October 26, 2006
pushing deadlines
here goes my first official entry to our humble online writer's guild, organized by no less than myke. and can i just say, he played the role of cool, calm, and collected chic (chief-in-command, if it sounds weird) while he was agonizing over my deathly late contribution.
it's a bit lengthy, but all in my classic writing style. hope it's as fun a read as i think it is.
**
The Rush of Chopping Bodies
As I made my way up the stairs of Calderon Hall, the familiar stench of formalin was already strong in my nose. Lucky for me, the stinging odor never made me want to spill my stomach, even after having a hearty lunch like I had just minutes before. But sadly, not even 3 months of near-daily exposure could see me get used to the fumes, resulting in watery eyes and a runny nose just as I stepped onto the third floor landing.
The scene in front of my eyes was exactly as I expected: my classmates milling around the lockers and benches, some chatting, some studying, some even having a sing-along or dancing, but everyone clearly trying to avoid entering the dissection room before we absolutely had to. With everyone wearing scrub suits in all sorts of colors and patterns, it was a veritable carnival in there. I made my way to my lockers, where Migz and Jenny, two of my three lockermates, were waiting for the keys I kept in my bag pocket.
"Good afternoon, Ibn. Tagal naming hinihintay yung susi ah."
"Hehe, sorry Jenny, nakaiglip pa kasi ako sa condo bago ako pumunta dito eh. Eto na, eto na o." My Lionheart keychain clanged against the metal locker doors as I hurriedly wrenched both of them open. Bags, books, and clipboards went into the empty locker, while scrub suits, gloves, and masks came from the one laden with lab equipment. Taking off the stuffy top of my med whites, I stood there in my sando, relieving a bit of the heat while enduring taunts of "Ibn's so hot!" and "Ang hot naman ni Ibn!" from some of my friends. Finally donning my Monopoly scrub suit, I turned to Migz just before entering Dualan Lab.
"Ano bang gagawin natin ngayon? Skinning pa lang ba ng thorax?"
"Ang alam ko din un lang eh. Pero baka buksan na rin natin ung rib cage, para makita na natin ung visceral organs. Exciting 'no?"
Bracing ourselves, we opened the door to the dissection room. If outside, the air was thick with formalin fumes, then inside it was as if we were being dunked into a tankful of the vile preservative. Double-layer masks and scrub suits were hardly any use, since the smell soaked well through them into our undergarments and skins, such that wearing them has become merely a formality. Migz headed off to his table, while at Table 1, most of my anatomates were already preparing. Mike was clutching his Netter as if safeguarding his most prized possession, and most likely the book was, while Mich and Gillian were already outfitting our scalpel handles with new blades. Zan would most probably be late, while Jasper would be out performing his Liaison Officer duties. I gave everyone a hearty smile before positioning myself by the head of the dissection table. "Tara na?" I said as I peeled off the blue vinyl sheet covering our Mang Caddy.
Even now, the sight still brings a little shock, and a great deal of awe. A 5'5" male was sprawled on the table, knees bent to the right, but you wouldn't likely take him for an old man taking a nap. In places where it was still intact, his preserved skin showed, tough and brown like tanned leather, while the rest of him was wrapped in aged pieces of gauze, much like the reviled cursed mummies of Egyptian lore. Unwrapping his arms and legs would show the isolated muscles, vessels, and nerves of his appendicular system, not so masterfully picked apart but sufficient to get us past the first anatomy lab exam. If anyone cared to remove the cloth binding his head, they'd find a skull neatly sectioned into three: the calvarium neatly sawed off to reveal the brain and the floor of the cranium, while the facial aspect was clean cut through the middle, best to examine the interior of the nose and the oral cavity.
All around the body, leftover bits of past dissections lay scattered about: a left clavicle, a patella, the angle of the jaw, pieces of his outer ear, and one eye, with the eyelid and nerve still attached. Various metal implements were also arrayed on the table by the head, the function of each left to the grisly imagination of an uninformed observer. It was as gory a horror scene as one could imagine, but made a little more normal by the fact that 26 other tables held exactly the same macabre sight, if not worse. Also, it could hardly be called gruesome with all the med students loitering around their respective tables or jumping from one group to the other, nonchalantly chatting away, oblivious to all that was before them.
We were just about to get into small talk of our own when the sound system let loose a blast of feedback that served to silence the entire hall. Doc Ryner stood on a platform on the far side of the lab with a hastily sketched chest with guide lines on the whiteboard behind him, a diminutive king addressing his subjects, with the royal crest glaring at the back. "OK guys, today we're going to open up the rib cage. Start skinning the chest of your cadavers and identify the pectorals and intercostal muscles, then our lab technicians will be going from table to table to break open the chest. Feel free to ask questions to any of the consultants in the lab. Remember, hanggang 4:15 lang tayo magtatrabaho ah. Good luck."
