A very small problem for you will become a very big problem for someone else.
Approx 1,402 words
A Small Problem
©2003 by W. E. Lopez
“I’m certainly happy not to have your job,” Mike Wharton said. “To tell you the truth, it gives me the heebie-jeebies.”
“I’ll admit, being a mortician is sometimes a little odd, Mr. Wharton, but after twenty-three years I’ve seen about all there is to see. I am curious though, if you don’t mind my asking, what prompted your paper to send you here for a story?”
I was sitting across the embalming room from Josh Edwards, director and owner of the Elysian Rest Mortuary, who had his back to me. I don’t usually interview subjects while talking to their back side, but in this case I had no intention of viewing his handiwork too closely.
“I don’t remember precisely what my editor told me before sending me here, Mr. Edwards. Earlier this evening I was covering the basketball game at Cal-State. We won, by a squeaker, and I submitted my copy by midnight, then I decided to join the team for a few after-hours drinks and celebration. After that, it’s a little hazy; I guess I had a drink or six more than I should have. Then I found myself here, on assignment from my editor I suppose. I guess old George just wants a little filler for the Sunday edition. You don’t mind the interview, do you? I mean, at this late hour?”
“Of course not, son, I have to be here for several more hours anyway. It usually takes eight to twenty-four hours for the embalming fluids to fully penetrate the cadaver, necessary for proper preservation, ya know, so I always begin as soon as the deceased is delivered to me and then finish at my leisure.”
“Just how did you happen to choose this profession, Mr. Edwards?” I asked him. In my hand I had a spiral steno-tablet to keep my notes. I’m of the old school and have used a spiral tablet for the past twelve years.
“I guess you could say it chose me, Mr. Wharton. My great grandfather entered the field as an embalming surgeon during the civil war. Embalming was not widely practiced before that time, but during the war many cadavers had to be shipped long distances, often several days, to be buried according to the wishes of the family.
“Dr. Thomas Holmes, the father of modern embalming, developed many of the techniques, tools, and fluids expressly for casualties of the war, and many are still used today. It was he, in fact, who was requested by the wife of the president to embalm Mr. Lincoln following his assassination. His technique produced such a life-like display; it was rapidly accepted across the nation.”
“I didn’t know that,” I ventured. “Honest Abe was the first case of embalming?”
“Not exactly, a certain Colonel Ellsworth of the Northern Army was the first military casualty of the war, and his first prominent case. Dr. Holmes donated his time to the Army as a good will gesture. He was so successful that many others heard of his work and requested their loved ones also be embalmed before being shipped home. Dr. Holmes was personally responsible for about 4,000 cadavers.
“Other doctors were eager to learn the new technique of embalming as the financial considerations were lucrative. By the time the war ended, embalming had become a traditional practice across the United States.”
“And what is it you do, Mr. Edwards? It seems that preservation of a corpse, preventing or reducing decomposition of the flesh, would be extremely difficult?”
“Oh, it’s but a small problem for me, Mr. Wharton, taking only a few hours out of my busy schedule. We prefer the term cadaver in the profession, or loved one when speaking with the family.”
When he had finished washing the cadaver and removing unwanted hair, Edwards donned rubber surgical gloves and picked up a scalpel. “You can move over here for a better view if you want me to explain this to you, Mr. Wharton.”
“Thanks,” I assured him, “but this will be just fine over here. Go ahead and describe your work to me and I’ll take notes.”
“Ahem, yes. Very well, I understand. The first thing I do after preparing the cadaver is make a small incision in the carotid artery at the side of the neck. The nasal and buccal cavities have been filled with cotton to avoid leakage while the embalming fluid is injected.”
“Buccal cavities?” I asked.
“Adenoids, sinuses, areas inside the cheeks.”
“Sorry I asked.” Nevertheless, I continued taking notes.
“The embalming fluid, a mixture of alcohol, propylene glycol, amphyl, formalin, liquefied phenols and water, is mixed in that tank located about four foot above the cadaver. Then I insert two cannula into the carotid artery and chest cavity and turn on the valves. This is the part that takes the most time. Several hours in fact, for the fluids to circulate through the arterial system even then the process is not complete and I’ll have to apply touchups to the buttocks and extremities.
“By this time, most gases generated during decomposition have left the body and it’s time to suture the mouth.”
“You mean sew it shut?”
“Naturally! No one wants to see their loved one in a casket with their mouth open. Very disconcerting, wouldn’t you think?”
“But doesn’t it look rather gruesome?”
“Done properly, it isn’t even visible. Some of these new fangled morticians don’t even use sutures, they use crazy glue instead, but I believe the old fashioned way is best. We make a slight incision inside the lips and sew them together, completely hidden from sight.”
What he spoke of reminded me of comic books I had read as a child, with hideous zombies as the main character. I survived comic books, but I don’t think I would survive meeting a modern corpse in the flesh. Perhaps super-glue is the better way.
Mr. Edwards kept up his running commentary as he continued with his work, moving here and there about the preparation table. For the most part, I kept my eyes averted, having no wish to watch him inserting cannula into body cavities or sewing the mouth shut. With a slight grunt or groan, he would insert his ‘trochar’ here or there to drain away body fluids as the body filled with the embalming mixture. You can bet I didn’t want to see what was coming out of the tube attached to the trochar and leading down to the drain in the floor.
I kept making notes, not having a clue where this story would lead or why my editor wanted it, but determined to do a good job anyway.
“Okay, just about ready,” Mr. Edwards said. “Now to turn the body on the side so I can make a few injections by syringe to be sure all the corporeal flesh is embalmed.” Using several wooden blocks, he propped the cadaver on one side and moved around the table to begin injections from the other side.
This time I glanced at the man on the table and gasped! “Well, I’ll be,” I exclaimed. “He’s a dead ringer for me! I’ve heard that everyone has a twin somewhere in the world, but I never thought I’d meet up with mine!”
“Hmm, a dead ringer, curious you should use that term, Mr. Wharton. Remember I said earlier that the embalming process was a very small problem for me, but it would be much more difficult for you?”
“Yeah, sure, I remember something like that, so what?”
“On your way home last night, Mr. Wharton, you tried to beat a freight train at a rail road crossing and lost. I have a lot of cosmetic work to do before I can make you look presentable, Mr. Wharton, but you won’t have to worry about finishing that story for your editor.”
“Impossible! I can’t be dead! If I was, I would know it, wouldn’t I?”
“Death can be an extreme emotional shock, Mr. Wharton. Sometimes it takes a little while to sink in. You’re not the first soul I’ve had conversations with; in fact I’ve grown quite used to them. Sooner or later, you’ll move on, where I can’t be sure, but none of my other clients have remained hanging around here. Thank goodness! I doubt it would be very good for business!”
“Who cares about your god-damned business, Edwards? What about me?”
“I’m sorry, Wharton, that’s your problem, not mine.”