我的身后之事

I was in seventh grade in 1993 when 2）Marie C Wilson and 3）Gloria Steinem launched the 4）Ms Foundation’s 5）Take Our Daughters to Work Day， intending to show us young women that a big， wide world existed beyond our gender and our bodies. For me， it did just that， although it also seeded a lifetime obsession with bodies in a different sense. For while many of my classmates were sitting with a parent in a tidy office， I spent that 6）inaugural daughter-at-work day in an 7）autopsy room watching my father， a 8）pathologist and a former county 9）coroner， dissect a dead man.

For me， the memory is clear. I remember that the farmer was the first dead body I’d seen. I remember standing at the edge of a cold room in oversized 10）scrubs rolled up at the ankles and watching my dad， similarly dressed， struggle with the legs of the man’s overalls. I remember thinking that dead bodies don’t bend. I can see the farmer’s generous 11）potbelly smiling at the ceiling after my dad finally stripped the clothes from him and laid him out， fully naked， on a metal 12）gurney. I remember watching my dad as he wheeled the gurney to the centre of the room and transferred the man to an autopsy table. I can hear my dad dictating each step to a tape recorder in a business-like tone and， although I can’t make out the words， I remember that they seemed to be in a foreign language. I especially remember watching my dad 13）cleave through the outer edges of the man’s ribs with an electric 14）Stryker saw and then lift off his chest like the lid of a box. I also remember thinking： is that really my dad？

At the end of the autopsy， Dad rooted around the farmer’s still heart. Then he presented me with two 15）grisly lumps in his gloved hands while earnestly explaining the difference between them. One was a tiny pre-mortem blood clot and the other a larger， post-mortem blood clot. If Dad found more of these pre-mortem clots and if the microscope confirmed what they were， we’d know that the farmer had died of a heart attack.

I don’t remember feeling scared or uncomfortable， but rather 16）in awe at the scene in front of me. At the work my dad did. At the things that can happen to your body once you’re gone. And for the first time， it hit me that， after I die， part of me will remain.

Some of my strongest childhood memories involve gathering around the dinner table with my family and listening to stories of death. Of course this sounds 17）morbid， but we were just doing what many families do over a shared meal， which is to talk about the kind of day each of us had. And for my dad， the day usually involved the dying or the dead.

Twenty years after my Take Our Daughters to Work Day experience， although I am still young and in good health， I’ve been reliving that autopsy scene as I contemplate what will happen to my body when I die. What path might my body take once whatever makes me“Me” is gone？ What I’m talking about is what will happen to my shell， my physical remains， when I die. The thought of being immediately sealed in an expensive box or cremated does not appeal. I understand that such 18）longstanding cultural traditions 19）console the people who remain behind， but to me it seems that my body would be wasted in either case. Before it reaches its final resting place， I want my body to be useful.

To do this， I need to think of a way for my death to make life better for the living. One option is to donate usable organs to someone who needs them： 20）corneas for the blind， skin 21）grafts for the badly burned， or a variety of other organs， from the heart to the kidneys to the lungs， for the diseased. I’ve already been an organ donor for as long as I can remember； it’s printed on my driver’s licence under a red cartoon heart. But lately， when I’ve thought about dying， I’ve wondered if， for me， this is the most meaningful donation. Coincidentally， my driver’s licence is due for renewal at the end of this year.

It’s a heavy decision， to choose where you’ll go when you die， and a deeply personal one. Many people don’t want to bother， and some don’t even get a say. For me， I choose an active role， and I’m lucky to have that opportunity. I haven’t made a final decision yet， but a medical school body donation application form is saved on my computer desktop. Maybe， by December 31 of this year — the day my driver’s licence expires， as well as my birthday — I will fill out this application and drop it in the mail.

