然而,這也不是簡單的罪惡。不僅尸體解剖,醫(yī)學的一切,都是對神圣的冒犯。醫(yī)生們以一切可以想象得到的方式入侵人體。他們看到的,都是人們最脆弱、最恐懼、最私密的時候。他們治愈病人,護送他們重新回到滾滾紅塵,自己卻轉(zhuǎn)身離開。將尸體看作平常的物體和機器,恰恰是為了緩解人類最深的痛苦。同樣地,人類最深的痛苦,也僅僅是一種教學工具。解剖學教授大概是這種關(guān)系的最終端,然而他們?nèi)匀慌c尸體保持著割不斷的聯(lián)系。剛開始不久,我在我的捐贈者的橫膈膜上劃了長長的一刀,就為了快點找到脾動脈,搞得在場的學監(jiān)既生氣又驚駭。不是因為我破壞了重要的組織結(jié)構(gòu),沒搞清楚基本的概念,或者搞砸了未來的解剖,而是因為我做這一切時如此漫不經(jīng)心。他臉上那種表情,那種無法用語言表達的憂傷,比任何講座都更深刻地讓我理解到醫(yī)學的真諦。我解釋說,是一個解剖學教授讓我這么做的,學監(jiān)的悲傷變成狂怒,一些教授突然漲紅了臉,被學監(jiān)拖到走廊上去了。
It was not a simple evil, however. All of medicine, not just cadaver dissection, trespasses into sacred spheres. Doctors invade the body in every way imaginable. They see people at their most vulnerable, their most scared, their most private. They escort them into the world, and then back out. Seeing the body as matter and mechanism is the flip side to easing the most profound human suffering. By the same token, the most profound human suffering becomes a mere pedagogical tool. Anatomy professors are perhaps the extreme end of this relationship, yet their kinship to the cadavers remains. Early on, when I made a long, quick cut through my donor’s diaphragm in order to ease finding the splenic artery, our proctor was both livid and horrified. Not because I had destroyed an important structure or misunderstood a key concept or ruined a future dissection but because I had seemed so cavalier about it. The look on his face, his inability to vocalize his sadness, taught me more about medicine than any lecture I would ever attend. When I explained that another anatomy professor had told me to make the cut, our proctor’s sadness turned to rage, and suddenly red-faced professors were being dragged into the hallway.
其他時候,這種割舍不下的聯(lián)系要簡單很多。一次,教授給我們展示捐獻者罹患胰腺癌之后留下的滿目瘡痍,問:“這人多大年紀?”
Other times, the kinship was much simpler. Once, while showing us the ruins of our donor’s pancreatic cancer, the professor asked, “How old is this fellow?”
“七十四?!蔽覀兓卮?。
“Seventy-four,” we replied.
“我也是?!彼f著,放下激光筆,走開了。
“That’s my age,” he said, set down the probe, and walked away.