Abstract
In the First Year
I gazed upon a body overtaken by Death
The fingers, withered and cold
Eyes as gray as the stainless steel casket
Call her Cadaver, they explained, and learn
Her lines, her edges
Put your scalpel to the rubber skin and your mind to what lies beneath
And she will serve you in good stead
I made the incisions, pinned the nerves, splashed the atlas with blood and bone
And in the First Year, I dissected Death.
In the Second Year
I memorized the signs of Death
A lung, scarred and emptied
The nodes of Osler revealing infection within
See this spot here, they urged, this holds the key
To diagnosing an entity so rare
Only one in a billion is so cursed
And I, glancing nervously at my own spots, was convinced I might be
That one
And in the Second Year, I pathologized Death.
In the Third Year
I saved a man from Death
His heart, so worn and weary
That it had surrendered its rhythm
You, they shouted, come to push on his chest
Push harder, push faster, for his life is in your hands
And I stood over this man, forcing untested palms into an unsuspecting sternum
That I might be enough, my will might be enough
Then, the return
To heart, rhythm, and to body, life
And in the Third Year, I conquered Death.
In the Fourth Year
I had a conversation with Death
Of what do you remain afraid, Death asked
That you might know Death only by dissection, as pathology, to be conquered?
And I learned that Death is
Not an adversary, but a companion
On the journey of our humanity
I smiled, because I understood
At last
And in the Fourth Year, I accepted Death.