Sunday

"He is not here; for He is risen, as He said."

Saturday

Friday

The Surreal Life

I often have people say to me, in reference to my job, "I don't know how you do it.".   Other questions usually follow. "Is it scary...weird...gross...sad?"

Sad? No, at least not for me. Who could survive more than a week on the job if it were sad all the time. Granted, there are moments of sadness, usually when genuine tragedy strikes. More often it's not really tragic but just one of those things in life. Most people deal with inevitabilities such as death rather well. There are exceptions. Aren't there always?

A thinking person cannot work in my field for as long as I have without experiencing some surreal moments. I wish I could share the dirty details, but that wouldn't be very ethical. I'm sorry about that. I, were I in your shoes, would want the down-and-dirty details. Suffice to say that I've seen the human body in many different post-mortem conditions, some normal and peaceful-looking, others showing the results of violence or mayhem. I've seen every part of the human body cast about like broken auto parts.

At first, it was weird. When the newness had worn off a bit, I found myself looking at my surroundings and saying to myself, 'Hey, these people are all dead.' There were initial cautions, as if they were dangerous or could, at any moment, jump up and go out for a cup of coffee. Over time, I've settled into a detached mode, generally indifferent to my surroundings. It is, finally, just a job.

I'm often compelled to perpetuate the myths associated with the field. If someone asks me, "You ever have one sit up on you?", I say, "Sure. All the time." I will then walk away or change the subject so as to possibly leave a cloud of doubt and uncertainty hanging in the air.

The surreal moments come when the job exceeds its normal boundaries. It doesn't have to deviate very far--just enough to open a window into the weirdness that is inherent in the work itself. For instance, when you're handling a severed limb or are rinsing brains off of your gloves, it can catch up with you, this weirdness. This weirdness creates a diversion that, strangely enough, we can find entertaining. We're not finding delight in another's suffering or death, but in the job itself, which incidentally involves another's suffering or death. If you have a problem with that, deal with it.

This is how we, the weirdos, do what we do. We're normal people in abnormal circumstances. Someone has to do the dirty work, and that someone is us.