At the Autopsy, page 2

FARIBORZ (THE NAME IS IRANIAN) AND I take the elevator down to the basement. My girlfriend is a nurse who is helping conduct a Medicaid survey at the hospital. With her help, I had scoped out the area the prior week, so I thought I knew where the main entrance to the morgue was. We go there, and ring the bell.

No answer. We wait. A man pokes his head from around the corner down the hall, and asks us what we want. The man introduces himself as Lidel, a morgue employee. He takes us around to what turns out to be the actual main entrance to the morgue. We go in. Apparently it is not too difficult to get into a morgue. At this point, no one currently working for the morgue has asked us who we are or why we want the tour. They never ask, and we never volunteer, that we are students of Buddhism.

Lidel shows us around. He does not feel any need to point out the body lying, mostly covered, on a table in the corner. The morgue is no big deal. It is a room, perhaps 50 feet by 100 feet, with a number of small adjacent rooms. Lidel shows us the "cooler" where the bodies are first taken and the room where body parts are stored.

Byron shows us the viewing room where the family can see the body (interestingly, without cosmetics). We chat a bit then ask if we can look at the body. Lidel uncovers part of it. It is the body of an overweight, African-American male. The skin is fairly pale due to lack of blood flow, paler than the skin of many a living "white" person. The morgue has not yet received authorization for the autopsy. The family apparently wants the autopsy to determine the cause of death. Byron and Lidel tell us that they might have authorization by 1:30 p.m. and to call back then if we want to observe the autopsy.

AS WE ARE LEAVING, it comes up in conversation that I am a law school professor. Lidel is immediately interested. He is trying to divorce his wife without hiring a lawyer and wants some advice. He and his wife have been separated for 13 years. I tell him I hope he does autopsies faster than divorces. He laughs.

After leaving the morgue, Fariborz and I hang out for a while. I think about eating some lunch, but Fariborz, a pharmacologist with some experience in these matters, suggests that it might be an unwise pre-autopsy activity. About 1:30 p.m. Fariborz leaves to meet someone for lunch, and I call the morgue. The autopsy is on.

LIDEL MEETS ME AT THE DOOR to the morgue. He tells me to put on a gown, booties and a cap. So attired, I enter the main area. The corpse is open, but before I can get a good look, I am sent back to get a mask. They are out of masks, and one of the assistants has to go and find one. There are actually two types of masks. One to cover the mouth. The other is a plastic shield that protects the eyes and upper face from splattering body fluids. Byron and his assistant work in the full regalia. They cannot find a plastic mask for me, so I have to make do with the mouth covering.

I go back into the main room. The body is a sight to behold. It is a big corpse. While alive, the man (the former man?) had his left leg amputated. Byron conducts the autopsy along with an assistant. The assistant is a young woman on a rotation through the morgue. Her cheerfulness confirms that our mind states need not be a function of our external circumstances. She does not seem troubled by her work, but at the same time indicates she is looking forward to "rotating out." | TO PAGE 3