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| Friday, September 05, 2008 |
| Hey, Bob, is that your foot? |
I decided a few months ago that I needed to further my education. The reasons then were simply because I thought that enhancing my knowledge through academic progress would also enhance the numbers in my bank account. A side bar to this ambitious prose was that I would also be able to help people feel good. Something that I have consistently worked toward through out the tenure of my career life.
I chose massage therapy.
I have enrolled and failed to complete my schooling a number of times. I am still paying penance to the tuition Gods for each of those mishaps.
The first enrollment was for certified nursing assistant. But, by the time the classes rolled around, I was already doing all of the work for the same amount of money. I watched a lot of people die. I saw their families weep. I heard the pain and weariness in the voices of those that were in the last leg of their journey on earth. I helped them through times that were demoralizing.. and necessary.
The second enrollment was for medical assisting. I found that I had a knack for words, for the meanings of those words, and I was pretty good at organizing things.. there was the money factor, the fact that this schooling would only take two years, but then came the poking, prodding, and that same loss of dignity and pain infliction that came with being a CNA.
I dropped out, disgracefully at that.
I worked for the government for a while, which was really really boring. I didn't help anyone in particular, and was exposed to some really frightening ideology. My boss was a complete self indulgent prick that thought the only place for a woman in that industry was between his thighs. I wasn't, and am still not, particularly good at kissing any one's ass, so he lovingly gave me the boot. No matter, I was destined for greater things.
I worked in hospice for awhile. Again, watching people writhe in pain and die slowly. Not really a happy go lucky job. But, I still felt that I was giving back to the world. Like I was doing right by humanity. It became too much for me when my favorite client passed away. He was a painter. He taught me a lot.
I went into customer services. If anyone knows the industrial sub-culture for Utah, they know that customer services is code for telemarketing. Well, most of the time.
I sold checks. I sold check book accessories. I did check re-orders.
After my second divorce, while I was with John, I realized that I was really tired of dealing with disgruntled people on the phone. Tired of dealing with the ill and terminally ill. Tired of watching people die.
So I didn't work. I didn't further my education. I sat home and took care of my kids, and John.
I painted, reupholstered chairs, decorated, baked, made things from scratch... and was completely malcontent.
I went back to work in a care facility. This time for the administration. It was a good decision. I felt incredibly important, and well liked. It stuck. I was put into a new position three months after I began, and here I sit.
John left me just before then, though. I had been talking about starting school, and one day, out of the blue, I enrolled at the Utah College of Massage Therapy. When I went home to tell the family, they were all very supportive. John especially. But he left before I began my program.
Two months into school, we are scheduled for anatomy lab. This means we are going to the University where the real students are, and we are going to look at the fruits of their labors. Cadavers. We are coached during class at our own campus. There isn't any blood, so don't worry about that. The room is well ventilated, so don't worry about that. You won't have to see faces, so don't worry about that. The skin, tissue, muscles.. will be colored differently because they are pickled.. so to speak. You know, the basic warnings any lay person would receive prior to visiting a cadaver lab.
So then we went.
I was so nervous the whole ride up, I couldn't hold still. For some reason, I couldn't force my head to wrap around the idea that I was headed to see dead people.. cut up dead people. That's some pretty heavy shit! I kept telling myself, "These are people that donated their bodies to science.. it's necessary to health research.. especially necessary for practitioners and people that intend to help others help themselves to heal." So the coaching went on and on in my head.
We arrive.
All of the buildings look the same. Tall. Old. Pristine. Intimidating. I have no clue where this lab could be. It blows my mind that in one of these crumbling structures, deep in the belly of it, under the ground, lies the basement room of a lab where students regularly meet to dissect people.
I shudder.
I nearly turn around to catch a bus back home.
Instead I doggedly follow my classmates down a twisting, turning sidewalk. There is a drum circle practicing their beats on trash cans, lids, plastic buckets... I want to stop and listen, but I continue on.
We enter the building. The rest of the class is there, waiting. Everyone has an incredible energy. It's almost palpable. Our instructor reminds us to follow the rules of the campus, tells us that it takes years and years of hard work to dissect a cadaver. So if we decide to touch it, we need to be mindful that we are touching the work of another, and we need to be gentle. My stomach roiled.
