Today our class met the families whose loved ones had literally given their hearts, bodies, and minds to 160 first year medical students. The men and women who actually shared their bodies with us, we only saw in death. But today they were given a voice. This was the final celebration of their lives, a closing memorial, and a last "thank-you" for a gift that would last us a lifetime.
It is a gift that has been hard to appreciate so far as medical students. All of us understand the generosity that was bestowed upon us, but we have not had an opportunity to really use that gift. In a strange coincidence, last night may have been the first time I was able to subtly appreciate how Gross Anatomy enhanced my education and will affect my career as a physician. I was on the phone with my close friend, a first-year anesthesiologist resident at Duke, who described a procedure he recently performed. He detailed how a war veteran with extensive ankle injury and pain for years and years was finally able to wake up pain-free. Quickly he described where the sciatic nerve split into the tibial and common fibular nerves near the popliteal fossa. There he could anesthetize a portion, creating a "popliteal nerve block." As he detailed the procedure, I was able to rapidly follow the steps by visualizing the anatomy of my own cadaver. I have held those nerves in my hand, running my fingers across them like the bow of a violin. I have cut through the skin and underlying fascia behind the knee, and identified the veins, arteries, and nerves that serve as landmarks for this very procedure. The ability to visualize the block as just a novice would have been impossible without the help of my cadaver. No computer, picture, or image could have given me this same appreciation and understanding of the human body. Only he could.
During the memorial service for the families of our cadavers, our class performed artistically to show our gratitude and respect. Our medical school A Capella group, the "MedUNCedoos," sang, a student read poetry in reflection of our experiences, and other students played a variety of instruments. The Chaplain and our class Presidents spoke, and Dr. Kernick and Dr. Gilliland provided their last words to us and the families. It was incredible to see the talent of our class. I wish I could have offered something of real value to the service, but I have to hope that my presence was enough.
The most poignant moment came when Dr. Gilliland read a letter that a donor had written before his death in 1983. In a one-page will that was projected onto the auditorium screen, the donor fleshed out his final wishes in his last breath. He requested that his heart would be given to a dying man, so that man’s heart could keep on beating; his lungs to a woman to keep on breathing; kidneys to someone whose kidneys were failing; and his nerves, ears, and eyes to science, so that years from now a deaf boy would be able to hear and a blind girl see. Let no part of his body be unused and let only his prejudice and faults be buried. It was an emotional, selfless, final request. Students and families alike shed tears.
Afterwards, we had the opportunity to share a reception with the donors' families. I figured I would mill around quietly, and then leave to put my thoughts onto paper, but I was stopped by a woman whose husband had been one of our cadavers. She wanted to tell her story: why she had decided to donate her husband's body, and now her own, to us. She described the last years of his life. How he was able to swim up until a few weeks before he passed, and how his diabetes and deteriorating health had not begun until a very late age. I didn't realize until then how important and cathartic this memorial was for her, how this really was the last celebration of his life. I didn't have much to say, only offering my full attention and silence. I felt it was important for me to listen to her story, and let her share the memory of her living husband with those who had only met him after death. It was sobering to hear the true humanization of a cadaver. It is one thing to look at a body's face and realize that the one who looks back at you is a real person. It is another to hear that body's voice through a loved one.
Her words, and the words spoken through Dr. Gilliland, reminded me of the hymn: Take My Life and Let It Be, by Frances R. Havergal.
Take my life, and let it be consecrated, Lord, to Thee.
Take my moments and my days; let them flow in ceaseless praise.
Take my hands, and let them move at the impulse of Thy love.
Take my feet, and let them be swift and beautiful for Thee.
Take my voice, and let me sing always, only, for my King.
Take my lips, and let them be filled with messages from Thee.
Take my silver and my gold; not a mite would I withhold.
Take my intellect, and use every power as Thou shalt choose.
Take my will, and make it Thine; it shall be no longer mine.
Take my heart, it is Thine own; it shall be Thy royal throne.
Take my love, my Lord, I pour at Thy feet its treasure store.
Take myself, and I will be ever, only, all for Thee.
We may have taken their hands, feet, lips, and heart, but today I think many of us heard their voices, experienced their moments and days, and appreciated their love. I only hope I will appreciate this gift more and more throughout my career, and that one day, I too will give a gift that lasts a lifetime.
(Note: some of the personal details of the cadavers' and families' lives were subtly changed for their privacy.)
