This is not my story. This belongs to Martin and the troops he served, the 3d Battalion 4th Marines. This is in honor of all veterans.
Nearly a decade ago, Martin enrolled in my general biology class at the high school, and later he became my teacher’s assistant for my A.P. (Advanced Placement or college level) biology. He was a stellar student, yet typically inconsistent as are many adolescents. Martin frequently wandered in at 8:30 for the 8:00 class, looking as though he just rolled out of bed, no time to comb his hair or to eat. Starbucks, as I recall, was his breakfast—most mornings. In spite of his lack of punctuality and the fact that he missed half of my lectures, Martin scored well in labs and on tests. His exams were off-the-charts superior, and in labs, he took charge, as though practicing for a future career as a scientist or physician or surgeon. Martin only lost points in citizenship, but he did not care. Martin knew what he was going to be—a Navy surgeon and high school was a minor hurdle to get there—while, I was merely a conduit for his humor, a vector for his future.
In the spring, the ubiquitous pig dissections begin. This is often the final lab of the year, which lasts for two or three weeks, depending on the smells and conditions of the fetal pigs. I order the alcohol-based, less-toxic preserved pigs, but this means we dissect at “hyper-speed” since the pigs do not last that long before decaying. I supplement the labs with meat—fresh from the butcher shop. Most students, even the queasiest of the bunch, tolerate the “meat” labs because fresh meat is odorless. One quick day of dissection and the body parts are discarded. Since our high school is in an agricultural area, it is easy to order beef hearts, lungs, kidneys, and brains. The hearts are the size of large basketballs; one kidney is the size and shape of a football. It is the plucks, however, that command the most attention. A team of high school “surgeons” tackle a pluck, which is the heart, lungs, trachea, esophagus, and larynx intact and connected; one pluck fits on a dissection table—forget the trays. I drape tables and floors in plastic.
Martin took charge of the plucks. He filled them with water to watch the lungs inflate, separated the individual parts, carefully studyed the connective tissue, valves, nerves, arteries, and veins. I watched Martin that day, knowing someday he would use this knowledge, since I believe no knowledge is ever wasted. Despite his poor attendance record and his borderline grades in his other classes, I agreed to let Martin stay through the entire day, assisting my other biology classes with the same labs. It certainly made my life easier, not having to wipe counters and floors all day long.
Finally, during the last period of the day, we tossed the completely disarticulated and destroyed hearts, plucks, and lungs in the trash. I pulled over the lab cart, instructed Martin and several of his big classmates to return the bloody messes into the original cardboard boxes, lined with plastic and butcher paper from the grocery store. This required some heavy lifting as the plucks alone weighed in excess of forty pounds. I held open the elevator doors, told my students to move quickly to the trash bins, as the leaking mess was dripping over the hallway floor. My last reminder to the disposal crew was to secure the trash bin lid, as we did not want neighborhood cats climbing in that mess. Martin and his classmates returned a few minutes later, confirming that the task was complete, but Martin’s smile left me wondering.
The next morning, Jesse, our custodian stopped by my classroom for a chat. He casually mentioned that he received an early, frantic call from B.F.I., our local cardboard recycling agency. Did I happen to notice into which bin the students dropped the beef? The recycling attendants must have wondered what crime had been committed at the high school, when they saw the blood dripping down cardboard boxes, and then to open the containers and find massive hearts, kidneys, lungs, etc. in an array. Thankfully, the attendants halted the cardboard shredder just in time.
Martin became known as Doc for his troops and served tours in Iraq and Afghanistan. He is a Navy nurse and first responder and saved many Marines. The best gift I ever received came Memorial Day, 2010, when Martin stopped by with an American flag and a certificate signed by his commanding officer. They flew the flag over the Headquarters of 3d Battalion 4th Marines at FOB Delaram, Afghanistan and dedicated the flag to me. I cried when I read the parchment, heck, even now. Martin, back at you! Thank you for your service.
Love is Complicated 