![\"\"](\"https:\/\/blogs.bmj.com\/bmj\/files\/2020\/09\/anisha_page.jpg\")
Full body dissection is often considered a rite of passage for new medical students. For many, it is the first time we come face to face with death.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\nWhen my non-medic friends ask me what it is like in the lab, I want to tell them about the huge sense of gratitude I feel when I enter, and explain to them the driving urge I have to do my absolute best to make it all worthwhile, but, mostly, I keep the conversation light hearted to avoid revealing my deeper feelings.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n After my first experience in dissection, I left the anatomy lab feeling heavy and deflated, but acknowledging that I\u2019d been affected by the experience seemed to be a taboo. Afterwards, there had been an unspoken rush to return to the familiar. Yet without being given an opportunity to talk openly about the emotions that we might be experiencing, medical students aren\u2019t taking the time and space we need to process and address our feelings.<\/span><\/p>\n I find myself thinking back to my first experience in the anatomy lab:<\/span><\/p>\n I enter the room. \u201cDon\u2019t be scared, we won\u2019t take you to the dungeons,\u201d the lecturer had said on the way there. It\u2019s true, the room is bright and airy. I smooth down my new lab coat and remember the older students joking, \u201cBe sure to wear a different lab coat to the one you\u2019re wearing for the pub crawl!\u201d Back in the pub, their quip had not felt that different from any other everyday joke, but recalling it now, it seemed out of place and crass.\u00a0<\/span><\/i><\/p>\n I take a deep breath to steady myself and see the bodies on their raised tables, encased in white body bags. The smell of chemicals reaches me\u2014my eyes burn, and I quickly switch to breathing through my mouth. I won\u2019t notice the smell in a few weeks, but now it seems all encompassing. I struggle to think as I nonchalantly act like it isn\u2019t affecting me.\u00a0<\/span><\/i><\/p>\n We cluster around the bodies in groups, as we\u2019ve been instructed to. The numbers dwindle as people leave with various excuses: \u201cI\u2019m fine, really, it\u2019s just the smell\u201d or \u201cI need some space, that\u2019s all.\u201d We collectively accept this, without question, scared to acknowledge that we are all struggling to stay composed as we prepare to face death head on.\u00a0<\/span><\/i><\/p>\n The anatomist uncovers the body quickly as we all hold our breath. Suddenly, it feels wrong for us to be doing this, to be staring at this body: exposed, vulnerable, and naked. When the anatomist starts to talk, her voice seems loud and incongruous, like shouting in a church. Her words seem meaningless, distant, irreverent even, given the gravity of the situation. One by one, my classmates recover themselves, lean forward, ask questions. I keep my distance, feeling a sense of invasion, of doing something wrong.\u00a0<\/span><\/i><\/p>\n \u201cWould you like to touch the body?\u201d Touch the body!? I swallow and remember that this person donated their body for a reason, they want me to learn, and I cannot learn if I do not engage. Tentatively, I extend a gloved hand and touch the skin. It feels tougher, thicker than I expected, more fibrous. I quickly retract my hand.\u00a0<\/span><\/i><\/p>\n \u201cI will now uncover the face,\u2019\u201d the anatomist announces, scrutinising the group for signs of students feeling faint, gauging the pace with which she can proceed, introducing yet another group of green students to her everyday world. She removes the cloth and there is a collective gasp, a small intake of breath as we stand and look at the face. I want to leave but force myself to stay.<\/span><\/i><\/p>\n I look the person up and down, trying to imagine them as a living person. Then I see the hand, pale, with a few struggling freckles spotting the surface and fine white hair covering the back. Suddenly, I can imagine this hand alive, maybe a silver wedding band encircling one finger, maybe a watch strapped to the wrist, trapping some of the fine hairs. I can see the hand gesturing animatedly, flourishing, fingers spread out. The anatomist covers the head again, but for me, the real life lies in the hand.\u00a0<\/span><\/i><\/p>\n