by Imogen Ashby
I
don't know what I believe, yet, I've been told that all creatures have souls.
I've questioned this, I admit, but I do
conclude that there must be something right at the centre of us that makes us
keep on living.
I know in medical terms that is, of course, the heart, yet I can
feel something deep in the pit of my stomach that makes me, me. Something
that's more than personality traits and the ability to enable ourselves to love
others; something that truly is soul-wrenching.
These
jars of muscle and bone have helped thousands of medical students in many
centuries passed to understand the bewildering and fascinating anatomy of which
humans and animals alike are composed of. They can see for themselves how a
certain blood vessel leads through the chest or how nerves wind their way up
the spinal chord without having to wait for a donor to die and give up their
body to medicine to be torn apart by curious and clueless students. These jars
stop unnecessary dissections because they're there to be observed, but they
have been frozen in one position for the whole past and the future in which
they'll still be trapped. Medical students can't explore the way they want to
as they cannot interfere with the chemicals or remove the specimen from its
coffin or else it will disintegrate with its first breath of air after death.
The jars are the most useful, effective and convenient way to learn other than
a real body covered by a polypropylene body bag.
But
my mind cannot stop wandering back to the thought that whatever is inside that
jar of preservatives, although no longer living, still wishes to escape the
trap in which it was forced.
When
it lived it had others it loved and looked out for, and when it perished I'm
sure that it would wish for a better afterlife than the one it has now, all
this time later.
It
is my belief that when it was placed into that jar, it severed all its ties
with humanity.
Furthermore,
I conclude that it's soul is trapped in that jar with it for all eternity. Who
it once was and all the connections it had are in there having never said a
proper farewell. The deer with eight legs, the miscarried baby that was not yet
named, the conjoined twins that never opened their eyes and never saw the world are all squeezed into
jars they barely fit in staring at the faces peering in, revolted at what they
are stood in front of.
This
is no Heaven. This is a human induced hell, screams and pleas of help called
from every medical school shelf.
Yet
it has been the way of learning for hundreds of years, curiosity and science
overrules the ethical views of life and death, taking a life if it feels the
need; acting God.
As
a potential medical student I truly support the use of these organisms, but one
can only wonder as to wether they still cling to the remnants of their
disintegrated souls and yearn for an afterlife that was torn right from their
clutches.
Is
it ethical? No.
But
think how far behind we would be with all our medical break-throughs without
these tortured souls.
Comments
Post a Comment
Comments with names are more likely to be published.