Without any delay, we set about to it. Wielding the scalpel and kelly scissors like weapons I've worked with for years, I deftly scored Mang Caddy's chest right along the middle until the end of the rib cage, then sliced down to either side, exposing the muscle layer beneath. Mike and I then proceeded to separate the skin from the underlying fascia on the left side, while Mich and Gillian worked on the right. In no time at all, we were already referring to the images in Mike's Netter for the names and locations of the many-layered intercostal muscles. We were probing between the third and fourth ribs to isolate the muscle sheets when Gillian's scalpel went through the fibers cleanly, entering what seemed to be dead space. We let loose some automatic shrieks and shouts, fearing what structures we might have macerated beneath, but a quick finger through the gash assured us that nothing lay directly on the blade's path. Curious to what surprises waited inside, we tried to sneak a peek through the hole but the darkness covered everything. With our curiosity piqued, I sought out the nearest lab technician, Mang Boy, and got us next in line for the ceremonial chest chopping.
I could barely contain my excitement when Mang Boy finally came to our table, bizarre power tools in hand. He shooed us away from our cadaver, holding a dull metal blade like he meant business. He immediately went about to hacking the sides of Mang Caddy with that vile tool, slicing through flesh and bone like a hot knife through butter. When a rib proved to be particularly troublesome, he took out yet another implement, a set of pliers but with sharp-edged pincers that looked like they could section your fingers with hardly any effort, and snipped away at the stubborn bone. The right clavicle was pried away from its socket with such force that the surrounding muscles were ripped along with it. The bottom of the chest section was similarly sliced, until the entire anterior skeleton was hinged only at the top, looking much like an eerie breastplate.
For the sternum, Mang Boy brought out the grand daddy of all dissection tools: the circular power saw which was also used to open the cranium. Using the saw meant that someone had to constantly apply water to the blade using a syringe to avoid bone dust flying everywhere, but the slightest bit of affection for your fingers easily made everyone shy away from the task. Luckily, Jasper arrived just in time and took the syringe for himself. The saw was switched on, emitting a dreadful screech fresh from the depths of hell, and it ran through the fleshy exterior easily until it met resistance: the scalpel hiding under all those chest muscles. Weirdly though, the scent of bone being crushed and pulverized by the whirring teeth of the saw reminded me of bread baking in the oven, giving me an untimely craving for pan de sal. Away the saw went, slowly inching its way through the sternum, while I watched on in maddened fascination.
Then it was done. Mang Boy slashed through the last few fibers still attaching the breastplate to the rest of the body, handed the plate of muscle and bone to us, then headed off the the adjacent table for a repeat of his gruesome yet enticing performance. I took in all that lay before us, two soft, mushy lungs with a speckled appearance, like gigantic marshmallows made out of granite, and the heart, the once-thought-of seat of all emotions, just as it was illustrated in all our anatomy texts, great vessels and all. If I was amazed at the way by which these structures were exposed, it was nothing compared to what I felt seeing those marvels of human architecture up close. My heart pumping, I picked up the closest scalpel and scissors, inching my way towards the heart. "What might I find inside?" I asked myself, as the blade cut away the translucent sheets of fibrous tissue surrounding the organ. "There'd be valves, and muscle fibers, and I can trace the pathway of blood..." The edge of the scalpel pressed against the apex of the heart, collapsing a hollow yet rubbery wall. Just a little more pressure and the wonders of the human heart would have been mine to behold...
DING DONG!
My mind woke itself from that frenzied trance, suddenly aware of my surroundings. The warning chime at 4:15, the signal to clean up and pack, always brought with it horrible memories of anatomy lab exams past, where the same sound would command us to halt whatever we were doing and move to the next number. I looked around and saw my fellow dissectors already preparing to leave; scalpel blades were being removed and deposited into the clear plastic bottles meant for such use, the cadavers were being sprayed generously with Lysol and slathered with petroleum jelly, gauze, sackcloth, and the blue wrapping were going back on, people were stripping off their gloves and untying their masks, and on the way out of the lab were starting to resume idle prattle where they had left off. My anatomates and I did the same, and when I finally stepped out of the lab, I heaved a big sigh of relief. Another lab session down.
Despite all the excitement and exhilaration I derive from our dissection sessions, they always leave me more tired than necessary afterwards. It might be the stress of having to identify all those structures and parts thereof, all the manual labor we have to perform, or just being exposed to formalin for three hours straight, but I am always glad that lab sessions end as they do. Which then leaves me looking forward to the next dissections to come.
