Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 76436 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 382(@200wpm)___ 306(@250wpm)___ 255(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76436 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 382(@200wpm)___ 306(@250wpm)___ 255(@300wpm)
“We’re not going to cut today,” I tell her.
Angie’s lab partner lets out a disappointed huff.
“Of course I know that,” Angie says. “I mean… You wouldn’t let us cut right away.”
She won’t meet my gaze, and she’s stumbling over her words.
It’s adorably cute.
I return to the front of the room. “Open your anatomy books to page seventy-five and take a look at the thoracic area in the diagram.”
I wait while they shuffle their textbooks open.
“See how everything has a proper place?”
Murmurs of agreement.
“Don’t expect everything to look like that when you cut into these cadavers. What looks perfect in a textbook looks very different in a live body.”
“Don’t you mean dead body?” a guy says from the back.
I let out a chuckle. “Touché. What you’ll see in these cadavers are organs that have been preserved. No blood flows through them. But don’t expect all the organs to be in a tight little group the way it looks in your textbooks. Every human being is different, and while most humans have their organs in roughly the same area, it doesn’t look the same as the diagram.”
“So when do we get to cut?” the same wise guy from the back demands.
“It won’t be too long,” I say. “Remind me of your name again?”
“Garrett.” He flashes me a goofy smile. “Elijah Garrett.”
“Right, Elijah Garrett. You’re interested in cardiothoracic surgery, if I recall correctly.”
“I am.”
About half the students mentioned some kind of surgery as their focus. I hate to tell them that only about ten percent of them will make the cut. Not the time or place.
“I understand your excitement,” I say. “I remember when I sat in this same lab many years ago. I couldn’t wait to make my first incision. It will be something you will never forget. But if you continue in surgery, Elijah, wait until you make your first cut into an actual living person.” My heartbeat quickens slightly. “That’s an addiction that will never go away.”
Elijah smiles, nodding.
Yeah, that kid will be a surgeon. I see it in his eyes.
I couldn’t wait to sink a scalpel into flesh, even dead flesh. The thrill of discovery, the responsibility that weighs heavy in your hands, the sheer awe of unraveling the mysteries held within the human body… It isn’t for the fainthearted.
I glance back at Angie, who’s still looking kind of sickly. I think her lab partner—Tabitha, if I remember correctly—senses it too. She gives Angie a pat on her arm.
“All right, everyone.” I raise my voice to regain their attention. “Look at your gloves and observe how clean they are. That will change very soon.”
Laughter—some of it nervous—echoes throughout the lab.
“And when it does,” I continue, “you’ll realize that you’re not just here to learn about parts and pieces. You’re here to learn about life and death, about beginnings and endings, about the delicate balance that keeps us breathing. This is not just an anatomy class but a life lesson. What we start today will shape you as individuals and as medical professionals.”
Elijah raises his hand.
I nod to him. “Yes?”
“How will we be graded?”
I chuckle. “There’s always someone who asks that. You can find all of that information on the school’s learning management site on the page for this class. Copies of my syllabus as well as my grading rubric are readily available to you there.” I move to the side and lean against my desk. “Let’s take a break for ten minutes. Use this time to get yourself acclimated if you need to. When we return, we’ll dive deeper into the thoracic cavity.”
A collective exhale fills the room, followed by some hushed chatter and movement. Most of them make their way out of the lab, but a few remain behind, huddled in small groups or studying their textbooks.
Angie Simpson makes her way toward the door. I stop her.
“You seem troubled,” I say.
She inhales. “I’m fine.”
“Take a break. Join your classmates. You’ll feel better.”
“None of this matters,” she says. “I’ll never see the inside of an OR. Psychiatry is my calling.”
I tilt my head. “Are you sure about that?”
I want her to say she’s not sure at all. That psychiatry is nothing to her.
Because it sure as hell is nothing to me.
But she raises her chin slightly. “As sure as my name is Angela Daphne Simpson.”
Angela Daphne. A gorgeous name. Daphne was a beautiful nymph pursued by Apollo. She became a laurel tree to escape him. Angela, of course, comes from angel.
She indeed looks like an angel.
I rack my brain for a diplomatic way to get my thoughts across. “If you don’t like the lab portion of medical school, you could have pursued a doctorate in psychology. You don’t need an MD to practice.”
“Tabitha just said the same thing to me.” She rubs at her forehead. “Why doesn’t anyone get it? I want to be able to heal the physical as well as the mental. I want to—”