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.
Mary RoachI began thinking about my skeleton, this solid, beautiful thing inside me that I would never see.
Mary RoachEvery crazy fad from the 1800s comes back or they never go away. Itโs like fashion, like everythingโs already been invented, and somebody stumbles onto it and people will always, always be looking for an answer for some vague illness they canโt get a diagnosis for.
Mary RoachIt would be especially comforting to believe that I have the answer to the question, What happens when we die? Does the light just go out and that's that-the million-year nap? Or will some part of my personality, my me-ness, persist? What will that feel like? What will I do all day? Is there a place to plug in my laptop?
Mary RoachSharing a room with a cadaver is only mildly different from being in a room alone. They are the same sort of company as people across from you on subways or in airport lounges, there but not there. Your eyes keep going back to them, for lack of anything more interesting to look at, and then you feel bad for staring.
Mary Roach