovered, she was no longer a donor, anonymous and under a sheet, but instead, a person. While we only knew that she was 85 and had died of ovarian cancer, we spent some time looking at her face and deciding what ethnicity she was (the consensus being Asian) and looking at her chest/body to hypothesize what the scars and stitches were from. Unlike one of our society group's donors who looked like he had died suffering for air (and honestly emotionally affected me when I looked at him), our donor appeared as if she had died peacefully. As I stared at her face, it was almost comforting, though very brush with death-y, to see her sleeping on the table, eyes closed, content, free of pain, and completely willing to be there. 

Yet, when we unraveled her arms and I saw nail polish on her well manicured fingernails, I suddenly realized that this was more than a dead person (something that the face had clarified for me), but this person had a life, a life which had consisted of nail polish, even at the age of 85 and likely in a lot of pain. I wondered how long ago she had gotten her nails painted, why she had chosen that color, if she was married and wanted to look pretty for her husband and, if she had simply wanted to feel beautiful. It is one thing to cut into a person with a face, but it became a whole new dimension for me to cut into a person with a life. Ultimately, all I can do to appreciate this life and this donor is to continue to thank her for giving me the gift of learning anatomy.