He leads us through a creaking door, down concrete stairs that are scuffed and worn, into a hallway with low ceilings. The light bulbs have cages around them, they hang down ominously from their low perches. Everything so far is so reminiscent of a horror film, I am beginning to get nauseated. There is a distinct smell..
We walk into the classroom. There are tables in rows. On the tables are trays that contain pieces of people wrapped in plastic bags and towels. You can't see through the bags, so your left to your own devices and imagination. The smell is grueling. My knees start to wobble.
I train my eyes to the floor thinking that if I don't look right at the objects on the tables, I might get over this feeling of light-headedness. I hurry up the first aisle to sit at the front table. It doesn't have a tray, or a piece of someone on it. My journey is interrupted when I feel something hit my thigh. I look. I have just run into a foot.. the foot is attached to a leg, the leg is severed at the hip.. at least that's what the shape seems to be on the table. I somewhat see the toes. My knees give out, and I slump into a chair. Thank goodness they have wheels. My classmate wheels me around the .. leg .. and pushes me into the table at the front of the room. I pull myself into it so that it pushes against my diaphragm, I feel comforted.
The teacher's assistant is sitting in front of me. He puts his hand on my leg, which will not stop shaking. He hands me a package of mints and encourages me to eat them all. I pop one into my mouth and try to focus on the lecture.
We label and color different bones.
Our instructor is ready to call break, he tells us to go for longer than usual. He says they are going to prepare four different areas for us to examine the bones and attachments we had just discussed.
I practically run outside. I smoke. I smoke. I smoke. My cigarettes taste like that... smell.
When it's time to go back, my classmate holds my hand. She guides me down the stairs and braces my shoulders as we walk back into the classroom. The smell is more intense, almost rubbery. I am led back to my desk where I pop a handful of mints into my mouth.
The instructor splits us into four groups. He then assigns each group to a different area of the room. There are students from the university there to teach us about the parts they are showcasing. For the love... I was assigned to the first station.
Let me explain. The first station had three cuts of .. someone. The first was a leg severed from the thigh. The second was a horizontal chunk of someones chest, just below the shoulder and above the armpit. The third was a horizontal cut of the thigh.
The student conducting the lecture was spraying the pieces with some kind of fluid. The fluid was the smell. That... smell. I stood at the head of the table. My classmates were splayed around the side and other end of the table. By now, I was beginning to spin. Really spin.
The student picked up the leg, bent the knee, pointed out the flexors of the foot, and showcased his work. He had dissected through layers of this leg so you could see the different parts that make up the leg. The three layers of skin, the layers of muscle the tendons, vessels, bone... yep, they were all there. The skin was a strange yellow color... for reasons unbeknownst to me, I thought the hairs would fall out of the skin... nope. Still there. I don't know why that bothered me. That and the toenails. The toenails were really bothersome. I could tell this was the leg of a man. The foot was large, the toenails large, the hair abundant in the places that weren't cut away.
The student glanced in my direction and gave some spiel about sitting down if you felt faint. My ass happily landed in a chair. My head landed in my hands, and my brain coached my lungs to breathe deeply. The student had picked up the leg piece. He was holding it in one hand. He kept moving his fingers under the piece of flesh. Suddenly I could think of nothing but rancid meat. That's what it looked like to me. A rancid steak. I thought of where this piece of flesh originated and nearly threw up.
I popped five mints in my mouth.
When the chest piece was uncovered, I had nearly regained my composure. The student pointed out where the lungs, heart, ribs, spine, esophagus and trachea were. I wanted to see, so I scooted up to the table. I arrived just in time to see my classmate stick her gloved pinkie into the esophagus. I watched as the fleshy tube seemed to suckle her little finger. The room spun around me. I was afraid to stand, equally afraid to throw up. I bent in half and cradled my head between my knees.
Over and over in my head came the phrase,"Hey, Bob, is that your foot?".
A warm hand was on my shoulder, my back. I felt an arm snake around my waist. I hear my instructor speaking gently in my ear. He is trying to get me to stand and walk out to the restroom. I can't. I lean against him for a second, then find my voice.
"I will be okay, just assure me that that leg," I say, pointing,"did not belong to someone named Bob." |
posted by katmandusuekookachoo @ 11:40 PM  |
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