Down Among the Dead Men_ A Year in the Life of a Mortuary Technician - Michelle Williams [33]
Although it felt a bit like parents’ evening at school, deep down I was so chuffed I had been accepted by two people who had been doing an exclusive job for so long and who obviously had faith in me, let alone allow me into their world.
EIGHTEEN
Until I started this job, I’d never really thought very deeply about suicide and, if the subject did come up during conversation in the pub, I suppose I’d thought that people usually offed themselves by taking an overdose of pills, hanging themselves, or jumping in front of trains. I hadn’t been in the job long before I found out that I had been very, very wrong.
What first made me realize just how wrong I had been was when Dr Gerald Beaumont was brought into the mortuary. We had no warning from the Coroner’s office that he was going to arrive, so only had the undertakers’ word to go on concerning what had happened. Dr Beaumont was a successful anaesthetist who lived in a big house with plenty of land in the country. He must have earned pots of money from private practice and ought to have been as happy as Larry, but he wasn’t. He had made a mistake, resulting in the death of a patient. Referral to the General Medical Council was pending, which apparently is very bad. ‘Basically, as far as doctors are concerned, it’s pretty much “end of’,’ Clive said.
Dr Beaumont had come home early that morning, leaving the hospital without saying anything. He had got into his Land Rover, then driven out to a remote pasture on which grew an old oak. He had taken a tow rope, tied it to the tree, then fed it through the back of the Land Rover. He had got back in, tied the other end around his neck and driven off as hard as he could.
When we opened the white body bag, we were relieved to see that his head had stayed on, but it had been a close call. Poor Dr Beaumont’s neck had been almost ripped apart, and was now held together only by the spine and a few tethers of flesh. The head had been smashed, too. ‘Bloody hell,’ and I spoke almost reverently.
Clive nodded, then said matter of factly, ‘When people decide to duff themselves in, sometimes they really go for it.’
‘What on earth made him think to do it like that, though?’
When Graham saw Dr Beaumont, he winced and said, ‘Bet that stung a bit.’
Back in the office and over coffee, I said, ‘I can’t believe he’s done that to himself’
Clive shook his head. ‘You’d be surprised, Michelle. We get all sorts in here. Most of them are the usual, of course – overdose, hanging etcetera – but some people seem to think that, as it’s the last thing they’ll ever do, they’ll do it in style.’
Graham said, ‘Like that old girl and the weedkiller.’
Clive nodded enthusiastically. ‘Now that was an unwise way to end it all.’
When I inquired what they were talking about, they were keen to tell me. ‘She went to the garden shed and got out the weedkiller, Paraquat. On its own, it’s pretty lethal but she decided to spice it up. She cooked it with some herbs, then swallowed it like soup. I reckon it might have tasted nicer but she still died about week later on ITU, and it wasn’t nice, by all accounts.’
Graham added brightly, ‘And there was that poor sod who drank a bottle of kettle descaler.’
Clive nodded and said sorrowfully, ‘Descaled him, no doubt about it.’ There was a moment’s silence, but only a moment, before he added, ‘Don’t forget that woman who set fire to herself in her car.’
Graham shook his head. ‘Don’t think I ever will forget that,’ he said.
Clive said to me, ‘Poor woman set fire to herself in her car. A passing motorist sees the flames, stops and runs over to drag her out of the car. You know what she did? She struggles