But then, that excitement for another time. I quickly shed my scrub suit, got my stuff from the lockers, and ran back down the steps of Calderon Hall. Medrhythmics training was scheduled for that afternoon. And that's another rush all on its own.
it's a bit lengthy, but all in my classic writing style. hope it's as fun a read as i think it is.
**
The Rush of Chopping Bodies
As I made my way up the stairs of Calderon Hall, the familiar stench of formalin was already strong in my nose. Lucky for me, the stinging odor never made me want to spill my stomach, even after having a hearty lunch like I had just minutes before. But sadly, not even 3 months of near-daily exposure could see me get used to the fumes, resulting in watery eyes and a runny nose just as I stepped onto the third floor landing.
The scene in front of my eyes was exactly as I expected: my classmates milling around the lockers and benches, some chatting, some studying, some even having a sing-along or dancing, but everyone clearly trying to avoid entering the dissection room before we absolutely had to. With everyone wearing scrub suits in all sorts of colors and patterns, it was a veritable carnival in there. I made my way to my lockers, where Migz and Jenny, two of my three lockermates, were waiting for the keys I kept in my bag pocket.
"Good afternoon, Ibn. Tagal naming hinihintay yung susi ah."
"Hehe, sorry Jenny, nakaiglip pa kasi ako sa condo bago ako pumunta dito eh. Eto na, eto na o." My Lionheart keychain clanged against the metal locker doors as I hurriedly wrenched both of them open. Bags, books, and clipboards went into the empty locker, while scrub suits, gloves, and masks came from the one laden with lab equipment. Taking off the stuffy top of my med whites, I stood there in my sando, relieving a bit of the heat while enduring taunts of "Ibn's so hot!" and "Ang hot naman ni Ibn!" from some of my friends. Finally donning my Monopoly scrub suit, I turned to Migz just before entering Dualan Lab.
"Ano bang gagawin natin ngayon? Skinning pa lang ba ng thorax?"
"Ang alam ko din un lang eh. Pero baka buksan na rin natin ung rib cage, para makita na natin ung visceral organs. Exciting 'no?"
Bracing ourselves, we opened the door to the dissection room. If outside, the air was thick with formalin fumes, then inside it was as if we were being dunked into a tankful of the vile preservative. Double-layer masks and scrub suits were hardly any use, since the smell soaked well through them into our undergarments and skins, such that wearing them has become merely a formality. Migz headed off to his table, while at Table 1, most of my anatomates were already preparing. Mike was clutching his Netter as if safeguarding his most prized possession, and most likely the book was, while Mich and Gillian were already outfitting our scalpel handles with new blades. Zan would most probably be late, while Jasper would be out performing his Liaison Officer duties. I gave everyone a hearty smile before positioning myself by the head of the dissection table. "Tara na?" I said as I peeled off the blue vinyl sheet covering our Mang Caddy.
Even now, the sight still brings a little shock, and a great deal of awe. A 5'5" male was sprawled on the table, knees bent to the right, but you wouldn't likely take him for an old man taking a nap. In places where it was still intact, his preserved skin showed, tough and brown like tanned leather, while the rest of him was wrapped in aged pieces of gauze, much like the reviled cursed mummies of Egyptian lore. Unwrapping his arms and legs would show the isolated muscles, vessels, and nerves of his appendicular system, not so masterfully picked apart but sufficient to get us past the first anatomy lab exam. If anyone cared to remove the cloth binding his head, they'd find a skull neatly sectioned into three: the calvarium neatly sawed off to reveal the brain and the floor of the cranium, while the facial aspect was clean cut through the middle, best to examine the interior of the nose and the oral cavity.
All around the body, leftover bits of past dissections lay scattered about: a left clavicle, a patella, the angle of the jaw, pieces of his outer ear, and one eye, with the eyelid and nerve still attached. Various metal implements were also arrayed on the table by the head, the function of each left to the grisly imagination of an uninformed observer. It was as gory a horror scene as one could imagine, but made a little more normal by the fact that 26 other tables held exactly the same macabre sight, if not worse. Also, it could hardly be called gruesome with all the med students loitering around their respective tables or jumping from one group to the other, nonchalantly chatting away, oblivious to all that was before them.
We were just about to get into small talk of our own when the sound system let loose a blast of feedback that served to silence the entire hall. Doc Ryner stood on a platform on the far side of the lab with a hastily sketched chest with guide lines on the whiteboard behind him, a diminutive king addressing his subjects, with the royal crest glaring at the back. "OK guys, today we're going to open up the rib cage. Start skinning the chest of your cadavers and identify the pectorals and intercostal muscles, then our lab technicians will be going from table to table to break open the chest. Feel free to ask questions to any of the consultants in the lab. Remember, hanggang 4:15 lang tayo magtatrabaho ah. Good luck."
