[b]Mary Roach
One young woman’s tribute describes unwrapping her cadaver’s hands and being brought up short by the realization that the nails were painted pink. “The pictures in the anatomy atlas did not show nail polish”, she wrote. “Did you choose the color? Did you think that I would see it? I wanted to tell you about the inside of your hands. I want you to know you are always there when I see patients. When I palpate an abdomen, yours are the organs I imagine. When I listen to a heart, I recall holding your heart”.[/b]
Let’s file this one under, “if you say so”.
Sexual desire is a state not unlike hunger.
In other words, lots and lots of taboos.
The point is that no matter what you choose to do with your body when you die, it won’t, ultimately, be very appealing. If you are inclined to donate yourself to science, you should not let images of dissection or dismemberment put you off. They are no more or less gruesome, in my opinion, than ordinary decay or the sewing shut of your jaws via your nostrils for a funeral viewing.
Thank God then for Immortality and Salvation.
I began thinking about my skeleton, this solid, beautiful thing inside me that I would never see.
Give or take the occasional compound fracture.
I am very much out of my element here. There are moments, listening to the conversations going on around me, when I feel I am going to lose my mind. Earlier today, I heard someone say the words, “I felt at one with the divine source of creation.”
Not unlike the things that folks say here. And, yes, they too expect to be taken seriously.
In the words of the late Francis Crick…You, your joys and your sorrows, your memories and your ambitions, your sense of personal identity and free will, are in fact no more than the behavior of a vast assembly of nerve cells and their associated molecules.
Including [one would assume] her writing it and you and I reading it.