Decomposition

It amazes me how many people find this site using search terms like "butt plug" "anal leakage" "orifice sewing" and so on. Apparently people wonder about that often enough to ask Google.

So, today I will be putting a deceased gentleman in a casket. The coroner estimates that he was dead for approximately four days before he was found in his bedroom, in a house without air conditioning. He is so bad that the family had to hire a trauma scene clean up team to clean the room. Pretty gross.

The family still wanted him embalmed, so I had to explain to them that I couldn't embalm him the way I normally would, but instead I would have to just let the embalming fluid seep into his tissues (like I do with fetuses) and let it do it's job that way. Well, after seeing the condition of this guy's remains, I'm fucking grateful that I told the family he'd have to be embalmed that way. I knew I was in for it when the smell hit me after he was brought in from the coroner's office. He was in a disaster pouch (it's like a heavy-duty body bag), and it really doesn't contain smells too well. So, I get a sheet ready and the Kid opens up the bag so I could lay the sheet on him. Let me just say, it has been quite a while since I've seen that much decomposition. I think I gagged three times. It really is the worst smell imaginable. So, I lay the sheet on him, his chest cavity was all open and exposed (when decomposition starts the gas build-up in the tissues becomes too great, while the tissues are getting weaker, and they just kinda pop), and his face was hardly even there. It was horrible. So, then we pour bottles of high-index (strong) embalming fluid on the sheet, close the bag and put him back in the fridge.

Today we will put him in his casket and he'll have a Rosary, then tomorrow Carlos and I will take him to Mass, then to the cemetery. I just hope no one notices the smell.

I learned something today

Tumors don't burn up in the cremation process.

Disinterments

So, I had a disinterment this week. A family wanted their mother shipped to another state after having been buried here for 15 years. Luckily, her casket is metal, and she had been buried in a full vault, not just a liner (I suppose you'll need a vocab lesson for those), but not luckily the casket was quite rusty, and she's kinda gross looking I'm sure. But you know what is the best part? This particular cemetery didn't make me climb in the hole to inspect everything first. Nope, they just had me show up after getting her out of the ground, helped me put her in the car, and that was that.

See, thus is how it usually happens: I get to the cemetery when they are digging the hole and once they hit the vault they take off the lid and tell me to go on in to make sure the casket is in good enough shape for them to lift out. I have to open it to make sure the bottom won't fall out either. It smells. I gag profusely while the cemetery guys watch. I have to swallow my own puke. It. Is. Gross. The sit I wore that day has to be thrown away, not even the dry cleaner can get the smell off. My hair smells for days. My skin feels disgusting. The odor is in my noise hairs and I can't get it out. It's really bad.

So, this week's disinterment? Cake walk.

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Glee, party of three

Ha!! I'm not sticking to my own schedule.  Today should be embalming, and I started an embalming post, but I had a quirky work episode.

So, I'm sitting here watching Glee reruns with J, and we have a guest.

A man died.  I am working with his brother, who is in charge of his arrangements, and getting everything together for his cremation.  He had a pre-arrangement, so it makes it a lot easier (do it! it really does make it easier, even if you don't pre-pay), and in his pre-arrangement he stated that I am to go to his home and retrieve his wife's cremated remains and put his remains in the urn with hers.

So, today, after work, before I picked up Clem, I went to the man's home.  I took the urn, put it in the car (buckled) and was on my way.  I got Clem and was home shortly after.  When I got home I took Mrs. Dead Husband out of the car (I couldn't just leave her there overnight, what if it was cold...what if the car got broken into...what if the world ends tonight and she's alone?), took her inside, and sat her on the couch.  I found J in the kitchen, putting away the dishes I had washed last night, and I said hi.  Shortly after she came in the living room.

J: What's this?
me: Oh, thats Mrs. Dead Husband.
J: ???
Me: [I explain]
J: What, you want her to watch tv with us?
Me: Well...
J: Um, can she sit on the floor?
Me: Sure (moving her to the floor).
J: Really? You're putting her there so she can watch tv still?
Me: Uh, yeah (OBVIOUSLY!!!!!)