Without any delay, we set about to it. Wielding the scalpel and kelly scissors like weapons I've worked with for years, I deftly scored Mang Caddy's chest right along the middle until the end of the rib cage, then sliced down to either side, exposing the muscle layer beneath. Mike and I then proceeded to separate the skin from the underlying fascia on the left side, while Mich and Gillian worked on the right. In no time at all, we were already referring to the images in Mike's Netter for the names and locations of the many-layered intercostal muscles. We were probing between the third and fourth ribs to isolate the muscle sheets when Gillian's scalpel went through the fibers cleanly, entering what seemed to be dead space. We let loose some automatic shrieks and shouts, fearing what structures we might have macerated beneath, but a quick finger through the gash assured us that nothing lay directly on the blade's path. Curious to what surprises waited inside, we tried to sneak a peek through the hole but the darkness covered everything. With our curiosity piqued, I sought out the nearest lab technician, Mang Boy, and got us next in line for the ceremonial chest chopping.
I could barely contain my excitement when Mang Boy finally came to our table, bizarre power tools in hand. He shooed us away from our cadaver, holding a dull metal blade like he meant business. He immediately went about to hacking the sides of Mang Caddy with that vile tool, slicing through flesh and bone like a hot knife through butter. When a rib proved to be particularly troublesome, he took out yet another implement, a set of pliers but with sharp-edged pincers that looked like they could section your fingers with hardly any effort, and snipped away at the stubborn bone. The right clavicle was pried away from its socket with such force that the surrounding muscles were ripped along with it. The bottom of the chest section was similarly sliced, until the entire anterior skeleton was hinged only at the top, looking much like an eerie breastplate.
For the sternum, Mang Boy brought out the grand daddy of all dissection tools: the circular power saw which was also used to open the cranium. Using the saw meant that someone had to constantly apply water to the blade using a syringe to avoid bone dust flying everywhere, but the slightest bit of affection for your fingers easily made everyone shy away from the task. Luckily, Jasper arrived just in time and took the syringe for himself. The saw was switched on, emitting a dreadful screech fresh from the depths of hell, and it ran through the fleshy exterior easily until it met resistance: the scalpel hiding under all those chest muscles. Weirdly though, the scent of bone being crushed and pulverized by the whirring teeth of the saw reminded me of bread baking in the oven, giving me an untimely craving for pan de sal. Away the saw went, slowly inching its way through the sternum, while I watched on in maddened fascination.
Then it was done. Mang Boy slashed through the last few fibers still attaching the breastplate to the rest of the body, handed the plate of muscle and bone to us, then headed off the the adjacent table for a repeat of his gruesome yet enticing performance. I took in all that lay before us, two soft, mushy lungs with a speckled appearance, like gigantic marshmallows made out of granite, and the heart, the once-thought-of seat of all emotions, just as it was illustrated in all our anatomy texts, great vessels and all. If I was amazed at the way by which these structures were exposed, it was nothing compared to what I felt seeing those marvels of human architecture up close. My heart pumping, I picked up the closest scalpel and scissors, inching my way towards the heart. "What might I find inside?" I asked myself, as the blade cut away the translucent sheets of fibrous tissue surrounding the organ. "There'd be valves, and muscle fibers, and I can trace the pathway of blood..." The edge of the scalpel pressed against the apex of the heart, collapsing a hollow yet rubbery wall. Just a little more pressure and the wonders of the human heart would have been mine to behold...
DING DONG!
My mind woke itself from that frenzied trance, suddenly aware of my surroundings. The warning chime at 4:15, the signal to clean up and pack, always brought with it horrible memories of anatomy lab exams past, where the same sound would command us to halt whatever we were doing and move to the next number. I looked around and saw my fellow dissectors already preparing to leave; scalpel blades were being removed and deposited into the clear plastic bottles meant for such use, the cadavers were being sprayed generously with Lysol and slathered with petroleum jelly, gauze, sackcloth, and the blue wrapping were going back on, people were stripping off their gloves and untying their masks, and on the way out of the lab were starting to resume idle prattle where they had left off. My anatomates and I did the same, and when I finally stepped out of the lab, I heaved a big sigh of relief. Another lab session down.
Despite all the excitement and exhilaration I derive from our dissection sessions, they always leave me more tired than necessary afterwards. It might be the stress of having to identify all those structures and parts thereof, all the manual labor we have to perform, or just being exposed to formalin for three hours straight, but I am always glad that lab sessions end as they do. Which then leaves me looking forward to the next dissections to come.
But then, that excitement for another time. I quickly shed my scrub suit, got my stuff from the lockers, and ran back down the steps of Calderon Hall. Medrhythmics training was scheduled for that afternoon. And that's another rush all on its own.
Posted by no_brainer on October 26, 2006 at 10:39 PM | 4 comments