Thread by @TheRealDoctorT

(CW: Death and dissection.)

This class is different from any class I have ever taken before, or will take again.

It is a rite of passage in medical schools across the world.

It is human anatomy.

We stand at our assigned tables.

The silence is heavy. 1/

I am one of the medical students in this class. I have seen death before, but this is different.

The tables are spaced widely apart.

The bodies are covered, their forms not visible under the black cloth.

The room smells faintly of chemicals, embalming fluids.

It’s cold. 2/

Our anatomy professor is a kind man, and supremely skilled.

Before we got here he gave us a talk about the feelings we might experience. How all of them were valid.

Now he holds a moment of silence, out of respect for those who have given us such great gifts. 3/

I feel a rising anxiety, a knot in my chest.

As I watch him make the first incision, I try and detach.

The body is still draped, so only the part being dissected is exposed.

This helps.

Once he reviews the structures with us, he tells us to return to our cadavers. 4/

“Cadaver.”

The word seems so... dark. So heavy, burdened with its own weight.

It comes from the Latin, “cadere” meaning “to fall.”

To fall.

As if these bodies lying before us, these people, have only fallen. If only we could help them rise.

The first cuts are made. 5/

The ability of the mind to compartmentalize is amazing. We can, if necessary, hold our focus so intently that it could block out the sun itself.

Block out even death.

And yet the mind can falter. One of my colleagues looks pale as he meets my gaze.

I understand. 6/

I find myself trying to be gentle. Apologizing under my breath, without even realizing I’m doing it.

On one level, I appreciate the incredibly intricate beauty of the human body. It’s awe-inspiring.

On another level, I feel a deep unease. 7/

That night I have a nightmare.

It will linger with me, becoming a nightly occurrence, until I finally discuss it with a counselor weeks later.

I’m in the dissection lab, but I’m not a student.

I’m lying on the table. And I’m awake, only nobody notices.

I’m frozen. 8/

The students approach me to dissect me. The one with the scalpel is... me.

I always wake up before the first incision, sweating.

I’m terrified that some night I won’t wake up in time.

I don’t know what it means, or how to make it stop. Instead I stay awake and read. 9/

I first realize that I’m not alone in these feelings when our anatomy professor holds a group talk session after class one day.

We are supposed to talk about what we’re feeling.

People talk about how much they’re learning, and how amazing it is.

I stay silent. I feel weak. 10/

But then one of the students says something that I can relate to completely.

“I’m having nightmares. I keep having them. Just... bad dreams.” As he speaks, his voice falters.

“Me too.” I speak, for the first time, and feel a tremendous relief.

I’m not alone. 11/

Our professor listens, as our group talks it out amongst ourselves. What troubles us. Why we feel this way.

And then he tells us everything we are experiencing is okay, and valid.

Studies have shown that up to 5-10% of anatomy students have PTSD-like reactions. 12/

With the passage of time, it does eventually become better.

The nightmares fade. The intense anxiety subsides. I still keep having the recurring flashes of overlap between “cadaver” and “person.”

But I can compartmentalize and do what needs to be done.

I learn. 13/

As the class comes to an end, I realize that I have crossed a threshold.

I have looked into the depths of the human body, pulled back the curtain and seen the breathtaking form and function on a level of detail that staggers me.

I am so thankful for a stranger’s gift. 14/

Their gift lives in the knowledge they have imparted to students they’ll never know.

Every patient I treat now, I can find a way to trace some part of the knowledge I’m applying back to anatomy.

To fall.

To teach.

To live on through others and, in doing so, to rise.