The First Year

I have many fond memories of my first year in college. Not the least of which was because of the things that I had to learn. Back then I was a fledgeling, the world was new and fresh and every new day was an opportunity to learn something new. 

We had 3 subjects in 1st year. Anatomy, Physiology and Biochemistry each one was fascinating in its own right. 

Academically it is also the most exhausting year in MBBS not counting final year even though it is possibly the least demanding of them all. 

First of all,  we were disoriented for a while, unable to understand or make sense of the tests. What do they expect from us? How should the answer be written? What part of the syllabus should we study especially since everything seems so damn important? Secondly the pressure. We have just entered a course that we have to do well in, not only that if we are to fail in the first year we are held back for 6 months separate from the rest of the batch. For the rest of our MBBS life we will lag behind the regular batch and forever be branded by the oh so imaginative term, ' repeater batch. ' 

I remember how close to a regular school it was. Theory clases practicals and 2 hrs of dissection every day. 

The teachers had come up with a very effective strategy to help us get over our inate fear of dead bodies. The disection hall was a large room with 5 tables surrounded by a cluster of stools. On these tables layed 1 corpse preserved with formalin and and kept in refrigeration until it was time for it to be cut. 

20 of us to one were assigned to 1 body. And we had to just sit there looking at if. The first day everyone was apprehensive and scared as if it was going to come alive any second in a fucked up rendition of a zombie apocalypse. The second day our fear was waning but we just sat there somberly remembering as that book says, " all men must die. " By the 4th the disection hall was a picnic spot for us with a highly disagreeable smell, we were bored out of our minds and spent our time talking to each other. 

By the next Monday any respect we had for the dead had disappeared and we were itching to pick up that scalpel and cut through the skin. 

And so we did, each one of us taking our turn with the body. I named him Bob in my head. Over the next 8 -10 months Boby had his arms cut open to the bone, shoulders dislocated and cut away. The same procedure repeated for his legs.  His chest was cut open at which point we cracked open the rib cage like a shell only to remove the heart and the lungs leaving behind an empty cavity with clotted blood at the corners. Next was the abdomen where we had a look at his inards before we disemboweled him. I had the dubious honour for hosing out his intestines. I still remember holding that greasy tube one end to a open tap letting the water flow through the length of it clearing it of formalin preserved fecal matter. We then promptly cut it open and  observes the mucosa. And of course the head..

We spent at least 3 months on that extremely complex area trying to memorize the nerves blood vessels and the bony passages they ran through. The skull was unceremoniously cracked open in due time and the brain removed. The eyeball broken open from within the skull to remove his eyes and to observe the muscles and the nerves there. 

Did we feel guilty for what we were doing? Hell no. Even then we were learning a skill that a few of us would need to hold onto for life. We were dehumanizing Bob. He was a subjet, an object of intrest, a means to an end. 

I guess the only time we felt any kind of sympathy for Bob was during the disection of his nads. I felt rather than saw everyone of the boys at my table stiffen as the female professor brought the scalpel next to his scrotum. A collective shudder ran through us as the scalpel pierced the skin. She brought out the oval mass and we flinched when she cut it in half with what we agreed was unnecessary brutality. The other one was disected on by a batchmate who to my misogynistic eyes seemed to be having fun. 

I know, I know. It all sounds rather callous and most of you guys are horrified by what we do. For us it was our everyday life and as improbable as it seems we all made some good memories there. 

The one thing we never really got used to was the smell. Formalin is a semi volatile liquid with an all pervasive odour. And every day we were forced to root through a body drenced with the stuff. Our professors in their infinite wisdom baned us from wearing gloves. And right after the Disection class was lunch break and let me tell you nothing kills the appetite faster than hands smelling like corpses.During the entire course of 1st year all of us were obsessive  about the state of our nails trying to ensure that we didn't consume bits of dead guys accidentally.

First year was about so much more than that. It was a time when we all got along with each other. It was were we made friends and I made a huge number of shitty decisions and deal with all the shit life threw at us. And I don't regret a single day.