4. My First Post-Mortem (P.M.)

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.