Babaylan

Chapter 1. Anatomy Lab

"Maggots!", Daisy yelled, as she grabbed the wooden mallet next to her and smashed the small, white, wriggling worms crawling out of the intestinal incision she just made.

"Ewww!!!", Albert, Dario and I exclaimed in unison, cringing at the putrid smell that emanated from the corpse we were working on, combined with the sight of the thriving creatures seeking shelter within it. It is 1:42 PM, May 16, 1997, as I neatly documented in my purple binder an hour ago. The merciless Manila sun beat down on the University of the Philippines College of Medicine campus (est. 1905) at the prime of our tropical summer and the "Hell" section of our Anatomy lab was working hard at earning its name. The heat only made our ordeal worse as we sweated through our starched white uniforms, counting on the ungloved members of our seven-person team to wipe off our foreheads lest we inadvertently contaminate our operating field. Our class of 110 had been divided alphabetically into groups of seven, which would merge into bigger blocks of 21 as we progressed to clinical rotations by our third year. I would get to know my group mates well by the time we graduated as interns in our fifth year. I had also written our names down at the top of the binder page - (1) Ninette Mercado; (2) Carla Molina; (3) Tala Nabong; (4) Dario Navarro; (5) Daisy Nograles; (6) Norma Oligario; and (7) Karina Ongtengco.

I was grateful for having braided my waist-long black hair into a bun slightly above the nape of my neck, where even the tiniest of my exposed skin begged for respite from the sticky heat. The sultry weather, coupled with the smog of the city with its smoke-belching jeepneys and 24-hour factories, would have made my skin break out a few years ago, but luckily, my lightly tanned complexion and weight both settled into smooth stability by the time I turned 21. Now, my brief morning beauty prep only required a dotting of concealer, sprinkled with a thin layer of Almay hypoallergenic face powder for the bags under my eyes, largely from reading the seemingly never-ending, multi-highlighter-colored bestsellers of Gray's Anatomy, Guyton and Hall Textbook of Medical Physiology, and Lippincott's Illustrated Reviews: Biochemistry until the wee hours of the morning.

Our classmates at the "Heaven" and "Purgatory" sections seemed blissfully unaware of our group's alarmed exchange and unfavorable circumstances. It did not help that the Anatomy lab was wide and spacious, with big windows and rotating fans scattered throughout its walls and high ceilings. Two big dividing doors separated our "Hell" section from the other two, and it seemed like all ventilation stopped right at that opening. The sun striking our pathetically open glass windows could only transform our room into a greenhouse of cadavers, blooming with maggots and the stifling scent of formaldehyde and decay.

I had no idea how Carol could even think of having lunch at a time like this, but there she was, scarfing down her Jollibee cheeseburger as quickly as she could behind our professor's distant back. He was busy helping another team move their gurney at the front of the "Heaven" section of the hall, where most of the ceiling and floor fans were located. Carol was probably the most outspoken and daring of our group, which is also how she ended up being our group leader. I was in a Biology 102 class with her during our undergraduate years at the University of the Philippines in Quezon City, but only really got to know her here. We were both in premed Bachelor of Science programs. She majored in Biology and I, in Psychology. We also share a two-bedroom apartment with two other classmates at the Astral Towers building across Taft Avenue from where our school is located.

Carol quickly put down the hamburger she had been devouring back into its cardboard container on top of a small clean table next to the empty gurney near ours and waved to me.

"Here, Tala! Catch!", Carol yelled as she flung a small Lysol spray bottle in my direction, which I clumsily caught. I quickly removed the cap and aggressively sprayed down the offending swarm. Albert lost no time donning gloves. He scooped out the dead insects so we could continue mapping out Manong's digestive system. He then attached different colored pins to the four main parts of the large intestine, as we all quickly glanced at the Netter's Atlas propped open on the wooden bookstand by the side table. Red was cecum, yellow was colon, blue was rectum, and green was anus.

"Okay, whew!", Norma exclaimed beside him, breathing a sigh of relief. "Maybe we should put pins on the parts of the colon too."

"Sponge please," Albert pleaded. I pulled out a fresh tissue from the box on our side table and mopped off his forehead while he scrunched down so I could reach it. Albert was at least seven inches or so taller than my 5'2". He then resumed meticulously cleaning Manong as I disposed of the tissue.

"Thanks, Tala," Albert added as I straightened his glasses, folded the sleeves of his lab gown to prevent them from getting soiled, and retied the ribbons of his blue plastic apron, which had come undone during the commotion.

It may seem strange calling the body we were dissecting an honorific name, but during our Anatomy 1 orientation, our professor was diligent enough to make sure we reflected on the great sacrifice to science that our cadavers had made. Most of the bodies assigned to us were prisoners who died in confinement or hospital patients who signed up for postmortem study in exchange for compensation to the families they left behind and used to support. Before we touched and unwrapped Manong's remains, Daisy led us through a short prayer for the repose of his soul.

Unlike Ninette and Carol, who seemed unfazed by the most recent development in our anatomic expedition, the required hands-on study of human bodies that once lived full lives, had jobs and families, and dealt with the challenges of the modern world were difficult for me. Even in my pre-med Biology classes, dissecting cat cadavers and pithing frogs were tasks I had to prepare for emotionally and mentally. People who didn't know me or my background would have dismissed this as wussing out or being too sensitive or squeamish. However, only my family and close friends know that this is the result of a hidden legacy that has continued to burden me as I grew up and made my way into the world as most of us know it.

To my right, translucent and invisible to my block mates, Manong's spirit said reassuringly, "It's okay, ineng. I signed up for this. You'll need to do this to pass and help others avoid what I had to go through."