Chapter 1: Which Will Be Mine?
Orientation to Medical School was immediate and overwhelming. On the very day we signed in,
before we had even digested the dean's standard welcoming remarks, we were unceremoniously
ushered into the anatomy lab. There to greet us were twenty-five preserved cadavers resting
comfortably on their backs on dissecting tables with their toes pointing straight up through
their shrouds. If this startling sight -- without notice or introduction -- wasn't
revolting enough, the punishing acrid stink of the formaldehyde almost suffocated me.
I clearly remember the rush of bile to my throat, my knees turning to rubber, the fleeting
impulse to escape the room and abandon the career I'd chosen with such certainty.
I looked around, and what I saw were the paling faces on a hundred other freshmen
struggling to survive their discomforting nausea. If they could get through this, so could I.
If the truth be told, we did lose five members of our class that first morning, five who just
didn't come back from their panic trips to the bathroom.
We stalwarts who didn't defect, were assigned four to a cadaver, two to a side.
While one pair did the actual dissecting, the other pair read aloud from Gray's Anatomy
about whichever organ we were working on. During the entire year, my partner and I were
chained to the same cadaver. Keeping such steady company, we felt --
in some unspoken way -- that we'd become close friends,
and as such, our cadaver at least deserved the honor of a name. After due deliberation, we
decided to christen him "Big Sam," in recognition of his more than ample genitalia.
We spoke to him a lot, and begged him to give us some clues as to just where he was hiding
this or that small artery or nerve, but he never was least-ways obliging.
That was so long ago, and yet I still remember how Big Sam and his many parts came
to represent the entire universe of medicine with all of it's components --
a grab bag tempting me with its
stimulating and rewarding gifts. And that led me to wondering which part might be mine to
pursue. And when I did make a decision, what would my chosen field expect or demand of me?
How well could I serve it? And what satisfactions would I get from it?
Away from the lab those evenings, my thoughts diverted to Sam's passivity. He was
finally in
repose, free of the travail that may have assaulted his sensitivities during his time
on earth. I
couldn't help but wish that there had been another laboratory where I could have
probed for Sam's
soul, his conscience, his spirit, his drives and his frustrations so that in addition to
the state of his
body parts, I could also learn "what manner of man" this frozen corpse had once been.
In that one year, above and beyond his anatomy, my relationship with Sam taught me
that -- no matter which branch of medicine might be mine "to have and to hold"
preciously -- I must constantly measure the weight of emotions in the total thrust of
illness, in the diagnosis and treatment of every patient.
Introduction.
About the Author.
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