Now, in all her years, I've always given her a correct answer to the best of my knowledge, rather than some brush off quickie answer. As I go through the various details... pilomotor reflex caused by sympathetic nervous system reaction, in this case, exposure to cold, etc, etc. Then, I point out that one of Daddy's most disturbing experiences had to do with goosebumps.
"What was that?" she asked. Once I tell the story, she insists that I should share it on the blog. And so, here we are.
THE STORY
Let's go back in time. The year is 1999. I'm working in the Central Sterilization Room of the Fletcher Allen Medical Center in Burlington, Vt. For those who don't know what this entails, the gist of the job is to get the used non-disposable instruments from the various departments of the hospital, clean and sterilize them, and then store them until they are needed again. I love to describe it to folks who have no clue as such:
"Ok, take those big commercial kitchen sinks...? Now, fill them with nearly boiling hot water and a soap that is designed to dissolve and break down flesh and body fluids, and a large amount of sharp used instruments full of bone fragments and scraps of tissue. Get completely suited up in a bio-hazard suit (minus the breathing apparatus). Now, stick your arms up past your elbows into this giant vat of HUMAN STEW. Enjoy washing this disgusting mess, but don't stick yourself with a needle or blade or other sharp instrument."
Anywho-- now that you know, here's where the story gets interesting. One of the "perks" of the job is that the staff of the CSR department were invited to sit in on an operation of their choice, so they could see the equipment in action, and get a better feel for the tools that they were responsible for maintaining. When it came time for my turn, I had to think long and hard on what I wanted to see. This was an amazing opportunity, not to be squandered lightly, I'm thinking.
"Brain surgery," I volunteered, understanding that it is a unique set of challenges, usually because they like the patients to be awake and aware during the process, so they don't cut the memories of your adolescence or the letter "W" or number "6" from your mind. The patient can advise them that something weird is happening, like... the word, "scalpel" creates the smell of roses and the color purple to flash in their mind. I thought this would be some really cool stuff to watch. And I was all cleared for it, when the OR Surgical Head reminded them that to do that, would require permission of the patient who would be totally aware of my being in the room, and odds of a patient authorizing a tourist to watch their surgery was pretty much nil. Pick something else.
A week passed, as I mulled over the possibilities. I didn't want to see just ANY surgery. It had to be something AMAZING. Finally, assembling one of the Carts, I realized what it was I wanted.
"Total Organ Procurement," I announced proudly. Their eyes bulged. "Seriously."
Now, for those that don't know what that means...? It means if you are an organ donor, this is the last stop for you as a patient in this hospital. Why would I want to see something like this...? Simple. It's every major surgery combined into one. It's the ONLY surgery who's goal is to dissect the patient into viable component pieces and ship them out in a dozen or so little coolers to various hospitals all over the country; they get rolled in alive, and wheeled out dead, guaranteed. The challenge...? Keep the patient alive long enough to harvest all the parts you want. These doctors are paid to KILL THE PATIENT.
Weeks passed. After all, these things don't happen every day, you know. But then, one day, a man falls off a ladder from about 7-10 feet off the ground, loses consciousness, and doesn't wake up. 48 hours, his family has him wheeled into the OR for dismemberment. Me, personally...? This always bothered me. It had only been 2 days. I've heard of people being in comas for DECADES, then waking up. This guy's family...? Weekend is over, kill him today. Yeah. Maybe they didn't like him. I dunno. I get the green light to go up to the OR and sit in. I will be located out of the way, over the anesthesiologist's shoulder, who's located at his head. No problem. I sit in the room, and wait for everyone to arrive.
They wheel in the future corpse. Naturally, he's naked, but they've covered his privates, for modesty, I guess. I'm talking with the doctors, who are explaining to me the sequence I am about to watch, which system they were going to start with, the various steps, and how they maintain his functionality until the final moment when they remove the last items. Pretty fascinating. The nursing staff is giving me his back story (thus, how I know about his falling off the ladder 48 hours prior), and then, under direction, they begin to prep the body.
Remember that this is supposed to be a story about goosebumps...? Yeah. Glad you made it this far.
They begin to do the rub down with the iodine solution, to sterilize the chest and abdomen areas for surgery. Now, it's not exactly warm in this room to start with, being an operating theater, but when the iodine get spread across his flesh...?
His nipples get hard, as he gets goosebumps all over.
Suddenly, my mind is going ballistic. Dude is supposed to be brain dead, unresponsive to outside stimuli. Yet, clearly, he KNOWS that iodine is freaking cold. If he can react to that, how can we be assured he is brain dead...? I'm severely disturbed at this point. The guy, by all rights, should be practically a slab of meat on the table, not just unconscious but non-interactive. I'm beginning to feel nauseous. This guy could just be trapped in his body, unable to communicate, and his family has authorized us to dissect him ALIVE.
"Ummm...." I begin, "I thought he was brain dead." He is, they assure me. I then point out that his brain seems pretty aware of what's going on to me, mentioning the goosebumps and nipples. Automatic brain functions, they assure me.
Sure... BUT ARE WE ABSOLUTELY SURE..?
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And there we have it. First hand experience of goosebumps that gave me goosebumps. My daughter, who wants to be not only an astronaut for the Mars Missions, but also a doctor, was amazed. Me...? I still feel a little queasy about whether that man might have woken up one day, if he just had a little more time.
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