The Anatomist - Bill Hayes [46]
I can see C4, like a subway token at the bottom of a meaty purse, but rather than stopping to finger it, I slice northward about six inches (fifteen centimeters). Now, Kristen, facing me on the opposite side of the cadaver, makes a horizontal cut across the base of the skull, connecting the backs of each ear. Where her line meets mine, we each begin peeling back the triangular flaps of scalp. Just like on my head, our truck driver’s hair is buzz-cut (as are all the cadavers’), to make tasks such as this easier. The skin feels as tough and bristly as animal hide.
Adding to the discomfort of the day, the school’s maintenance department is testing the ventilation system on this hot August morning, so all the windows are to remain closed for the duration of lab. In the still, thick air, it seems as if we are being put to the test rather than the air-conditioning. Everyone is sweating, making it smell like the gym of the dead. Pulling at the pocket of my scrubs, I make a poor man’s fan of my shirtfront. I am truly seeing the wisdom in the centuries-old policy of dissecting only during the winter months.
Think of this as an archeological dig, I tell myself, trying to remain positive. True, this is probably more unpleasant than sifting dirt under a noonday sun, but at least we’re assured a discovery or two.
“There’s C3,” says Cheyenne over Kristen’s shoulder.
“And here’s C2.”
We are just about to enter the suboccipital triangle, an area of dense muscle beneath the backmost lobe of the brain, when—
A throat clears.
Like a raven-haired cat, Dr. Topp has suddenly materialized at the foot of our table. “Today is your day,” she says, and we know exactly what that means: a pop quiz, of sorts, with an anatomical twist. The group has just thirty minutes to put together a class presentation on the “functional anatomy” of a specific movement. As for the topic, that’s up to Dr. Topp. Last week, she had Casey’s group analyze “deep respiration with upper extremities fixed,” meaning the classic just-finished-a-marathon position—bent over at the waist, hands propped against the knees. Two weeks earlier, Robyn and her team were given “the iron cross,” that astonishing strength maneuver performed by male gymnasts on the stationary rings. Another day, it was the mechanics of a yawn.
And this time: “I want you to dissect…”—Dr. Topp pauses a moment—“a push-up.”
Off come the rubber gloves as Kelly, Kristen, Cheyenne, and Sam head to the big chalkboard at the back of the room. As each student’s grade hangs in the balance, I will serve only in a support capacity. I pull the cover over the cadaver before joining them.
Having spied on other groups as they prepped their presentations, I know that my table mates have a lot to do. They must figure out the exact sequence of muscles, nerves, and joints used in executing their assigned movement, which is anything but a simple task, especially given the half-hour time constraint. On the other hand, the time constraint is good training, forcing each of them to think on their feet, just as they would when assessing a new patient.
The four of them decide to break the assignment in two. Kelly and Kristen claim the upward motion of the push-up—the push away from the ground—while Cheyenne and Sam take the downward movement, which sounds like an excellent plan but rapidly proves otherwise. They realize that the two actions don’t happen in isolation and each duo will be doing too much overlap. So, scratch that. The group regroups. Just as the body works together to create