My Catastrophic Dissection Experience

By: Isabella Quintero

[WARNING: There will be pictures that may be disturbing (at least they are to me)]

I knew from the second that I wrote down Human Anatomy & Physiology on my Junior year schedule that it would be a massive mistake. 

I remember thinking I wouldn’t be able to handle it considering my squeamish nature, but then being convinced by my friends to think otherwise so that we could be in the same class. Most of us ended up all in different classes anyways so I really should’ve just listened to my gut and taken Earth Science.

I really enjoyed the entire first semester of this class and found all of the information about the human body really interesting. Even still, I constantly had the thought gnawing at the back of my mind that eventually, I would have to dissect a cat. Like physically cut it open.

I knew what I’d signed up for, I knew that at some point I would have to do this and I spent the entire first semester preparing myself mentally for the dissection. I kept thinking it would be fine because I had dissected a frog before and it would be no big deal. However, I was wrong. I was so wrong because this was not a frog, it was a cat. 

I think the ease of the first semester of the material was a ploy to manipulate me into loving this class. It was an orchestrated plan to erase the knowledge from my mind that the worst 6 weeks of my life were coming up really quick. 

When I walked into class on the first day of the cat dissection, I instantly regretted every single decision that I had ever made in my life. The smell was the first thing that hit me. The acidic, bitter stench of the cat preservative filled the room, seeping into the halls of the math and science building, and following every single student out of that class and into their next classes. From that moment I knew that the rest of the year would leave me full of formaldehyde and regret, sticking to my clothes, hair, and soul. 

The first few days were simply preparation, and while I didn’t necessarily enjoy that, It was nothing compared to what was to come. 

The first day that we actually had to cut was possibly the most nauseous I've ever been in my life. Looking around, most of the rest of the class seemed to have the same grim expression on their face, not necessarily excited to cut into an animal that most of us had at home waiting for us to get home from school. 

I let the rest of my group take charge that day while I took breaks to get fresh--cat preservative free--air. Despite the powerful mint of the gum I was aggressively chewing, nothing could reduce the stench that filled every one of my senses, making my head feel light.

I didn’t want to cut; I didn’t want to encounter the terror that would fill my soul when I even thought about slicing through the skin, muscles, and organs of a cat. 

For the first few days of skinning the cat, I felt secure in the fact that I had a group of four other people who were more than happy to slice through that first layer rather than make me do it. That was until one of the last days of skinning it where the worst thing in the world happened to me. My group wasn’t at school. Not a single one of them showed up that day, forcing me to skin the rest of the cat.

The thought of skinning an animal has always made me feel queasy, which really makes me wonder why I let my friends convince me to think I could take this class knowing it was an end of year requirement. Taking off the fur, sorry, slicing off the fur, of the cat felt like an abuse I wanted absolutely no part in. 

Previously, I could handle just watching through my cracked fingers hiding my face and squinted eyes as the rest of my group skinned the poor created and I struggled to hold in my vomit. I had planned to spend the next 6 weeks doing the same thing until my traitorous group left me alone. 

Unfortunately, I couldn’t handle getting an incomplete participation for the day, so I swallowed my fears and I cut. I put two pieces of gum in my mouth, and somehow, miraculously, skinned the rest of the cat. Thinking about it even now makes me feel lightheaded. 

I never imagined myself actually having the courage to participate in this dissection, but there I was, slicing through the fur and tissue, trying to push the thought out of my mind that this was once, a living, breathing, animal who lived a life much like many of my friends' pets. As everyone else cut into their cats with calm minds and eager intentions, I was screaming inside. 

The sounds of the scalpel slicing through that first layer of skin was possibly the worst sound I’d ever heard, along with the smell that continued getting stronger digging itself deeper into my senses the more I cut into the cat. 

That day I went home after school to my dog, who’s about the same size as the cat I had just skinned, and I broke down into tears hugging him because what I had just done felt like such a betrayal to all animals everywhere.