So, she's here, right with me. And I hope she liked show tunes.

You'd think this job would have been strange a while ago

Last week I had a slightly busy schedule, it seemed like all the families I met with wanted to have full services (which is great) and they were all a little odd.  For example, I was meeting with a man whose grandson had died, and we had also done the services for his son 10 years prior. Parts of the arrangement went like this:
Me: (getting info for the death certificate) Sir, what was your grandson's father's name?
Grandpa: Well, you did his services 10 years ago
Me: *blink, blink* Um, okay, sir. *Pause while fighting the urge to say*: I will go down into the Great Underground Vault of All Past Services and pick out a nice case from 10 years back and we'll just use *that* name.
Me: I would be happy to go look up his information, but I would need his name to do that.
G: Well, I can *tell* you his name if that's all you need.
Me: *blink, blink*
*** Later that same arrangement ***
Me: Now, I need to go over some of the members' names of your grandson's family for the register book and the clergy record we provide. You said he has four children, can I get their names?
G: No.
Me: *blink* *long pause of awkward silence* Okay.

So, yeah, it was odd.

His grandson had been in an accident. Now, I know I've sung my own restorative art praises left and right, but I have to admit with this guy: there was NO bringing him back to view-ability. He didn't even look human any longer.  He was in a million pieces, and even though the gross stuff doesn't seem to affect me, this one did. I have dreamt about him a couple of times.  I'm telling you, guys, he didn't even really have a head.  No skull, just a few bones. No skin, no eyes, no mouth (a few teeth though), no ears, hardly any hair, he was destroyed. The Medical Examiner couldn't even find all of his pieces.  There are surely still pieces of him lying around town where the accident was. There has to be.

Anyway, I was glad he wasn't going to be viewed.  I was glad to not have to tell his family that I wasn't going to be able to make him look like himself. I've never had to do that, and I didn't want to start yet.

I will follow you into the dark

I got a call back in February from a pastor in a town not far from the city I live in asking for prices on a cremation, and asking for some details on how the whole process works. She told me that she was calling on behalf of one of the members of her church whose partner was being put on hospice care, dying of cancer. I gave her prices and some information, and asked her if I could be a bit nosy, and she told me yes, so I asked a bit about the “partnership” and what she meant by that. She told me that the women had been together for years (like 30 or more) and that they (obviously) weren’t married, but that they were each other’s legal next-of-kin, and also gave me cute little details about their relationship. So, I explained that I would need a copy of the documentation of that (which is odd, married couples don’t have to bring in their proof of marriage to show that they are, in fact, the legal next-of-kin), and that I could email all the forms to her to sign and fax back to me, and she said that would be great.

The forms were all sent back to me the next day, and we have kept them on file so that when the woman dies we will have everything we need. I didn’t end up talking with the partner making the arrangements ever, just the pastor, who was very kind.

The woman died yesterday. Big Bird gave me the file so that I could call the partner and touch base with her and make sure that the way everything had been set up back in February was the way it should be. She was very soft spoken, and quite calm, and I immediately liked her. I asked her if she had any questions about anything and she didn’t, and we went over some of the information I had in the file, and a couple of times she got a bit choked up, and I could hear the strain in her voice, trying not to cry.

I felt so badly for her, like I was feeling just a small part of the heartache she was feeling. I never feel like I want to hug people I make arrangements for (well, almost never), and I just wanted to hug her. I wanted to tell her that it’s okay to cry, and that I’m so sorry she lost the woman she has loved for most of her life. But I couldn’t, and she isn’t going to ever meet me, as the cremated remains are being shipped to her when the cremation is complete, and I’m disappointed. So, I wrote her a letter:

Dear *lady*
I want to express my condolences on the loss of your love. I know it might seem insincere to receive a letter like this from a funeral home employee, but I am truly sorry for her death, and I wanted to let you know that you have been in my thoughts today. I cannot begin to imagine the hurt that you are feeling, and I hope that you understand that it is okay to feel that way, and it’s also okay to not try to unfeel it.
It was nice to talk with you over the phone, and I hope that if there is anything you need that I can help you with (grief support groups in your area, counselor recommendations, etc.) you will let me know, it would be an honor for me to do that.
Sincerely,
Doll

I’m a bit nervous to send it though.

