Reflections on trip to the Medical Examiner’s Office (on Monday, October 20)

This is a journal entry that I wrote last October after my class went to visit the county medical examiner's office. I hesitated to post this one, because it's a little gruesome. But it's my honest reflection, so I wanted to leave it mostly intact. Read at your own risk...

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For me, the week preceding my trip to the medical examiner’s office was probably more haunting than the experience itself. I blame a classmate for this. A week ago, as we were walking to her car after Anatomy she said to me “It’s kind of strange; you know, the people you see on Monday are still alive right now. And they probably have no idea what’s coming.” …Wow. How’s that for a perspective shift? As soon as the idea left her lips, I felt this strange feeling of panic/nausea roll deep in my stomach. Throughout the week I felt like time was an enemy, mercilessly rolling on and counting down to the death of the unnamed. I found myself brought to tears on multiple occasions. I was mourning the unknown victims. It was strange to cry for someone I didn’t know who was likely in fine health, but what else could I do? Could I pray that God would spare those who would lie dissected before me within the week? No, that was a strange, circular logic and not possible. I felt like I could only mourn - mourn and pray that God was preparing them for the journey.

Just a week prior to my trip to the medical examiner's office, my younger sister’s classmate committed suicide. At sixteen years of age this poor child decided that she had nothing left to live for. Comforting my sister and personally reflecting on this tragedy had already made last week emotionally taught for me. I was already angry at death. Like the opening of floodgates, my mind had descended into the memories of the unwelcomed, early deaths of loved ones in my own life. I didn’t want to go to the medical examiner’s office. I didn’t want to have to see more death. Too often death comes like a thief, stealing life from its victims and likewise from its victims’ families and friends. I do not like death. And I didn’t want to confront it in full force on Monday.

Despite my misgivings, I went to the medical examiner’s office anyway. I knew that I needed to deal with facing death because, as unwelcomed as it is, it is a reality in this hurting, failing world of ours.

The visit was indeed gruesome. Our patients included a 2 year old girl who had been accidentally left in a hot car for hours and a husband who had committed suicide by shooting himself through the head. There were two gun-inflicted homicide victims and two motor vehicle crash victims. There was also a woman who had allegedly overdosed on her pain medications. There were several others that I cannot even recall now. It was a busy day at the office. As per protocol, the patients were stripped and lain on cold, steel tables; they were cut down the middle, rib cages snapped, chest cavities opened, organs removed, dissected and weighed; they were scalped, skulls sawed, brains removed, pieces preserved. After the procedure, organs were places in random order back into the chest cavities, and the skins were closed. Each scalp was re-fastened with a single stitch, and the patient was re-bagged to be shipped to the appropriate funeral home. Everything was done very matter-of-factly, which helped in a small way to make the autopsy seem less cruel. Still, I found my mind wandering to the victims’ fates. The man who ended his life – was his choice really best for his family? It may have ended his suffering, but did it end his wife’s? For the woman killed in an automobile accident – did she leave any unfinished business behind? How was her family? They probably had no idea that they would be planning a funeral this week. And the little girl – how was her family? Were they plagued with ‘what if’s? Had they already made plans for her future? As if these thoughts weren’t disquieting enough, my mind drifted to the fact that I was standing in the only medical examiner’s office in Maricopa County. All victims of “unnatural” deaths passed through this room - including all personal acquaintances and friends of mine who had been prematurely robbed of life. That medical examiner’s office seemed to me to be a dismal place. Medically speaking, it was fascinating; we were exposed to all sorts of anatomy. But I ultimately could not distance myself from thoughts of the stories surrounding the patients we saw. I don’t think I would have wanted to.

This whole experience helped me to realize that as a doctor I’m not yet prepared to deal with death. I’m not scared of death, nor am I scared to die myself. Due to my personal spiritual convictions, I see death as a journey. I am apprehensive because I fear for those who aren’t ready to make that journey. And I fear for those who are left behind. Like many, I am familiar with the feelings of a survivor. It feels as if you’ve got an irreparable hole in your heart, and the emptiness is accompanied by plaguing questions like “why?” and “what if…?” Here my personal convictions suggest that such questions are not for me to worry about, but instead I should trust that all things work together to compose a symphony of life that is larger than the confines of my imagination. Truly, I believe that the God I worship detests death and despair more than I ever could. And I find comfort in believing that this God has defeated/will defeat death itself. There will be no need for a medical examiner’s office anymore.