The emotional dissonance was something that I didn’t expect. I was, and continue to be, so deeply appalled by the deconstruction of the animal on the table in front of me, but I also understood the importance of this hands-on learning experience and was willing to participate due to curiosity, peer pressure, and of course my need for academic validation. 

This dissection is so beneficial to anyone wanting to gain the knowledge and ability in order to go into the medical field, and while I love Greys Anatomy, I am so far from interested in being a surgeon, or any kind of doctor so this experience, while eye-opening, just seems torturous to me. 

I think about my reaction to this dissection and compare it to others in my class who seem to be doing just fine, and I feel like the most dramatic person ever. I know I'm not though because cutting into the skin and muscles of an animal with such similar anatomy to my own and such a similar build to my own pet, felt inhumane, abusive, and just absurd. 

The unsettling sound of the scalpel scraping through the layers of skin while the stiff face looks up at me is just so heartbreaking to me. 

Skinning the cat may have been the worst experience of my life, but the actual opening up of the body comes at a very close second. Somehow it was better than slicing through the skin, but watching the rest of my group as they cut through the muscles, bone, and reached the organs, was so repulsive I had to take multiple breaks. 

Hearing the crack of the bone as they cut into the chest provoked genuine disgust but when I turned around and saw another group behind me attempting to jump rope with the intestines I could literally feel my face turn green and my head go heavy. Somehow I didn’t pass out or throw up but I felt just as nauseous. 

At the same time my group was yanking our own cat open from the center of the stomach area outwards, leaving most of the organs on complete show. Finally I braved up enough to go get a closer look, finding the lungs, kidneys, liver, intestines, and most shocking to me, the heart. 

I felt so brave and accomplished getting this close to its organs, not knowing what was coming the next day. Walking into class the next day, once again, my group was gone, all due to their sports. 

As much as I had felt better with the actual dissection rather than the skinning, being forced to continue this dissection by myself felt like I was being targeted by the universe. Luckily, my teacher's student aid decided to help me (after I begged him). 

Elbow deep in the cat's organs (literally), I held open the stomach area for my new partner to dig into them and cut out the necessary organs, cutting under the lungs and through the small and large intestine, detaching them to reach the kidneys.

After identifying all of the organs required we turned the cat on its stomach so its back was exposed. Somewhere in the blur of sobbing about having to touch the open cat I collected myself, much to my partners relief. 

As much as this experience has forever traumatized me, I really have enjoyed the learning portion of it, and the every short term moments where I feel like a real surgeon. The most shocking part of the whole experience actually has nothing to do with my own dissection, but a group in another hour who got to dissect a pregnant cat. For two weeks we had all been anticipating the “birth” which was really just them cutting into the cat. 

When I walked into the class the day they had taken the kittens out I was filled with a sense of grief along with wonder. While the sight of these little cats who were so developed but didn’t get to actually live was so upsetting as an animal lover and really just as a person with empathy, it was also incredibly exciting to see. As awful as that sounds, I thought it was so interesting and exciting to see these little dead kittens. 

There were some good parts behind all the gross, vomit inducing parts of this dissection, like when we took out the heart. It was both terrifying and amazing, until one of our group members peeled it like an orange, spurting blood everywhere. 

I really don’t know how I got through this dissection, especially on the days I was alone and thought my life was over. 

Looking back on this experience, I really just feel sad for these cats, even though I know they were all donated, ethically sourced, and treated with as much respect as possible, save for the occasional student who lacks awareness. However, I still haven’t been able to shake the image of the dead cat who I skinned and cut open.

I think it’s become pretty obvious to myself, and to anyone witnessing my discomfort in this experience, that I am not meant to pursue anything in the medical field in or after college. I definitely believe that after this unfortunate experience, I should continue to explore fields of literature and humanities, and do the science field a favor and stay far, far away.

#jhstrojantorch