Cadaverlicious!

I had to go to cadaver lab last night as part of my Human Anatomy and Physiology class. It was the first time I've ever seen a dead body. I've been quietly freaking out about it all week (hence the death-fixated poetry). My dreams have been about death every night this week, too (a change from my standard repetitive subconscious drama, that of making love to a tiger. Anybody know what the heck that means?) I even had this strange idea that once I had seen death up close, that would mean the end of my own life. Yes, I thought I could actually catch death off those cadavers. This is a very dangerous line of thinking, since my mind is extremely apt at bringing into fruition that which it imagines-- and, in fact, I nearly did pay the price for these morbid fantasies. I was driving on the highway on the way to class. My mind was, needless to say, distracted-- I didn't notice that the cars in front of me had come to a screeching halt. I slammed on the breaks, which immediately locked up, causing the car to slide around underneath me; I had two seconds to live before I would slam into the car in front of me. I didn't have time to look in my mirror, I just turned into the next lane and prayed. Nobody hit me, of course. But that didn't do much for my mood.

The technician with the keys to the lab who was supposed to let me, my professor, and my fellow students in to see the cadavers was about 45 minutes late. I was so glad at first, thinking we would be sent home, then so down when my teacher decided to hold lecture while we waited, then so glad as every minute passed that he wasn't there, thinking I was going to be freed from this ordeal, then so deeply, tragically upset when he finally did show.

The tech marched us into a little room and made us put on white lab coats. My professor casually pointed out a fetus in a jar on a bottom shelf by some shoes. It looked like a doll-- I really wasn't convinced that it was real.

Then we went through a door into a cold room with six steel canisters sitting on some tables. They were like coffins. A tub near the door was filled with some discarded human flesh and bones. My teacher herded us around the tub and lifted out an intact vertebrae, complete with meat and nerves hanging off of it. She started talking away, but everyone was watching me because I was leaning low against the wall, burying my face into my shoulder. The lab tech, also an acupuncturist, kept signaling me to rub my forearm two inches above the wrist crease-- Pericardium-6, a primary acupoint for nausea.

The spine was put away, and the teacher asked us to come closer to one of the metal caskets. She opened it. I looked away immediately, automatically. I literally couldn't bring myself to see it-- my own body fought against my command to turn and face what was lying on that table. I've never experienced reflexive aversion or a battle of will versus instinct like that before. I fought with my revulsion and finally turned to face the body. I held the image in my eyes for only a second. All the skin had been removed, so it was just a red and brown carcass streaked with yellowish tendons and fatty tissue. The teacher lifted an arm, and I saw the hand. I don't think I feinted or puked or anything, but my mind did a kind of somersault as my eyes rolled into the back of my head, and I kind of went numb. The next thing I remember was the lab technician helping me get my coat off. The rest of the class was nowhere to be seen-- I guess he had pulled me out of the room. He started asking me questions-- what's wrong? Are you okay? Do you need to talk? Nice fella. I said no, thank you, and just left. After sitting alone on a bench for about an hour I called my mom, who had a good laugh at my expense, God bless her.

So, apparently, I have issues.

I want to talk more about this, but I really really need to take a nap and get some studying done before we head out to a Christmas party being held by my wife's boss. But I wanted to get my recollections down before I had permanently blocked the memories out of my mind.

Let's talk more about it later.