AndyHat (andyhat) wrote,
AndyHat
andyhat

March 1, 2010

Feeling a bit sad today, remembering the events of this day last year. It seemed like a good time to go re-read and transcribe from my handwritten scrawl my reactions on receiving Phillip's autopsy report in my inbox not long after.



Report of Autopsy Examination

"The body is semi-clad in a pair of green nylon swim trunks."
They know your name, identified from "papers/ID Tag" but reduce you to "the body." They are the medical examiners. In this system, I am nobody, just a citizen requesting a public record. They will never know how the sight of you in those green nylon swim trunks used to make me tremble slightly and draw me out to the pool with you. But not today. Today I had work to do. I had to stay inside and push meaningless buttons on that silly machine instead of following you out on that first warm sunny day of spring after a too long winter. Now that silly machine brings me this report. Today I cannot push those meaningless button. These words I write longhand.
 
"The myocardium shows no evidence of acute infarction, scarring, or focal lesion."
I never doubted your heart, though you did. You loved everyone and everything in the world around you, bringing me joy, too. Yet you always questioned your own heart, with your mother telling you gays are evil, that you're spending too much time with me instead of looking for girls. It wasn't always easy being near you, and seeing in your eyes the conflict of your love for me and the guilt you felt for that love. In time I know you could have accepted the greatness of what your heart told you. But now that heart has stopped.
 
"The parenchyma of both lungs shows moderate congestion without obvious consolidation or focal lesions."
What an odd way these examiners have of saying there was water in your lungs. Are they afraid of stating the obvious too obviously?
 
"The stomach contains approximately 10 mL of partially-digested food."
Our last lunch together only a few hours before. You wanted Mexican, which I never liked. I got carry-out Chinese next door and then we shared a table. I thought it was funny how you picked out just the steak from the fajita leaving behind a stew of onions and peppers; yet you claimed it was the best fajita you'd ever had. Now the steak has been left behind, too.
 
"The bladder contained urine."
That's how we always seemed to end those wonderful sessions relaxing in the hot tub. One of us would eventually have to go pee, and we'd go inside and the world would being moving again. Except for this time, when it seems to have stopped forever for both of us.
 
"Reproductive: Grossly unremarkable."
"Unremarkable" is not a word anyone would ever have applied to you in life. You were definitely a shower rather than a grower. Sometimes when I would take you into my mouth, I would think it was too big, but then resting my cheek against the warmth afterward, it always seemed just right.
 
"Brain: The leptomeninges are thin, delicate, and congested."
Somehow that seems like it must be a bad thing, whatever the leptomeninges might be. Wikipedia could probably tell me, but they are never mentioned again in the report, so I guess it means nothing.
 
"The decedent is a 29 year old male who was found underwater in a communal hot tub."
It was easy to forget it was a communal hot tub. It was always just you and me taking advantage of it, only a few steps from your door. Our private escape except for the occasional passing dog walker or pigeon flying past. This day, though, was so beautiful that someone else did come to the hot tub. He even knew CPR while I have mostly forgotten it since my college first aid class. But it wasn't enough. The paramedics came, they made their efforts, and they took you away from me to become "the body" of this report.

"The cause of death in this case is drowning."
Such certainty at the end, answering nothing.
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