“
You would think that the first time you cut up a dead person, you’d feel
a bit funny about it. Strangely, though, everything feels normal. The
bright lights, stainless steel tables, and bow-tied professors lend an air of
propriety. Even so, that first cut, running from the nape of the neck down
to the small of the back, is unforgettable. The scalpel is so sharp it
doesn’t so much cut the skin as unzip it, revealing the hidden and
forbidden sinew beneath, and despite your preparation, you are caught
unawares, ashamed and excited. Cadaver dissection is a medical rite of
passage and a trespass on the sacrosanct, engendering a legion of
feelings: from revulsion, exhilaration, nausea, frustration, and awe to, as
time passes, the mere tedium of academic exercise. Everything teeters
between pathos and bathos: here you are, violating society’s most
fundamental taboos, and yet formaldehyde is a powerful appetite
stimulant, so you also crave a burrito.
”
”