[I write this post as a med student and may sound a lil detached. Don't judge me.]
It all starts with
death, as ironical as that sounds. Closing of the windpipe, blood filling into
the brain or a clot of platelets plugging into one of the arteries that
supplies the heart. Death is defined as the stoppage of the tripod of life
namely circulation, respiration and brain function. The person's heart stops
beating and the ECG shows a flatline which with several sincere (and sometimes
not so sincere) failed attempts at cardiopulmonary resuscitation, continues to
be prostrate. A doctor at the site, if any, declares the biological process of
life to be irrevocably finished. This
pronunciation of the inevitable is received by relatives of the deceased with
many a tears and wails and by the
intern, who already has a mile high pile of paperwork with a sigh. If the cause
of death is suspected to be unnatural or in case of a sudden death due to
unknown circumstances, an autopsy is requested. Religious outlooks to autopsy
often play a role. Hinduism has no inherent objection to an autopsy with the
only condition being that all objects are returned to the body. Else the
deceased shall be borne blind or deaf or heartless in their next birth (Does
seem to explain a lot that goes on about here). With many a paperwork and
policemen later the 'body', as it shall
be called now on is delivered to the hallowed mortuary, which mostly is a very
smelly place. It is here the person body is welcomed into a new life,
#thepostmortemlife. Now, depending on the status of the body (Yeup, baap ka naam works even here) and also on the
level of laziness of the forensic pathologists, the body is either sent
directly to the autopsy table or is sent into the freezer. The autopsy table is
much like a stage, with medical students craning their necks on both sides to
get a view. (And you thought we'll leave you alone when you die? Ha ) Regular
ordinary boring deaths are only granted a post-mortem by the
I-don't-think-his-job-has-a-name man,
the non-doctor or more inappropriately
the Daaku Daddy. However, out of everyday fun deaths are graced by the
forensic doctor himself. There are many
procedures for the conduct of an autopsy. All begin with the stripping of
clothes, examining external changes, cracking open of the skull etc. The skull
vault is hammered through to pull out the brain. An 'I' shaped or a 'Y' shaped
incision is made extending from the area of the neck to the area of the pubis
and the rib-cutter is brought in. The organs are then removed either in one
swift yet strong pull or one by one. Each organ is then cut and sliced through
to reveal any anomaly that might indicate the cause of death. The alcoholic's
liver is yellow-tan and nodular. A befouled meal will reveal the poison in the
stomach. Hereby demanding a change in
the famous idiom to 'taking a secret to the autopsy table'. The honour of slicing up the brain is often
endowed upon jittery 2nd year med students, often to regain attention of the
students who have by now realized how boring an autopsy really is. The brain is
an exquisite organ to cut into: to cut into what till just a few hours ago
determined the essence of a whole person gives you such a sense of power. Plus
it's really soft and squiggly, almost like jelly. By now, a cause of death is
generally figured out and the post mortem report is filled, complete with the
alleged history and findings and opinion regarding cause of death. And also
attendance is taken. All the cut up organs including the brain are stuffed back
into the chest and abdomen and a running stitch is made down the centre. The
scalp fold is just put back on like a monkey cap. The body is then given brand
new white clothes, packed away and sent off, to be reduced to nothing but
ashes. What a waste of new clothes.
