To:
Man. 60. Cancer
Table 3 – Anatomy Bay 1

As introductions go, I could have used more.

But that’s all we got from you. When you came into this world. Why you left.

Typed out, taped on. That blue bag they brought you in.

We cut and we looked. Superficial to deep. Skin to muscles to vessels.

Heart. Nerve. Sinew. Without seeing what everyone else always had – face, furrows, creases – we searched for hidden meaning. That’s as deep as we got.

And now, at the end, I have come to know you in a way no one else had, better than you knew yourself.

But then again, what do I know at all? We mapped your body in an Atlas, but where are the volumes of your life?

To have learned so much and yet, know so little.

“Man. 60. Cancer” is all we had.

Below was delivered at the Cadaver Donation Ceremony, 2016, to honor the donor of the cadaver I worked on. I rewrote it as a poem in the above post in 2018.

To:

Man. 60. Cancer

Table 3

Anatomy Bay 1

As introductions go, I could have used more.

But that’s all we got from you. When you came into this world. And what took you out. Typed out and taped on, right on that blue bag they brought you in.

We had started with the superficial and then went deeper. Your muscles and vessels. Your heart and nerve and sinew. The furrows and creases of your hands, the bones they cover, and all of the fabric in between. That’s as deep as we got. And now, at the end, I have come to know you in a way no one else had. In a way, maybe, you never knew yourself.

But then again, what do I know at all? Your body had filled an atlas, but your life could have filled volumes. To have learned so much and yet, know so little is jarring, as if I’ve memorized every page and dog-ear and coffee stain of a book with no words.

“Man. 60. Cancer” is all we had.

So let me ask.

When did you decide to donate yourself? Did you commit to this generosity long before the doctor delivered that final blow? Did you consider it more and more as medicine after medicine failed and your grip on the ledge weakened? Did it come to you when, finally, you were told, “That’s it.”

Was it just a gift? Was it about your legacy? Or was it about autonomy – did this return to you an ounce when you had none? To choose for a body that left you without choices?

Did you sense the tumor’s insidious rise through your chest? That morning when you came to Body Donation Program, did you think about consuming your collarbone? Did it brush your fingers as you knotted your tie? With every step toward that surreal conversation, did it steal from every breath?

Did you ever hear them, the warning sounds your pacemaker made? Did you know that it would stay vigilant for so long? Or ever imagine that, from time to time, those dire warnings would startle students awake from their sleepless reverie? Did that ever make you laugh?

And now that your gift has been given and your final journey complete, who will receive your ashes? Friends? Family? Did they recoil at the thought of you on that table? Did they understand why? Where did you ask them to scatter you? Where do you want to rest?

Asked.  But for the occasional oblivious beep, you stay quiet.