Down Among the Dead Men_ A Year in the Life of a Mortuary Technician - Michelle Williams [61]
We had already stripped and laid out the two patients that Ed had selected for the examination, and he had given each candidate the details, including the hospital notes. He now looked at his watch and said, ‘Right. It’s now ten past nine. You have three hours, after which Dr Peter Gillard and I will be back down to talk to you about your findings. Please start.’
He then took Clive to one side and I heard him say in a low voice, ‘Make sure they identify the bodies properly, and keep an eye on how well they do the evisceration.’
Clive nodded. ‘Don’t worry, boss. You can rely on me.’
Ed stayed another ten minutes or so while the candidates scribbled notes on clipboards, and Maddie and I chatted in low voices about Saw II, which she’d watched the night before. After this, first Dr Merkovich, then Dr Mirza identified their bodies and began the eviscerations.
It became immediately obvious that Dr Mirza was at a disadvantage, because she was so short. She was all right with the initial incision but as soon as she had to push her hands deep into the body cavity to reach the kidneys, she was on tiptoe and almost left the ground. ‘Would you like a box?’ asked Clive brightly, and I’m not sure that he was joking. Dr Mirza, bless her, shook her head and said in a voice that was muffled because of the mask, ‘No, no, thank you.’ Dr Merkovich, meanwhile, might not have been having similar troubles, but both Maddie and I could see that he was the APT’s worst nightmare; he was messy. The primary incision had been jagged and there was blood everywhere; on his mask, down his apron, on his goggles, on his wellies, all over his tools, the table and the floor. When he finally got the pluck out, he left a trail of blood spots as he took it over to the bench. Clive looked on with unconcealed disgust and murmured to me, ‘I’ll wrap the mop round his ankles in a minute; that’ll stop him. Even better I’ll give him the bloody mop and he can clean it up himself.’
Dr Mirza, meanwhile, had another problem; her glasses kept falling off into the body. Eventually, after they’d landed in the abdominal cavity for the third time, Maddie quickly stopped her from replacing them on her face, even though they were covered in blood and fat, cleaned them up and then had to tie them on behind her head. Clive could hardly contain his laughter and his eyes were starting to water; had it not been for the mask, I think the effort of keeping a straight face would have killed him.
Over the next two and a half hours, the two candidates beavered away at their task while the three of us kept an eye on them and tried to amuse ourselves. Maddie and I were chatting about each other’s plans that evening, when I happened to look over at Clive. He stood supporting his body on two mop poles, while gesturing that he was doing a ski slalom. I think, by the look on his face, he actually believed he was on the French Alps. I nudged Maddie and we both stared at him for a couple of minutes. When he did finally make eye contact with us, he just exaggerated what he was doing with that twinkle in his eye that lets you know he is on a wind-up.
With thirty minutes to go, Ed returned, this time accompanied by Peter Gillard. During the morning, apart from his slalom, Clive had sung into plug sockets, told a few jokes, mopped the floor