I told you about Wednesday and Friday (though I know I left out a lot of details) but I didn't tell you about Thursday. This is partially because I was searching for the proper adjectives to describe the smell of a putrified corpse. Most of us have encountered rotting meat, but usually in small quantities, and once the evil is found, it is quickly disposed of. I hope that none of you has to endure what I endured for an hour and a half.
The problem with attending the autopsy of a decaying body is that it only gets worse. There's no plateau to the smell. The room stinks when the body is still in the bag. It's worse when the bag is opened. Another wave of putrescence hits you when the skull is opened, and the brownish-black smoothie of a brain the plops out. Just when you think the odor can't be any worse, they open the thoracic cavity. After they remove the rotten liver and lungs, you think, OK, I can deal with this. Then they pull out the rotten colon and the weeks old feces within. That's when I excused myself for a breath of fresh air.
I'm also in the embarrassing situation of not having much to say about the autopsy itself. I was so distracted by the odor that I didn't really pay attention to what was going on. There didn't seem to be anything going on. I think it was just an old guy who died in his house and it took a while for anyone to find him.
One thing I didn't know is that putrification causes the testicles to swell up. The penis was not visible because the testicles had ballooned from the gasses and fluids that accumulate. His face was purple because he had been lying face down, so all the blood pooled there. This is called lividity.
I left early and took the afternoon off. There was just another putrefied corpse that afternoon, and I just didn't see the purpose of subjecting myself to that again. I can handle visual horror, but olfactory horror is too much. I couldn't even eat lunch because the smell was stuck in my sinuses. The beautiful sandwich that Audrey had made me tasted like two-week-old man.
I don't know how these doctors do it. There's no secret to it - their faces all showed signs of extreme discomfort. It's a living.
The problem with attending the autopsy of a decaying body is that it only gets worse. There's no plateau to the smell. The room stinks when the body is still in the bag. It's worse when the bag is opened. Another wave of putrescence hits you when the skull is opened, and the brownish-black smoothie of a brain the plops out. Just when you think the odor can't be any worse, they open the thoracic cavity. After they remove the rotten liver and lungs, you think, OK, I can deal with this. Then they pull out the rotten colon and the weeks old feces within. That's when I excused myself for a breath of fresh air.
I'm also in the embarrassing situation of not having much to say about the autopsy itself. I was so distracted by the odor that I didn't really pay attention to what was going on. There didn't seem to be anything going on. I think it was just an old guy who died in his house and it took a while for anyone to find him.
One thing I didn't know is that putrification causes the testicles to swell up. The penis was not visible because the testicles had ballooned from the gasses and fluids that accumulate. His face was purple because he had been lying face down, so all the blood pooled there. This is called lividity.
I left early and took the afternoon off. There was just another putrefied corpse that afternoon, and I just didn't see the purpose of subjecting myself to that again. I can handle visual horror, but olfactory horror is too much. I couldn't even eat lunch because the smell was stuck in my sinuses. The beautiful sandwich that Audrey had made me tasted like two-week-old man.
I don't know how these doctors do it. There's no secret to it - their faces all showed signs of extreme discomfort. It's a living.
2 comments:
I've made this comment before and I wouldn't be surprised if it's not the last time: That's grosser than gross.
I believe that's the third time you've said that about my posts. It's a meme now.
Post a Comment