It’s funny, here this woman has lost her partner, and I can’t help but think she’s the luckiest woman on earth. How many people die without that kind of love? Far too many, I would guess.

Click here to hear the song this post is titled after.

Staring out the window...

I blogged a while back about that guy making his own funeral arrangements because he was dying, remember? Well, he isn’t dead yet. Actually, I’ve wanted to post about him not being dead yet but have thought that I didn’t want to jinx him by doing so (I’m a bit terrified that I am going to come into work tomorrow and he will have died). Anyway, in true me fashion, I’m going to blog about *my* feelings and *my* thoughts about this man, instead of blogging about what his immanent death might be doing to *his* thoughts and feelings, as I don’t know him, nor do I think it would be appropriate to ask him if I did.

The hospital he told me he’d be at is just up the street. I can see it through the window here at my desk. It’s the hospital where I was born, and it is the hospital in which many people die, including, at some future date, my pre-arrangement leukemia man. In the post I mentioned wanting to visit him in the hospital, he was supposed to check himself in sometime in early February, and I still want to. I don’t think I want to talk to him, just maybe go poke my head in while he’s asleep, or ask a nurse if there’s anything I can get him that he might need (maybe some delicious French fries, I know that I’d want some if I were stuck, dying in a hospital), just so I can see him alive again. I’m not sure why, but I just don’t want the next time I see him to be when he’s dead. I want to know when his daughter turns 18. What if he doesn’t make it (he didn’t think he would)? What if he does? How will I know? I have instructions to not call her when he dies, a friend of his will tell her, so I don’t have a way of knowing. Why does it bother me so much? Argh. I’m so confused…

Conversations with my mother

I was talking to my mom the other night, she had shoulder surgery and I went over to check up on her and I was telling her about my manager, Tank (whom she knows), and the experience he had last week. Back years ago, when he had first received his embalmer’s license, he got a case, a young woman who had been murdered, and it was his first homicide. She had been pretty badly beaten, and he embalmed her and also met with her family, and he remembers a lot about the case: her name, how old she was, the family, etc. Apparently there had been other murders in the area all by what looked like the same person, and the man (I’m not just assuming it was a man, the victims all had been sexually assaulted and there was semen found on them) had never been caught. So, the other night he was watching the news and he heard that a man had been convicted of these murders from the time period and in the same area as this gal, but no victim names were mentioned in the clip, so he googled the story, finding the name of the girl he had embalmed decades ago as one of those victims this guy had been convicted of murdering. Pretty effing crazy, no?

So, I tell this all to my mom who is shocked that Tank remembered, and then she looked at me and said how sad it was.

Mom: That’s so sad, Doll.
Me: Yeah, but sometimes people die that way.
Mom: No, I mean that he was so affected. How awful.
Me: It’s not that bad, mom.
Mom: But it stayed with him all that time. It must have really weighed heavy on him to have stayed with him for so long. How awful to have had to work on a homicide. You’ve never had to do that, have you??
Me: Work on a homicide?
Mom: Yeah.
Me: Of course I have, mom.
Mom: How sad!!
Me: It’s part of the job, mom. It’s helpful.

So, I was thinking about it, my poor mother, all doped up on surgery meds, being surprised at the fact that I’ve worked on homicides, when I know she and I have talked about it before. Hell, I was a mess a while back working on the little one (4 years old) that had been murdered and bawled my brains out at her, so I know she knew that I’ve had to do that before, but I think it wasn’t until Tank’s story that she realized that some of this shit doesn’t go away. Some of it just stays with us. He will always see the marks on that woman’s body, remembering how he had to cover up the strangulation marks on her neck so that her parents and sister wouldn’t see the extent of the damage done to their girl, and that will always be part of the game. I will never forget that little one, and cannot seem to escape the knowledge that they suffered. Suffered badly, and for what reason? I remember my tears falling on the child’s arms as I dressed the little body, and watching a father place them in a casket that shouldn’t even be made that small.

