Cadaver Studies
Anne Whitehouse
a cento, for Tiffany Fisk
I’d learned that the fascia hold
the muscles and organs in place,
but it wasn’t what I expected,
not a net, but more like fuzz
or cotton candy,
tougher in some areas
and finer in others.
Reflecting back the cadaver’s skin
revealed superficial fascia
cradling globes of fat,
each encased in its own membrane,
some pea-sized or like a grain of corn,
and the deep fascia below
covering the muscles.
The patterns in her body
showed me how she used her body.
The rotation of her rib basket,
the rotation of her leg,
from habits that formed over time.
How distinct the muscles are
when you dissect into them,
the wide ribbon of latissimus dorsi,
subscapularis inside the armpit.
When I moved her arm, the fiber layers of pectoralis major
did their little twist.
It took eight of us three hours
to dissect her posterior.
I was surprised by the thickness
of the thoracolumbar fascia.
Its pearly-white aponeurosis
was as dense as a muscle connected
to her sitting bones. No wonder
so many people have low back pain.
The fascia is thin at the trapezius,
where the muscle fibers
lie in three directions
to move head, neck, and arm.
I saw how the lats and traps come down
and the rhomboids attach.
All was exactly like the textbooks
and different at the same time.
When we eviscerated her,
it was strangely not strange.
I used clippers to snip the ribs
and pulled them back to reveal
the heart and the lungs,
the diaphragm attaching
to the pericardium.
Except for the first rib,
they snapped easily.
The heart was full of red strings
that felt like spaghetti.
The alveoli of the lungs felt grainy,
like mashed-up Rice Krispies.
We made a tracheotomy
and inserted a straw.
When we blew through it,
the lungs inflated.
Then there were the stomach,
the spleen, the liver.
I was unprepared
for the size of the liver.
She had only one kidney
and one ovary the size
of my fingernail.
The other had a cyst.
I opened the gall bladder,
and bile came out.
I opened the stomach,
and its contents came out.
There was so much poop
in the large intestine,
yet the smell of the cadaver
was not a fleshy smell,
but a product of the juices
that remain in the body
as it goes from being alive
to being dead.
In her past she’d suffered a trauma.
She’d had knee, hip, and shoulder
surgeries on her right side.
Internal sutures ringed her abdomen.
I wanted to see how her hip
articulated from the inside.
I started on the iliac crest
of her bad hip. The tissue
was fatty and grisly, the sutures
tough to get through at first,
but they came apart easily,
and I fanned out the muscles
stabilizing the hip—
gluteus maximus, medias,
and minimus, the external
rotators, psoas, iliacus—
that keep the femur tight
in the socket.
When I pulled them aside,
there was a metal hip,
like a golf ball cut in half.
It moved around easily
on the fake femur neck,
but the iliofemoral ligament
securing the head of the femur
The healthy hip
was harder to cut into.
As the head of the femur came free,
it made a sucking sound.
We cut off the pelvic floor
and the sitting bones.
The hamstrings’ attachments
were thick and tight.
They went right into the bone.
She had screws in her sacrum
from her trauma.
The synovial fluid in her joints
was sticky like molasses,
but the spinal discs were dry,
and the sacroiliac joint
was bigger than I expected.
We saw the “cauda esquina,”
or “horse’s tail,” where
the spinal cord branches out
to enervate the sacrum.
The sciatic nerve
was the width of my finger
and went from the base
of the spine down the back
of the leg, into the foot.
We took apart her mandible
and temporomandibular joint
connecting her jaw to her skull.
We removed the temporalis muscle
under the zygomatic arch
and the soft palate. We took out
the tongue and voice box,
observing the vocal folds,
the esophagus and windpipe,
the neck muscles.
It was hard to turn her head
to the right. Then we saw why:
a bone spur on the cervical spine,
the size of a dime.
Four of us took turns
with a hacksaw
to get into her skull,
The dura mater came off
with the outer covering.
Exposed, the consistency
of the brain was less firm
than jello, more like mush.
The pituary gland was the size
of my pinky nail, but round.
Teasing out other layers,
I found the optic nerve,
and I saw the black pupil.
The color of her eyes
was indescribable.
I knew her body from the inside
as she could never know it.
I made guesses about her life,
but I could never know her.
After my efforts, I was exhausted,
as if I had taken a long journey.
to the socket was missing.