When one mentions the words
“Forensic medicine and toxicology”, the mind conjures up images we have seen in
movies or television shows such as CSI – Crime Scene Investigation (the popular
American show). One thinks of good-looking scientists, in clean high–tech labs,
scanning a body meticulously with handheld lamps. They are shown using many
chemicals to find that strand of hair under one fingernail that helps identify
the murderer. However, during medical school, we saw the realities of the field
and all romantic notions were effortlessly dispelled.
In any government hospital, the
forensic medicine department and its adjoining morgue is located in one corner
of the hospital campus. The entrance is usually adorned with pictures of the
local gods, in an effort to enlighten the gloomy atmosphere. It is a desolate
place, visited only by grieving relatives, overworked policemen and the
hospital staff.
To their credit, the doctors
and support staff work as efficiently as possible to clear the backlog. But due
to the continuous workload, the legal paperwork involved and the perennial
staff shortage, even a 24-hour shift is inadequate. As a result, the storage
cabinets are almost always filled to capacity. And I will not even try to
describe the smell – it is something that will make you immune to all noxious
odors for the rest of your life.
Our only contact with the
department was during academic activities (lectures, exams) and when we had to
record 10 post-mortem examinations in our journals. We dutifully avoided any
active participation in the subject and so, even after passing the exams, our
practical knowledge was extremely limited.
One of the duties of a medical
officer is to perform the post-mortem examinations of the deceased people who
lived in the surrounding areas – the areas that fall under the jurisdiction of
the health center. And, so, on the fifth day of my posting at Poladpur, I
was assigned my first post-mortem. It had been an accident case and involved a
young girl. It was mentioned in the local newspapers for a few days thereafter,
but I cannot divulge the exact details. The experience, however, was
enlightening.
We conducted the post-mortem in
the evening. As per the law, we began only after receiving the inquest report
of the local police and their request letter. The post-mortem room of the
hospital, as expected, was located far away from the hospital building. One of
the hospital staff, a veteran in these procedures, assisted me. We started by
noting the clothes and ornaments worn and any identification marks (tattoos,
birth marks). I then looked for external injuries, after which we examined the
body internally and noted our findings. We then handed the ornaments back to
the relatives and sutured what had been cut so that it would be presentable.
The entire process took one hour but it felt much, much longer.
Needless to say, I did not
sleep well that night. I kept replaying the entire scenario, wondering about
the young girl and her parents – another life cruelly cut short, all their
hopes and dreams shattered. But there was indeed a silver lining. As doctors,
in spite of everything we are trained for, we still feel our patient’s emotions
– pain, grief or joy. It shows that we are still human - and that definitely is
not a bad thing.
