Dr. Robert Chase (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
trueaussiedoc) wrote2008-11-17 04:45 pm
trueaussiedoc) wrote2008-11-17 04:45 pm
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just_1_word: 6.6. Faint
6.6. Faint
Past scene, set during Chase's Med School days...
Chase had heard the many horror stories of already established doctors about their first autopsies, but he had always viewed the impending procedure for himself with a blasé and indifferent attitude. A body was a body. Why would he be doing medicine if he didn’t think he could stomach seeing or touching a dead body? He had seen his mother hours after her death, so it wasn’t like it would be a first, even if remembering her like that was the last thing he wanted to do.
Second year of Med School and the day had come. The class was small, likely for the fact the lecturer didn’t want to risk too many students freaking out simultaneously in the confided space that was the Morgue. Chase was up first; his surname starting with C meant he was first cab off the rank and he did have mind to wonder where the hell all the people with surnames starting with A and B were. He was expecting something easy like a heart attack victim and his confidence reigned over the notion of it being anything else. So, when the lecturer told him to pull back the sheet to examine the body, Chase did just that without hesitation.
It wasn’t a heart attack victim. It was a partially decomposed cadaver where the cause of death was impossible to see just on sight. The smell permeated through Chase’s surgical mask and he felt the colour drain from his face, probably to give way to an interesting green hue.
“Take the scalpel, Robert, and make a clean incision into the chest cavity,” the lecturer instructed.
Take the what? Chase thought to himself, brain failing completely as he continued to stare at the rotting flesh lying before him. Giving in to the smell was his biggest mistake and a sharp gag caught in his throat. He put a shaky hand up to his mouth over the mask, which, in hindsight was probably not a good idea. And when did it get so hot in the Morgue? Wasn’t a Morgue supposed to be cold? A loud fast throbbing pumped in his ears to accompany the weak feeling that overtook his legs. Uh oh, this wasn’t good.
“The scalpel, Mr Chase,” the lecturer said more firmly and lodged the handle of the implement into Chase’s hand. “It’s a dead body. It won’t bite you.”
This earned sniggers from the other students in the observation gallery, but Chase could hardly hear them. The odour of death assaulted his nose again and there was no preventing the chain of events that came next. He dropped the scalpel and tried to grab the edge of the stainless steel table as his legs gave out from under him. Stars flashed in his peripheral vision as the heat engulfed him even more. The icing on the cake was yet another heaving gag, causing him to throw up in his surgical mask and two seconds later, he was out cold on the floor of the Morgue.
He woke to his lecturer calling his name and tapping him on the cheek. As soon as he had Chase into a sitting position again, the scalpel was once again pressed pointedly into his hand. “Get up, clean up, change your mask and gown. You have five minutes before you try again,” the man said succinctly. “You’re not going to learn to stomach it otherwise, Robert.”
Chase was mortified, especially when his teacher moved over to the other students with a declaration of ‘That, ladies and gentlemen, is what a pathologist doesn’t do in an autopsy’. But he did get up. He cleaned up and was back at the lecturer’s side in four minutes thirty-eight seconds. It took him four attempts to finally have the stomach to cut into the body without throwing up and passing out. But the tough love teaching methods of his lecturer would never be forgotten in Chase’s years to come as a qualified physician. It’s what got him through the next four years of Med School and Chase never failed another autopsy again.
Word Count | 679
Past scene, set during Chase's Med School days...
Chase had heard the many horror stories of already established doctors about their first autopsies, but he had always viewed the impending procedure for himself with a blasé and indifferent attitude. A body was a body. Why would he be doing medicine if he didn’t think he could stomach seeing or touching a dead body? He had seen his mother hours after her death, so it wasn’t like it would be a first, even if remembering her like that was the last thing he wanted to do.
Second year of Med School and the day had come. The class was small, likely for the fact the lecturer didn’t want to risk too many students freaking out simultaneously in the confided space that was the Morgue. Chase was up first; his surname starting with C meant he was first cab off the rank and he did have mind to wonder where the hell all the people with surnames starting with A and B were. He was expecting something easy like a heart attack victim and his confidence reigned over the notion of it being anything else. So, when the lecturer told him to pull back the sheet to examine the body, Chase did just that without hesitation.
It wasn’t a heart attack victim. It was a partially decomposed cadaver where the cause of death was impossible to see just on sight. The smell permeated through Chase’s surgical mask and he felt the colour drain from his face, probably to give way to an interesting green hue.
“Take the scalpel, Robert, and make a clean incision into the chest cavity,” the lecturer instructed.
Take the what? Chase thought to himself, brain failing completely as he continued to stare at the rotting flesh lying before him. Giving in to the smell was his biggest mistake and a sharp gag caught in his throat. He put a shaky hand up to his mouth over the mask, which, in hindsight was probably not a good idea. And when did it get so hot in the Morgue? Wasn’t a Morgue supposed to be cold? A loud fast throbbing pumped in his ears to accompany the weak feeling that overtook his legs. Uh oh, this wasn’t good.
“The scalpel, Mr Chase,” the lecturer said more firmly and lodged the handle of the implement into Chase’s hand. “It’s a dead body. It won’t bite you.”
This earned sniggers from the other students in the observation gallery, but Chase could hardly hear them. The odour of death assaulted his nose again and there was no preventing the chain of events that came next. He dropped the scalpel and tried to grab the edge of the stainless steel table as his legs gave out from under him. Stars flashed in his peripheral vision as the heat engulfed him even more. The icing on the cake was yet another heaving gag, causing him to throw up in his surgical mask and two seconds later, he was out cold on the floor of the Morgue.
He woke to his lecturer calling his name and tapping him on the cheek. As soon as he had Chase into a sitting position again, the scalpel was once again pressed pointedly into his hand. “Get up, clean up, change your mask and gown. You have five minutes before you try again,” the man said succinctly. “You’re not going to learn to stomach it otherwise, Robert.”
Chase was mortified, especially when his teacher moved over to the other students with a declaration of ‘That, ladies and gentlemen, is what a pathologist doesn’t do in an autopsy’. But he did get up. He cleaned up and was back at the lecturer’s side in four minutes thirty-eight seconds. It took him four attempts to finally have the stomach to cut into the body without throwing up and passing out. But the tough love teaching methods of his lecturer would never be forgotten in Chase’s years to come as a qualified physician. It’s what got him through the next four years of Med School and Chase never failed another autopsy again.
Word Count | 679