You Are A Person And Then You

I Began Thinking About My Skeleton, This Solid, Beautiful Thing Inside Me That I Would Never See.

You Won't See Me Writing About Particle Physics, Or Even Planetary Geology, Or Chemistry. I Practically Failed Chemistry, And If I Had To Write A Book In Any Of Those Areas, I Don't Think It Would Go Well.

One Young Woman's Tribute Describes Unwrapping Her Cadaver's Hands And Being Brought Up Short By The Realization That The Nails Were Painted Pink. "the Pictures In The Anatomy Atlas Did Not Show Nail Polish", She Wrote. "did You Choose The Color? Did You Think That I Would See It? I Wanted To Tell You About The Inside Of Your Hands. I Want You To Know You Are Always There When I See Patients. When I Palpate An Abdomen, Yours Are The Organs I Imagine. When I Listen To A Heart, I Recall Holding Your Heart.

It Is Astounding To Me, And Achingly Sad, That With Eighty Thousand People On The Waiting List For Donated Hearts And Livers And Kidneys, With Sixteen A Day Dying There On That List, That More Then Half Of The People In The Position H's Family Was In Will Say No, Will Choose To Burn Those Organs Or Let Them Rot. We Abide The Surgeon's Scalpel To Save Our Own Lives, Out Loved Ones' Lives, But Not To Save A Stranger's Life. H Has No Heart, But Heartless Is The Last Thing You'd Call Her.

The Point Is That No Matter What You Choose To Do With Your Body When You Die, It Won't, Ultimately, Be Very Appealing. If You Are Inclined To Donate Yourself To Science, You Should Not Let Images Of Dissection Or Dismemberment Put You Off. They Are No More Or Less Gruesome, In My Opinion, Than Ordinary Decay Or The Sewing Shut Of Your Jaws Via Your Nostrils For A Funeral Viewing.