In continuation of the last installment of Dead Men’s Donuts-
So, after I removed the dead mini-coop driver from the scene of the MVA, I had to take him to a local funeral home where I could do a good, thorough exam before contacting the forensic pathologist to discuss an autopsy. Seeing as how the scene was overrun with cameras and reporters, I wasn’t about to spread our decedent out on the side of the road for God and everybody to see. Nor could I just take him into the office since our doctors REALLY don’t like having bodies show up un-announced.
Unfortunately, a change of venue was not going to make this poor guy’s death any less… gruesome. A human body is pretty much just a big sack of fluids that are kept in place and prevented from free-flowing all over the floor by a fairly complex and delicately balanced system of tubes, pumps and valves. When that system stops functioning properly… or stops functioning at all… it’s just puddles everywhere. The fact that this guy had a wide array of holes in his fluid sack only made matters worse. Every time I had to maneuver his body around to document yet another fracture or laceration… the movement flicked blood here and there until the floor around me looked like a Jackson Pollock painting. Although working on an ambulance made me as nimble as Neo from “The Matrix” when it came to dodging airborne body parts and fluids (blood, vomit, amniotic fluid… teeth… you name it) I was unable to completely avoid all of the spatter. (Imagine hugging a basset hound without getting drool on you… It just can’t be done.) While I left the exam with a complete index of all our dead guy’s injuries, I also left sporting a liberal sprinkle of his blood on my right thigh.
Blood on your clothes is an unavoidable part of being a medical examiner. However, if/when you DO get blood on you, it’s considered very bad form to just LEAVE it there.
As I left the funeral home I stared down at the spray of blood and frowned. I knew I really should go home and change clothes, but on the other hand, the accident involving the owner of that blood had already eaten up a good portion of my day and I had a million things to do… including run down to my ophthalmologist’s office for a brief exam to make sure my eyes were healing properly after my lasik procedure. I was sorely overdue for my three month follow-up and they said that, today, if I could make it into the office before 2 p.m. they would just squeeze me in for a quick look. I glanced at my phone and noted it was 1:30. I had a half hour before my window closed and I would have to put off the appointment until God-knows-when. Coordinating the office’s schedule with my own had been a huge problem and they didn’t really have any appointments available on my days off until next month. I glanced down at my pant-leg again. The blood wasn’t too obvious. If you squinted, it almost looked like soy sauce… That was it! If anyone asked, I would just tell them I had Chinese for lunch.
Twenty minutes later, I was kicked back in an exam chair, waiting for the doctor to come in and take a gander at my dead-lights. My relief was palpable. I was getting things done. I was the picture of productivity and time-management… I was … wearing someone’s blood on my pants… but nobody else needed to know that.
“Hello hello, Grace,” the doctor chirped as she walked in. “I’m so glad you could make it in today! You’re overdue!” We exchanged the typical pleasantries as the doctor seated herself and wheeled up to me to stare into my eyes. “So your eyes are healing beautifully,” she gushed as she swung a variety of machines and devices in front of my face. I was staring through a series of lenses and reading letters when it happened.
“Okay!” The doctor was saying as I read letters off a screen. “It looks as though your left eye is a … little..bit… um…” Her voice trailed off. I glanced away from the big metal machine the doctor had positioned in front of my face, to find that she was staring at the blood flecks on my thigh.
Now, I could have played it off like it was soy sauce on my pants like I had planned. I’m not ashamed to admit that I can lie like road-kill when I have to (To this day, my parents still have no idea what really happened to the living-room carpet when I was 13). But in this case I didn’t see the point. Doctors know blood… even if they haven’t seen it for decades, a doctor will always know a blood stain when they see one. Hell, sometimes when I’m walking around downtown with Husband, I’ll point out all the bloodstains on the sidewalk, just to horrify him.
The doctor coughed and regained her train of thought while I, without stopping to consider, blurted out the first, idiot thought that streaked through my mind:
“Oh… ha! Don’t worry none of that is my blood!”
I added the laugh in the hopes of lightening the whole blood-thing a little bit, but in retrospect, I suppose it probably sounded more maniacal than nonchalant.
You know you’re a medical examiner when you think people will be reassured when you tell them that the blood all over your clothes isn’t actually yours.