A day in the life...

Yesterday we were tasked with the exploration of the pelvis, an area both complex and elusive to even the most seasoned anatomist. Gaining access to the depths of our cadaver's pelvis meant snipping off the distal bowel and moving it to the side. Now, I know many of you--my fine readers--are thinking this to be a simple task, wondering quietly to yourselves as to why I would I would even bother to bring this up in passing conversation, let alone devote an entire blog entry to such a paltry matter. And you would most certainly be correct in your oh-so-naive assumption, were said bowels not filled, packed, dare I say SATURATED from end-to-end, stomach-to-rectum. With what you ask? Oh, don't be silly. You know just as well as I do that you could have identified the contents with one hand haughtily behind your back (and the other humbly upon your nose).

So there we found ourselves, the anatomical adventurers that we are, face to face with a task: to (and I quote) "milk" the fecal matter up the colon and away from the rectum--all the while praying that it didn't travel out the other end in the process--in order to establish an empty area in which to make our cut. Seeing as we were all udderly lacking in farmacological experience, we took turns milking as best we knew how. Next we tied (make that double tied) knots on either end of the "oh-man-I-hope-we-got-it-all" newly emptied region. At which point, after significant deliberation, perspiration and condemnation (and perhaps a little anxious micturation), it was finally time to separate the men from the boys, the colons from rectums. So, like the obliging mayor at a grand opening ceremony, I boldly stepped forward to make the cut. The only difference--whereas our friend the mayor might find himself rather embarrased upon missing the ribbon, I was praying to avoid it at all costs. Also my scissors weren't quite so big.

In the end, I'm happy to say that my aim held up and the crisis was averted. We got through the whole process with what I like to call "minimal leakage". Another day, another lesson learned (though I'm not quite sure what it was), another task completed. Digging in fat, suffering through ever-evolving odorous assults, and milking voluminous bowels. All in a day's work.