The Cause of Death

Dr. Cadavah, as they jokingly referred to her in the hallways, reviewed the data. She had spent her lifetime pinpointing the exact cause of death for hundreds of her patients. She smiled as she said out loud, “I’m so good. I have never had a patient complain”. She also chatted with her patients who rarely answered. She usually greeted them with “Good morning and how are we doing today?” She had this habit of talking to herself which might be considered odd in some circles. However, she actually enjoyed her own company. She found most other people were insufferable. This quiet lab was perfect.

Here in her own little world Marilyn was at peace. There were no bothersome nurses, no demanding relatives, no insurance paperwork. She cranked up  Billy Joel and did her slicing and dicing. What a wonderful world. 

Marilyn was finishing up her first patient. The tag read “Marvin Montgomery”. Marvin was quite a challenge. Like a puzzle, he came to her table disassembled. The cause of death was arterial rupture of the ventricle valve and pulmonary failure due to blunt force trauma. Of course, there were several pieces of the puzzle that were missing after they recovered the body at the condo collapse. But Marilyn had it covered. 

The next patient was tough as well. Harold Breckenridge III had the misfortune of having genetic predisposition to several major diseases and disorders. Every major organ had failed. His poor father died of leukemia, high blood pressure, lung cancer and premature hair loss. His mother had bipolar disorder, breast cancer, hypothyroidism and an enlarged left earlobe. Meanwhile, his brother had arthritis, testicular cancer, attention deficit disorder and a deadly allergy to cinnamon buns. His sister didn’t fare much better. She had type one diabetes, sleep apnea, heart arrhythmia, restless leg syndrome and toenail fungus. Marilyn wrote it all up. Harold never had a chance. The various diagnoses were supplemented by a couple dozen adverse medication reactions due to his seeing most of the medical specialists in town. 

Finally came the case of Melisa Merriweather. Marilyn greeted her- “Good afternoon Melissa. What a beautiful name you have. You’d think with such a pretty name you would have been more careful”. Melissa never knew the meaning of “careful”. She always took risks. She smoked. She drank. She drove fast. She climbed mountains. She hung out with the wrong crowd. She took up extreme sports like cliff diving, surfing 100 foot waves off Portugal, wilderness hiking in the Rockies during winter blizzards. Technically she froze to death so the immediate cause of death was actually simple. 

Marilyn turned off Billy Joel and headed home for a relaxing evening. She usually slept very well but this evening she was awakened by a terrible dream. She knew it was a dream right away because she was on trial for being “a useless person”. That was ridiculous of course. However, her medical colleagues all testified that she hadn’t done anything of great importance since she cleaned up the rat lab in her psychology class at college. Her cadavers also gave testimony. They all said she was terribly slow and clumsy and added she would never make it in surgery. 

The patients even complained about her music choices. Billy Joel should not be inflicted upon the helpless dead. Marvin objected to “Piano Man”- it was way too long and morose. Harold said “It’s Rock and Roll to Me” was a pathetic attempt to hold onto the past and avoid the freedom and creativity of jazz- the only true music. Melissa thought “Uptown Girl” was a terrible sexist slam against successful business women. 

The jury was clear. They came back after a short deliberation- guilty of being a “useless person”. They were so angry that they added a comment. The jury foreman rose and stated “Don’t make it so complicated. There are only three types of death … bad luck (Marvin), bad genes (Harold) and bad choices (Melissa). Marilyn was sentenced to going back to clean the rat lab for the remainder of her time on earth. 

Marilyn stood shakily before the body. Sweat poured from her hair cap and dribbled into her mask. Her right hand held a rusty scalpel. She stared at the jury foreman stretched out naked on her table. His right eye blinked at her and he muttered- “Which of the three is it, Marilyn?”.