My First Autopsy
Handed a pair of pruning shears, I wondered what to do.
In saying that - if you've been reading Webworm for a while, you hopefully trust me by now to navigate things in a sensitive manner.
Hi,
The sun is just beginning to rise as I complete my first autopsy.
I'm not sure if "complete" is the right word. No single word can sum up what's taken place since my alarm went off at 4.30am – but over several hours, I have watched and observed a body opened and emptied; examined and dissected. A family wanted answers, and they'd paid thousands to get them.
I stand in a room that slowly fills with the smell of iron, my mouth the taste when you floss too hard. My hands are sweating inside a pair of blue surgical gloves. It isn't all just me gawping: I'm handed a long pair of pruning shears and told to cut through some ribs.
When I leave, the birds are just waking up. I sit in my car trying to figure out how I feel about all of this. I notice my glasses are dirty, and I wipe off a speck of dirt.
"Dirt." That's not quite the right word, either.
David Farrier
