I Called Her Wednesday

She was my first true teacher of the human body

I never fainted.

My brother would often tell me stories of medical students fainting on their first encounter with a cadaver. Like Thanos snapping his fingers, people from different dissection tables would fall, unexpectedly.

I heard there were others in the first group who fainted. I was in the second group.

Although nobody in my group, to my knowledge, fainted, some did not take meat for the next three or so months.

I was a hungry student. Offer me any form of meat at the time, I’d gladly wolf it down. Hunger can give you perspective.

On this day, I was hungry for knowledge.

I was excited to start dissection.

I like hands-on learning. This was a hands-on unit.

My eating preferences didn’t change. And I was ready.

So when I first saw her, I never fainted.

And what I loved most she had so much soul

Nobody wanted to give her a name

The girls didn’t want to lift the body onto the table. I never knew why.

Neither did they want to open it up.

The lab already stank of dense formalin. Our suspicion was the sealed bags holding the preserved bodies were worse.

They were.

Nevertheless, I opened the cotton thread.

No, I did not have gloves on. I didn’t think that far.

Hunger can give you perspective. On this day, I was hungry for knowledge.

I did not have the fanciest lab coat.

My friends would often joke that it was more of a dust coat than a lab coat. I’d easily get confused for someone vending smokies by the roadside.

I didn’t care.

I had inherited one giant of a lab coat — or dust coat — from my brother. Standing at 6 foot 2, most people thought I was the lab technician. Weeks into the course, others thought I was the anatomy demonstrator.

But I wasn’t. I was only enthusiastic.

After opening up the soaked cloth, we saw the face.

I beamed in excitement. Others closed their eyes in supposed horror.

Let’s give her a name.

I suggested.

All the knives came out. Knives in the form of stares. They shot daggers at me?

A name?

I’d imagine that’s what some of them were thinking.

I didn’t care.

Let’s give her a name.

She was female. After a while, with no one showing any reciprocated enthusiasm, I gave her one.

I called her Wednesday.

In my heart is where she’ll always be

Our first session in the gross anatomy lab was on a Wednesday.

I felt the name suited her. So we ran with it.

I have never had a teacher as selfless as Wednesday.

In contrast, some of the teachers I have encountered have had selfish ambitions.

When writing my book, my editor warned me of lecturers who might not warm up to my idea. Reason? Few if any of them had ever thought of an idea for a long enough time and brought it to reality in a book.

Yes, they had textbooks. Some even had autobiographies. But no one ever had a new idea, that they would want to share with the world in the form of a non-fiction book.

The only way they would endorse it, he suggested, would be if they became co-authors.

Wednesday was not like this.

She taught me selflessly. I was eager to learn.

Hunger can give you perspective. On this day, I was hungry for knowledge.

And when the student is ready, the teacher appears.

Wednesday, my selfless teacher, was eager to teach.

She taught me using her preserved body — fixed for a moment in time, with formalin, just so I could have a better idea of the human body.

She was one of three females in the whole lab.

When it was time to examine the gluteal region — the butt — some would crowd in our table to see the degree of fat needed to be sloughed off before getting to the muscle. Male cadavers had less gluteal fat.

It was then that I made the first blunder. We had already chopped off a part of the largest gluteal muscle, thinking it was still part of the fat.

But one of the beauties of a good teacher is they give room for error and correction.

We corrected our ways by a less-butchery dissection on the other half of the lower limb.

It was the same for the breast region and the female reproductive system. Huddles of classmates would crowd around our generous teacher, unashamed by her candor. In return, we were open with our questions.

It was clear we knew very little.

We were also open to teaching, from Wednesday and our colleagues. From our silent teacher, we learned to be open with each other.

What I learned

I learned how to distinguish a nerve from a tendon.

Most importantly, I learned how to tell apart a nerve from a fascial strand.

It would be embarrassing to have a lecturer show up and confidently show them your well-tailored fascial strand masquerading as a nerve.

I did that once, to my table members. I never did it again. You could say I was lucky. Alternatively, you could say I wanted to be sure of my findings.

Nerves were not my favourite structures. Vessels were.

I could follow a vessel from one region to another and find its branches or tributaries, like a miner searching for gold. My only tools were a non-toothed pair of forceps and curiosity.

I forgot to mention that all the other men in my dissection table dropped the course.

I was left with the ladies. I learned a lot from the ladies.

Wednesday led the team, and the others taught me a thing or two about communication.

In particular, I remember Dr. Gillian Odongo insisting that I need to learn how to take a compliment. She was supported by Dr. Faith Gachie.

I’ve always preferred negative feedback. Never been a fan of positive feedback. It made me feel awkward.

This awesome team of ladies taught me how to take compliments with grace. I cannot tell if I have moved past this hurdle, but I know I try.

I also learned how to be patient.

Drs. Claire Mailu and Gillian gained courage, in the year and wanted to always do the skinning. She would then leave the other tissues to Faith and me.

Gachie would take one half, I would take the other.

You see, Wednesday was very generous. And we were also very generous with our time and our stories. I particularly love a good story. And good stories I got.

Drs. Dela Mageto and Regina Oware had the juiciest stories.

I’d love Dela’s stories, as you’d see them in her facial expression. Regina would add her witty words during and after dissection as we walked back to the hostels.

I had my teacher on the table, and others off the table.

In every interview I’m representing you, making you proud

I came to love the art of teaching.

I guess when you have a great teacher, you can’t help but love the subject.

There is no better way to teach than to show your students. Wednesday showed me the structures of the human body both hidden and open.

I would then teach this to others.

It is because of Wednesday that I got a chance to do an intercalated course in the same unit, Human Anatomy. I discovered that I deeply, deeply loved teaching.

I had wanted to do research, passionately, but in the process, discovered that I enjoyed teaching more. Through teaching, you would always find a student to remember, often for funny reasons.

I once asked a student to abduct his upper limbs. He shrugged. Literally. That was his version of abduction.

I can never forget that one.

What would be more rewarding were the students who’d come later at the end of the year to show gratitude for helping them navigate this subject.

Ask any medical student about their first year, and many will mention anatomy as their worst and most demanding subject at the time. I was the weird one. And a few others.

I loved anatomy.

I guess it was because I had a teacher who led by instruction, honesty, and selflessness.

Do you think about me now and then?

Yes, I do.

I think about my encounters with Wednesday. There are moments I will never forget.

It was Dr. Oliver Kiaye who gave me this perspective. The cadaver can be seen as a teacher. I have never looked at it in any other way since then.

I will not forget how I’d be the one to lift her from the slab underneath the table in preparation for a dissection session.

I would also be the last one to leave, so I’d wrap her up and make sure she doesn’t go dry.

It was not a morbid relationship.

It was one fueled with a passion for knowledge and understanding. For dissecting truths and snapping at falsities. For breaking the code of the human body.

What Wednesday did not tell me, however, was that the human body was much more than anatomy.

I guess Master Splinter said it best:

I have taught you everything you know, but I have not taught you everything I know.

I hope to teach with as much honesty, openness, and selflessness as my teacher, Wednesday, did.

The next time someone asks you who was my first selfless teacher, tell them:

It’s Wednesday my dudes!

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