So, I guess what I’m trying to say is that my mom is right. It is sad. And I think I am starting to understand that it might hurt every now and then. But it’s my job. And I love it. And I think I am starting to realize that it’s okay to be affected, at least every once in a while.

Eight things

1. A 500 pound dead person is very large. Not to mention hard to lift into a casket.
We got a large one this week. VERY large. Like size 60 pants. Anyhoo, he ended up taking three tanks of fluid (each tank is about three gallons), and luckily (as with a lot of over-sized people) was on some sort of blood thinner before he died, so the fluid pushed through quite nicely.

2. When the office smells like marijuana nobody will fess up to being the culprit.
Not really sure what to say about this one, but the place stunk for a bit this morning.

3. Turns out that it is always better when someone leaves a suicide note.
We had two (that's right, two) self-inflicted gunshot wound to the head cases this week, neither one of which left a note, which means the authorities have more work to do to prove it was a suicide, which can make life even more difficult for an already distraught family. Imagine finding out your husband/wife/child/parent has died, then add them seizing your phone, computer, mail, bank records, etc., to investigate you in their death. Not fun.

4. The office staff do a great job of singing “Happy Birthday”
My birthday is coming up, and the boss and one of the co-workers won't be here tomorrow, so they sang to me this morning. It was nice, and we don't do that for each other normally, but I always make cupcakes for the staff on their birthday, and I think it's their way of appreciating me on my day like I do on theirs.

5. Not everyone I expected to be at my 30th birthday party is going to be there. Actually, the people I expected are the ones not showing up.
Kind of bummed about this one, especially since it's a major milestone, but I'm gonna have fun anyway, and am excited about seeing my old roommate from college whom I haven't seen in a couple of years. She's flying in from New Jersey.

6. Moving into a new apartment is a pain in the ass, especially with a full-time job and a small child.
Not really anything to say about that, except that I found my own place and have moved out of the hubby's apartment.

7. When we get wrong numbers at the funeral home, they can be quite funny.
Call went like this:
Monica: Happy Days Mortuary, this is Monica!
Caller: Yes, hi, I would like to speak with someone in your Parts Department.
Monica: Excuse me?
Caller: Yes, Parts Department please?
Monica: Sir, this is a funeral home.
Caller: I can hold.
*puts him on hold and starts laughing hysterically.  Like the kind of laughing that makes one pee their pants. Finally stops crying from laughing so hard and tells me what happened. I laugh and ask if she wants me to take the call. she says yes. I pick up the phone*
Me: This is Doll, can I help you?
Caller: Yeah, hi, I was calling to get your prices on (some word I don't remember) fibers. Can you help me with a quote on that?
Me: Sir, You have called a funeral home (I'm speaking slowly at this point, figuring that a prank caller would have given up by now, and this guy must be hard of hearing or retarded).  Are you trying to reach *name of company that we get calls for all the time*?
Caller: Yes, isn't that you?
Me: No, sir, this is a FUNERAL HOME.
Caller: *laughs* Oh, I'm sorry to have bothered you.
Me: Oh, it's no bother, have a nice day!
Caller: Thanks, you too.

8. It is not easy to get lip prints from a dead lady.
There's a company that makes jewelry from thumb prints.  The stuff is awesome (and I think it's even cool to do for a non-dead person, like a baby or pet) and we sell quite a few of them.  This week however, we had a family that wanted something made from their mother's lip print.  We explained that it wouldn't come out looking like a kiss, as mom couldn't pucker any longer, and they were fine with that, so we spent the better part of an hour trying to get prints from this lady's mouth.  Oddly enough, the jewelry company had run into the same request before.

