An abominable task

The smell of adipose tissue is revolting.

There is no nice way to say that, and I know that I have issues with fat on a psychological and physical level that I usually choose not to share with the world, but will talk a bit about below. Just a bit, not the whole, ugly bunch of details. Yet the cadaver I chose to work on when we divided ourselves into groups was that of Ruth's, who was morbidly obese at death.

To add to the irony that should otherwise be a joyous day, being Fat Tuesday (and I mean this with no pun intended, yet I feel horrible by even referencing it and I just realized while typing this that GOOD LORD JENNIFER, what did you just say?), in psychology class we discussed eating disorders. When I was overseas, between the precocious ages of 13-15, and thrust into the world of being a commercial model, the likelihood of coming down with a body dysmorphic disorder is great. At 14 I developed anorexia after a friend's cousin did something to me that is unmentionable. Add the stress of that to my work as a model at a young age in a country where you can't even speak the language and are separated from your parents, your end result is the perfect recipe for an eating disorder.

I hid it well for one thing because I wore bulky clothing, often hiding myself in a sweater or cardigan worn over my Catholic school uniform. Mind you now, this was in the Philippines, a tropical rainforest country which is ON THE EQUATOR, so wearing a wool sweater or cardigan is not something one does out of necessity due to the weather. At the time I was ill, I was also living in a dormitory run by nuns on the school campus. Thank you, St. Joseph's College, for helping me hide this from my parents.

Looking back on my childhood, I was normal weight. I became overweight recently and I'm not even close to obese, but my old, battered self esteem is beating me up for the weight gain. I am dealing with it in a healthy fashion, choosing instead to focus on getting my exercise on rather than go the binge/purge method or crack pipe method of some other women I know (all of whom will remain anonymous). I have fat issues. I am, and always will be, in recovery.

This part of my psyche ties back in with Ruth because I see myself in her as a worst-case scenario. I do not ever want to let myself go to that extreme. I have some women in my family who are morbidly obese, and I want to take them to see Ruth and say, "You need to take better care of yourself or this will be you!" I feel a sense of sorrow as I scrape away layer upon layer of adipose. I apologize to her and Susan instantly pipes up, "She's happy. Look at her, she's finally losing all of that fat! She's smiling!" I love Susan. She's got a fantastic personality and I instantly feel better.

I bring my new camera to class, a Nikon D60 (not the D90 I coveted, as I spent $600 less by going with this model), and Jerry says he'll take photos and do general assisting for both groups. Kevin likes this idea and they start taking photos of all the saved specimens. I am talking with Susan, Cynthia, Andrea, and Tammy, and I hear Kevin telling Jerry what muscles on their cadaver he wants photographed.

Muscles. The other group is already identifying muscles on Mr. B. And here we are, still clearing up fat.

I put my scalpel down. I look at Ruth and consult with Susan and Cynthia on some wild idea I have for today's clearing, and I feel like a bossy barbarian bitch by doing so. It had to be done though, and I'll take the bitch blame for it if the ladies around me today found me difficult to deal with. I am deeply concerned that at the pace we are going at, three ladies with a penchant for perfection, that by week 12 of 16 we will still be clearing through fat if we try and focus on making her pretty. Let's dig down with our scalpels, clear out the majority of the fat, and then we can spend time scraping away painstakingly afterwards. I just want to keep up with the other group, who are already to the point where they are identifying structures, far more structures, than just inches of adipose.

I call Kevin over. I ask him if it's all right for us to cut down through her abdomen and start clearing away fat. He says to go for it, the faster we get it done the better. Maybe this was a mistake, because he just gave the dark side of me the green light to go ahead and go all out. I begin making deep cuts into her abdominal skin, following the lines that were already made by her folds. During embalming, her skin had folded in such a way that it laid out the perfect blueprint for us to make our cuts. After making the initial cuts, Susan, and I start going deep into her abdomen to peel back the skin. Cynthia said that she would be working on cleaning up her face and neck, focusing on finishing the area around her sternocledomastoid muscle. Susan held up her flap of skin and I helped her cut underneath since she was not at a good angle to get at it herself. I was able to do my area on my own, but I attribute my height advantage to being able to get at a better angle for scalpel work.

The sound of our scalpels cutting away fat sounded much like layers of saran wrap being cut with a blade. It had a weird whoosh sound to it. Every few minutes we'd have to turn away, as gas pockets of embalming fluid mixed in with the odor of the adipose itself would sometimes rise up and catch us by surprise. Kevin himself had to leave the room for a breath of fresh air. Eventually I had to also. The smell was coming through my mask, and it was making my eyes water.

She had layers of fibrous fat, which was brownish red as opposed to the normal deep yellow of her adipose. Kevin couldn't tell us what it was, we just equated the consistency to gristle. Some parts were so dense that I was afraid I was cutting into muscle, but I was confident of how deep I was going, and I knew that I still had about an inch of fat to go before I hit muscle.

