The_Invention_of_Surgery

Arriving at the morgue, the thirty-eight-year-old, moderately obese and
powerfully built deliveryman lies on the stainless-steel autopsy table,
completely naked. The autopsy suite has three sturdy tables, purpose-built
for autopsies, each with a central plateau pockmarked with irrigation
holes and a circumferential trench with flowing water to wash away blood,
body fluids, and the vestiges of infection and contamination. The subject is
positioned on the central table, which is equipped with a foot-controlled
recording device and microphone to capture the comments of the
pathologist as the autopsy progresses.
Like every hospital morgue, this workstation is sequestered in the
basement, away from foot traffic and patient care areas. The paucity of
inhabitants and caregivers imbues a sense of loneliness and fear, even
during the day. This is accentuated with the knowledge that dead bodies
are stored in the lockers, refrigerated and ready for inspection. In the
bowels of the hospital, with an ominous stillness and a monotonous ebbing
of water over the tables, there is no lifesaving; there is only death-
explaining.
Dr. Anderson explains that this worker was found outside his house in
the early morning dawn, next to his running truck, facedown in the snow.
An ambulance raced to his home, his grief-stricken and panicked wife
overcome with anxiety and helplessness. After a failed resuscitation in the
emergency room, he was declared dead by the ER physician and
transported to the basement morgue. Every state has its own laws that
guide the local coroners in deciding whether to order an autopsy; in this
case, an unwitnessed death at home under unusual circumstances has
prompted this man’s final physical examination.
We are dressed in blue scrubs and disposable paper gowns identical to
those worn in the operating room. Waterproof gowns offer a layer of
protection and a little bit of warmth, and protective eyewear is donned to
keep body fluids from splashing into our eyes. Our simple tray of
instruments ready, it is time to “see for ourselves,” the literal meaning of
the word autopsy.
I place a gloved hand on the man’s torso, and he is unnaturally cold, the
combined effect of him dying in the elements and his refrigeration in a
cadaver locker for the last few hours. Dr. Anderson grasps the autopsy
knife, outfitted with an impressively large blade made specifically for
making the elongated cut in the front of the chest. I glance again at the