There's a reason why it's called gross.

Before I say anything, I want to make it clear that under no circumstance whatsoever will I disclaim any information about the sex of, details of, or anything along those lines about the cadaver.  I am very appreciative to the men and women who have donated their bodies so that we may become well-educated in what is the foundation of our medical careers, and I whole-heartedly respect anyone who plans to do the same one day. This post is simply about my reaction to my lab experience, and nothing further.

I wondered if I'd faint today.  After all, my track record isn't the best.  I've gotten overheated, dizzy, woozy, vision-going-into-a-pin-point, elephant-sitting-on-your-chest over less climactic events.  I surprised myself today though.  We completed step #1 (turning over the cadaver), I walked away, gagged four times, started getting teary-eyed (partially because of the gagging, mostly because I wanted to cry), and then walked back to my lab partners.  All four of them looked pretty concerned.  One of them offered me a bucket, and another promised that he'd catch me if I fainted.  I decided then and there that there wouldn't be any fainting... Momma didn't raise a pansy ass.

So, I stood there with my knees unlocked and watched closely.

A couple incisions were made, and one of the guys asked if anyone else wanted to help with the procedure....

I mustered up all the courage I had and volunteered: I'll do it.

I can't really be sure how shocked any of them were (or if they were terrified that I'd hit the ground). I wasn't paying attention to their faces.  All I know is that someone---one of them-- handed me a scalpel, and I was focused on what I needed to do.  The moment I started "do"-ing and not over-thinking the idea of what was in front of me, the process became much more educational. Any ideas of fainting or tossing my cookies or breaking down and sobbing like a little girl kind of floated away in the process. 

The lab took three and a half long hours.  No sitting, no daydreaming (well, a little), no nothing.  Just teaching ourselves the beginnings of medicine like thousands of (and so very many generations of) doctors did before us.  A little after lab, I called my dad to tell him about my experience.  I remember him telling me about his days in the anatomy lab as a medical student many years ago, so I thought it was only fair to call him about mine.  I didn't even have to remind him that today was the day... he answered the phone with:  

"How'd it go, Baby?"

"It was gross."

"And what did you expect?"

"Exactly that, I guess..."

"Well did you faint or anything?"

I think we can all guess how quickly (or boastfully) I answered that question.

And now, four five long hand washes, a eucalyptus salted bubble bath, and a thorough shampoo/conditionering later, I'm still trying to figure out how to get the scent of formaldehyde out of my nostrils.  For right now, however, I'm thinking the scent will be there for a good 11 weeks plus.  Reminds me of the days when I was under-age..... I was just as positive that the permanent markered X's would be tattooed to my hands until the day I turned 21.  Albeit the scent of formaldehyde tattooed to my hands until my anatomy block is over isn't nearly as cute.

Tonight I'm re-studying all of the things I learned in lab, and talking myself into believing that today wasn't that bad.  Until 9 AM tomorrow, cheers.