and because they require specialized investigations – but in cases of
trauma, one or two of the more experienced pathologists in the county are willing to do them; that saves having to move the body and thus cause (if it is possible to imagine) more upset to the
family, should they wish to view the child. Clive rang Ed Burberry who said at once that he would do it, so all there was to do after that was to wait for the body.
Lizzie arrived at just after eleven. She was in a pathetically small temporary coffin, like a huge wicker basket, about two and half feet long. A single undertaker carried her in and that only
emphasized how small and precious she was; I could see that he, too, was terribly affected by what had happened. Graham took her and carried her straight into the dissection room, returning a few
minutes later with the empty basket. The request from the Coroner’s office had been faxed through about half an hour before, and Clive had already booked the case in and prepared all the
paperwork for Ed. First Graham, then I, got changed into scrubs and we went into the dissection room while Clive phoned upstairs to tell Ed that we were ready for him. There were butterflies in my
stomach as I approached the dissection table and I was afraid that I would not be able to stop bursting into tears when I came up close.
Well, my eyes filled with tears but I managed to sniff them back, although only just. She had been a very pretty girl, with long, pale brown hair that her mum had arranged into bunches, a chubby
face and blue eyes that were now clouded. She wore pink dungarees over a white blouse. I knew at once that she was loved and cherished, probably spoilt deservedly by all around her.
There was surprisingly little trauma to see. The right side of her face was badly grazed on the cheekbone and around the eyes, and blood trickled from the side of her mouth; also, it was obvious
that her right arm was badly broken from the way that it bent so sickeningly, and that her chest was crushed.
Graham, the seasoned old pro who had seen everything and done most of them, and who could heave twenty-stone bodies off and onto the table without help, undressed Lizzie with surprising
gentleness. He treated her with dignity and respect, even folding the clothes as he took them off in case Mum and Dad wanted to keep them. He said nothing while he did this and kept his head down,
so that it was only when he had finished and I glimpsed his face that I saw that he, too, had tears in his eyes.
By this time, Ed Burberry had arrived and changed. As a matter of routine he checked the ID, and then carefully charted all the external injuries – the facial grazes, the broken arm, the
crushed chest. Having done this, he told Graham to begin the evisceration while he went back to the alcove where the pathologists kept the paperwork and dictated their reports. While he mumbled
into the microphone, Graham started; for once the radio was turned off and there was no banter at all.
There was no difference in what Graham had to do with Lizzie when compared with what he did with an adult, except that the scale was different; the liver was a miniature, the kidneys were tiny,
the intestines as if seen in a telescope viewed the wrong way round. When he lifted the pluck out, he did so effortlessly and, when he put this in a stainless steel bowl that I carried over to the
dissection bench, it was almost as if it were empty. I don’t think that Graham’s face altered at all while he did all this; it remained set, as if carved out of stone.
Ed Burberry was normally a happy participant in the gossip and banter, giving as good as he got, but today he was similarly subdued as he went through his routine. I helped him by weighing the
organs and was able to see how it wasn’t just in size that Lizzie’s organs differed from an adult’s; the aorta – the main artery – was pink, not yellow and cracked,
the heart was compact and stiff, not
trauma, one or two of the more experienced pathologists in the county are willing to do them; that saves having to move the body and thus cause (if it is possible to imagine) more upset to the
family, should they wish to view the child. Clive rang Ed Burberry who said at once that he would do it, so all there was to do after that was to wait for the body.
Lizzie arrived at just after eleven. She was in a pathetically small temporary coffin, like a huge wicker basket, about two and half feet long. A single undertaker carried her in and that only
emphasized how small and precious she was; I could see that he, too, was terribly affected by what had happened. Graham took her and carried her straight into the dissection room, returning a few
minutes later with the empty basket. The request from the Coroner’s office had been faxed through about half an hour before, and Clive had already booked the case in and prepared all the
paperwork for Ed. First Graham, then I, got changed into scrubs and we went into the dissection room while Clive phoned upstairs to tell Ed that we were ready for him. There were butterflies in my
stomach as I approached the dissection table and I was afraid that I would not be able to stop bursting into tears when I came up close.
Well, my eyes filled with tears but I managed to sniff them back, although only just. She had been a very pretty girl, with long, pale brown hair that her mum had arranged into bunches, a chubby
face and blue eyes that were now clouded. She wore pink dungarees over a white blouse. I knew at once that she was loved and cherished, probably spoilt deservedly by all around her.
There was surprisingly little trauma to see. The right side of her face was badly grazed on the cheekbone and around the eyes, and blood trickled from the side of her mouth; also, it was obvious
that her right arm was badly broken from the way that it bent so sickeningly, and that her chest was crushed.
Graham, the seasoned old pro who had seen everything and done most of them, and who could heave twenty-stone bodies off and onto the table without help, undressed Lizzie with surprising
gentleness. He treated her with dignity and respect, even folding the clothes as he took them off in case Mum and Dad wanted to keep them. He said nothing while he did this and kept his head down,
so that it was only when he had finished and I glimpsed his face that I saw that he, too, had tears in his eyes.
By this time, Ed Burberry had arrived and changed. As a matter of routine he checked the ID, and then carefully charted all the external injuries – the facial grazes, the broken arm, the
crushed chest. Having done this, he told Graham to begin the evisceration while he went back to the alcove where the pathologists kept the paperwork and dictated their reports. While he mumbled
into the microphone, Graham started; for once the radio was turned off and there was no banter at all.
There was no difference in what Graham had to do with Lizzie when compared with what he did with an adult, except that the scale was different; the liver was a miniature, the kidneys were tiny,
the intestines as if seen in a telescope viewed the wrong way round. When he lifted the pluck out, he did so effortlessly and, when he put this in a stainless steel bowl that I carried over to the
dissection bench, it was almost as if it were empty. I don’t think that Graham’s face altered at all while he did all this; it remained set, as if carved out of stone.
Ed Burberry was normally a happy participant in the gossip and banter, giving as good as he got, but today he was similarly subdued as he went through his routine. I helped him by weighing the
organs and was able to see how it wasn’t just in size that Lizzie’s organs differed from an adult’s; the aorta – the main artery – was pink, not yellow and cracked,
the heart was compact and stiff, not
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