They say that you learn something about yourself every day. This class has not let me down in that aspect, as every Tuesday for the last four weeks I have learned something new about my resolve, determination, and ability to objectify something just to get the job done. I also learned today how good I am with a scalpel. I was clearing out the superficial fascia with quickness and a confidence I didn't know I had. I joked to my table that in order to speed things up, I was just going to go on Iron Chef speed. Sure enough, I was. Soon after I was cutting out chunks of adipose tissue in sheets roughly the size of my hand. My brain deals with the horrors of what I'm doing by injecting odd humor into the equation, and my brain had said, "Adipose steaks, cut to order."

An hour later, I have cleared out an area in her left inguinal region that is definitely one thin, connective tissue layer away from her rectus abdominus. By this time the smell of her adipose has filled the room, and Kevin tells us to start cleaning up early. It's 30 minutes sooner than we normally begin cleanup, but my table is overwhelmed and Ruth's body is starting to give up its embalmed gases. Jerry helped us bag up two full bags of fat, and later on he tells me that there's at least 15 pounds of fat in the larger trash bag that Kevin stashed the fat bags in.

I'm too dizzy to help with scrubbing the utensils. I help wipe down Ruth, wet her with the solution, and I cover her with the muslin and wet it down. Andrea and I wrap her up in her plastic, and Tammy finishes sealing up her body bag. My face has been 3 inches away from Ruth for two hours, and I'm premenstrual and have not yet eaten. Between the malodorous atmosphere and my own physical pangs (including a sore biceps brachii long and short head from lifting weights all week) I just lean up against the wall and wait for the sink.

Kevin has a rule in his class. Nobody gets sick in Dr. Petti's class. I am not one to vomit but I'm so on the verge of passing out at that moment, that I lean up against the wall and just breathe. But breathing is not pleasant with the air in the room. I wash my hands as soon as the sink is available, and I rush out the door of the prosectorium and the anatomy lab.

I take in deep breaths of air through my nose, trying to clear out the lingering odor. It won't go away. Susan comes out and I can't recall now what she said to me, but she hurries off, and as of this writing I feel bad that I don't remember what she said, or if I even said bye. I just wanted to get the hell out of there at that moment.

Jerry and I get to my place, and he has to stay and pick up the boys while I go to Livescan to get my fingerprints done. I had just been accepted to be a guide for the upcoming Body Worlds exhibition at the San Diego Natural History Museum and I had to finish the background check. I want to apologize to everybody I encounter, because they are looking at me like I smell. They do that BECAUSE I DO SMELL. The lady who is taking my fingerprints tells me that I smell very "chemically" and I tell her that I'm sorry I had no time to shower after gross anatomy lab. She finishes my fingerprints as fast as she could and sends me on my way.

I drive home as fast as I am comfortable with breaking the speed limit. I don't go over 80mph because I still try and be safe. I get home and the first thing I do is ask Jerry to stay and talk with me while I shower, because I have a lot on my mind that I need to process.

I take as hot of a shower as I can withstand, and I try not to cry while talking to him. Like I have said before, I am not one to cry, but I'm premenstrual and the events of today starting with psychology class led to this climax of brain thoughts. I realize that I am scrubbing my skin almost raw with the washcloth, trying to get rid of Ruth's embalmed adipose smell off of my body. I finally have it out of my nostrils, and thanks to the mask and chewing gum I do not have it in my throat, but it lingers on my hands. In my haste to get things done today, I cut through four pairs of my gloves.

I tell Jerry that I am wracked by guilt because for the first time since I even considered taking this class, that I am disgusted by my cadaver. I love the spirit of Ruth. She is the most benevolent human I have ever come to know, along with Mike and Mr. B (the other cadavers), and because of her generosity I am able to learn more about the human body than the majority of the world will ever get to know. I love her and appreciate her gift. I am thankful and grateful beyond words for her, but I feel like absolute shit because for a moment I am disgusted by her and what I had to do today. I feel like an ingrate, and I am crushed by an overwhelming sense of Catholic guilt.

Jerry says not to be disgusted at Ruth, but it's ok to be disgusted at the task we had to do today. It was gruesome, and on the way to the parking lot the girls working on Mr. B both commented to me that they're glad they're not working on my cadaver. They said it with a mix of sympathy and awe, and even I acknowledge that it's not a task for the light hearted or weak of stomach.

So here I am now, typing away at this entry, wondering whether I want to make it public or not. I smell clean, like vanilla soap and shampoo, and my hands do not reek of formalin. My sons come up to me and embrace me as if nothing is amiss. Rome even massaged my sore shoulder and asked me if I felt better. Jerry says he'll stay with me tonight and I say ok, since I could use the company and both talk and type therapy will help me get this burden off my chest.

I also got my period.

Physically and mentally, I am experiencing catharsis.