當(dāng)瑪麗·C·威爾遜和格洛里亞·斯泰納姆發(fā)起婦女基金會的“帶女兒上班日”運動時，那是1993年，我正讀七年級，該運動旨在向我們這些年輕女性展示在我們的性別與軀體之外，存在著一個巨大、廣闊的世界。對我來說，這個運動確實發(fā)揮了這樣的功用，但換個角度看，我這一生對于人體的癡迷也始于這一運動。我的很多同學(xué)都是跟著父親或母親坐在整潔的辦公室里，而我卻以看著父親在一間解剖室里解剖死人開始了“帶女兒上班日”，他是一個病理學(xué)家，也當(dāng)過郡政府驗尸官。

對我來說，這段記憶很清晰。我記得那個農(nóng)民是我見過的第一具死尸。我記得自己穿著超大的手術(shù)服站在一個冰冷房間的邊邊上，超大的手術(shù)服卷至腳踝，我看著父親，穿著和我同樣的衣服，擺弄著那個男人工裝褲的褲腿。我記得自己當(dāng)時在想怎么那具尸體硬邦邦的。當(dāng)我的父親最終將他的衣服扒光，使其全身赤裸躺在金屬輪床上，我能看到那個農(nóng)民的大肚皮對著天花板微笑。我記得自己看著父親把輪床推到房間中央，把那個男人移到了一個解剖臺上。我能聽到父親以一副專業(yè)口吻口述出的每一個步驟，并用磁帶錄音機錄下，雖然我理解不了那些詞句，但我記得那就像是一門外語。我尤其記得的是看到父親用史賽克電鋸鋸開了那具男尸肋骨的外緣，而后像打開盒蓋一樣將其胸腔打開。我還記得自己當(dāng)時在想：那真的是我父親嗎？

尸檢結(jié)束后，父親翻看著那個農(nóng)民停止跳動的心臟。而后，父親給我展示在他戴著手套的手中那兩個可怕的腫塊，同時認(rèn)真地給我解釋它們之間的區(qū)別。一個是死前形成的微小血塊，而另一個則是死后形成的較大血塊。如果父親能再找出更多死前血塊，并用顯微鏡證實其確實為死前血塊，我們就可以知道那個農(nóng)民是死于心臟病發(fā)作。

我不記得自己有覺得害怕或者不舒服，我反倒是對自己眼前的場景感到敬畏；對于我父親從事的工作感到敬畏；對于一個人死后在其身體上發(fā)生的事情感到敬畏。而且這體驗令我第一次想到，在我死后，我的一部分將會留在這世上。

在我童年最深刻的記憶中，有一部分就是和家人一起聚在晚餐桌旁，聽關(guān)于死亡的故事。當(dāng)然這聽起來有點變態(tài)，但我們也只是在做許多家庭在聚餐時會做的事情，講述每個人度過了怎樣的一天。然而對于我的父親來說，這樣的一天通常會涉及到將死之人，又或是往生之人。

現(xiàn)在距我那段“帶女兒上班日”的經(jīng)歷已有20年，盡管我還年輕，身體也還康健，但當(dāng)我思忖自己死后我的身體會怎樣時，我便會一直重溫那次尸檢的場景。一旦所有那些使我成為“我”的東西消失之后，我的身體會去向何方？我所說的是當(dāng)我死后，我的軀殼、我實實在在的遺體會怎樣。死后立馬被封在一個價值不菲的盒子里或是被火化的想法并不怎么吸引我。我明白這種為時甚久的文化傳統(tǒng)給生者以安慰，但在我看來，上面的兩種做法，無論哪一種，我的身體似乎都被浪費掉了。我希望我的身體在到達(dá)它最終的棲息之所前能發(fā)揮作用。

要做到這一點，我需要想出一種方法，使我的死能夠讓活著的人活得更好。其中一個選擇就是把可用的器官捐獻(xiàn)給需要它們的人：眼角膜給失明的人，皮膚移植給嚴(yán)重?zé)齻娜?，又或是將包括心、腎、肺在內(nèi)的其他各種器官贈予生病之人。如果我沒有記錯，我已經(jīng)是一個器官捐贈者了；那就印在我駕照上紅色卡通心形標(biāo)記的下面。但最近，當(dāng)我想到死亡的時候，我就在想，對我來說捐贈器官是不是最有意義的捐贈方式。巧合的是，我的駕照今年年底也就該到期換證了。

選擇死后去往何處既是一個沉重的決定，也是一個相當(dāng)私人的決定。很多人不想為此而憂心，有些人甚至連提都不提。至于我，我選擇積極地面對，我也有幸獲得了這樣的機會。我還沒有做出最后的決定，但是一張醫(yī)學(xué)院的遺體捐贈申請表就保存在我的電腦桌面上。也許，到了今年的12月31日——我的駕照到期的日子，同樣也是我的生日——我會填好這張申請表并把它郵寄出去。