It's like being in an episode of The Twilight Zone

So, this week has been unending.  We had six services today, and new families to meet with.  It was insane.  We had five services yesterday.  I have just about gone mad.

Anyway, there's a visitation tonight, it starts in just a few minutes, and the family was a little late in approving the info we have on the deceased, so Buffy is just finishing up on printing the programs and register book.  He's been super busy all day anyway though, so it's not like it would have been completed a long time ago had the family approved our paperwork sooner.  Anyway, Big Bird (funeral office Nazi) just took a call that apparently was a family member of the visitation-tonight-guy, letting us know that we had an incorrect middle initial for him.  So, she tells Buffy and he just says, "great, now I have to reprint the book and everything." He sounded really sad when he said it, you could hear the I-thought-today-was-over-and-now-I-have-to-stay-late disappointment in his voice, and Big Bird did something I never thought I'd see.  She leaned in to him (he was sitting with his back to her, she was standing behind him) and lightly rubbed his back with the back of her index finger.  It was so loving and mother-like I just about died.  Buffy even looked over at me with this "wtf" expression, and we just kinda stared at each other.  It was the weirdest thing.  So, anyway, that's all I've got for today.

Join me next week for a recap of the decapitation case...

Questions of the day, Jenn edition

So here are Jenn's questions, and my answers. Keep in mind that different morticians do things differently, so my answers might not be true to what your local funeral professional does.

1. Do the bodies ever move or twitch or make noise (groans, etc.)? Yes and no. When someone dies there is no twitching or moving of the limbs and what have you. They might move a little because their muscles have completely relaxed (eyelids open, mouth opens, arms relax, etc.), but there are no other motions made by them. They can, however, make noise, usually because of air trapped in their lungs that releases, especially when we move them from their place of death onto a gurney. The air will kind of just come out, sounding like a heavy sigh. The first time that happened to me I took the guy's pulse to make sure he was dead. He was.

2. Do you really put a plug in the rectum to stop "leakage"? Yes, sometimes. The plug is actually called an A/V plug (anal/vaginal), and looks like this:

It screws into the cavity (after embalming), and first I fill it with absorbent powder (the one in the photo is a bit different than the ones I like to use, the ones I like have a larger area to put powder into). It isn't the best part of the job, but it's better than sewing the anus or vagina shut (very hard to do effectively) and WAY better than having stuff leak out of their body.

3. Do you really sew the eyes closed and/or wire the jaw closed? Kinda. With the eyes I use things called eye caps, which look like contact lenses made out of plastic, with tiny raised spots on them to "hold" the eyelid down, shown here:

The ones I use are clear, and they are placed on the eyeball before embalming.  This keeps the eyes closed during embalming, and after the embalming the tissue is hard enough that the eyelids don't open easily.  Just as an added precaution though I use a dot of glue on the eyelid to make sure that there isn't any chance the lid could open during a viewing (due to the dehydration and shrinking of the eyelid tissue, not because people try to pry eyes open all the time).

As for the mouth, the other embalmers I work with wire the jaw shut using things called injector needles, wires with a little barb on the end that embeds into the gum tissue, one on the top and one on the bottom, and intertwine those two together, closing the mouth.  I don't like the barbs though, they seem mean, even if they are easy, so I sew the jaw shut (my husband thinks it's crazy that I don't have any issues sewing a mouth shut but won't use a needle injector (the instrument used to force the barbs into the gums)).  I might have to work on a diagram to explain how I sew it, I guarantee it isn't the way you are thinking it is done.  Maybe I'll work on that this weekend, or see if I have a book with an illustration of it.

4. Do the muscles relax when you pass and you poo and pee? Yes, but most of the time that is taken care of during embalming.  Not only do a lot of the people that die have on some sort of adult diaper, but they are also on diets that consist of water and IV nutrients, so they don't have much to excrete (gross) anyway. And one of the things I do during (after) embalming is called aspirating, in which i take a trocar (a long "needle" of sorts, about two feet long) and puncture the stomach and suck out anything trapped in the organs (poo, pee, blood, bile, etc)  and drain it, and put in extra strong formaldehyde to embalm those organs well.

So, let me know what else you have...

What a way to go

So, Buffy is working on death certificates for people that died over the weekend and got one with diarrhea listed as a cause of death. I was certain that the handwriting must just be difficult to read, as who has ever heard of that killing a person? Turns out that it was not the handwriting that was wrong. Diarrhea really is the cause of death. So, that's something new.

On another note: I had a bummer weekend. I saw J at church on Sunday and felt awkward. She looked great, and we talked a little. I was on my best behavior so as not to let her know how hurt and angry I am, that wouldn't be helpful for her right now. Anyway, that's it for now.

Why does it bother me so much?

Manager says to me earlier this week: I wonder how many of the bodies run through here go to Hell. *chuckle*

I can't stop thinking about it.

In which I sound like a crazy person

I forgot what it was like to embalm a warm body.

We are really busy this week, there have been quite a few deaths and I’ve had bodies to get ready left and right. It seems that everyone else is busy too, and because of that Jane wasn’t able to embalm this little old lady that died. Actually, I had been one of the ones to go pick her up from her home when she died, and so when I got back to the funeral home I got started embalming. Now, you would think that getting a warm body in the funeral home would be super common, and it is definitely something that happens, but really not often. Usually people die in hospitals and are refrigerated, or in an accident and the medical examiner refrigerated them til the autopsy is done, or they die at night and are brought to the funeral home right away and refrigerated until morning when we all show up. So, this lady was sorta an exception, and I didn’t realize that I had forgotten the feeling of embalming a warm body until I felt her blood on my (gloved) hands. As I type that I think it sounds creepy, and I assure you I am not (too) creepy, I just was a bit stunned at this feeling I hadn’t felt in so long.

It feels like warm water, but a bit slipperier than water. Like soapy water I guess. And it was really amazing, the way it felt, and to feel it cool down as the embalming fluid pushed its way through her little body and back out again a while later. So, that’s it.

Gypsy update

So, the Gypsies were quite fun. The graveside service was postponed so that more beer could be purchased and more weed could be smoked. The service itself was nice (highlight: a three year old flipped off another child that was annoying her), and afterward wine was shared and the funeral directors were all made honorary Gypsies, and one of the funeral goers taught us all how to pick a pocket. After the casket went into the ground they threw money in on top of the casket, and the coins were loud when they hit the bottom. It really was a nice service, and the Gypsies seemed pleased with everything, which is good because I have a feeling they aren’t the types of folks one wants to make angry…

Gypsy service

Gypsies are funny folks. In mortuary school we are taught about many different groups of people, and Gypsies were one of those groups. I didn’t really pay that much attention to the specifics of their services, mostly because I didn’t think I’d ever do a Gypsy service, and now I’m kicking myself. We have a Gypsy service this week, and I’ll tell you what: those are some different customs. There are tents in the parking lot, and everyone is drinking all the time. There is to be beer at the cemetery, and Lord knows how the casket bearers are going to haul the casket to the gravesite, full of everything you can imagine: money, jewelry, clothes, good liquor, you name it. They don’t want to touch the deceased either. I asked one girl about it, she said the spirit stays here and that they can’t make it mad, to will seek revenge or something on them if they aren’t good to the human remains. They won’t say the name of the deceased either. Anyway, I’ll update if anything happens…

Mementos

So, I think I have mentioned before (or not) that every now and then a family asks about a deceased person's gold teeth, wanting to have them removed before they are cremated, because they think the gold in them might be of value. We (the funeral home staff) are not in the business of ripping out teeth however, and we tell those families that they would need to find a dentist to come in and take teeth out for them, and at that point the family shuts up about it and the teeth and their gold are cremated. Well, this week we had a family that asked for something else: the deceased's fingernails. Now, none of us had the guts to ask why the hell they wanted fingernail clippings, so we went to the refrigerator and got them and gave them to the family.

What was that about? Any ideas?