Kit Crumb: Body Parts

Thanks to Rob Parnell and my brother Kim who first read this manuscript in it’s roughest form and still found enough merit in the writing to encourage me to continue. Thanks to Chris Molé for her beautiful cover and help with all aspects of publishing this book.

The manuscript for Body Parts was completed in 2003. I was inspired to write this story by an article in a nationally published newspaper that exposed the illegal distribution of donated human body parts by a major University. I felt that through a story fictionalizing pornography and the black market sale of body parts I could illustrate the vulgar and heinous nature of an industry that exists in almost every country on earth.

To the aides, cnas, med techs, or anyone not in the operating room, Jan Eckert was at the little clinic above the town of Denton Beach undergoing a fairly common heart procedure to correct a defective heart valve.

As she lay on a gurney in the hall just down from Operating Room 13, the local anesthetic she’d been given started lulling her into relaxation. Her shoulder length jet-black hair was bound and tucked inside a surgical cap. Her nude body modestly covered with a sheet.

The orderly responsible for transporting Jan from her room to the O.R. couldn’t take his eyes off her. The more he tucked in the sheet the more it revealed the flowing curves of her body. He noticed how young she was, how the skin around her eyes was without blemish or wrinkle.

Operating Room 13’s chief nurse, Bonnie Clouse, popped her head out of the OR door and looked down the hall. “Quit fussing and move it, doctor’s real restless tonight,” she snapped at the orderly, letting the door shut as she stepped back into the OR.

Anesthesiologist Derrick Corwin watched her from his position on the stool at the head of the operating table.

“Rumor is the doc’s pissed, you know anything about that, Bonnie?” he asked.

Bonnie Clouse brought the instrument tray into position next to the operating table, she answered without taking her attention from her task.

“He was expecting three patients, tonight, I think…” she didn’t get the chance to finish. Quickly turning at the sound of the operating room door opening, she faced Dr. Peter Simms as he entered.

The anesthesiologist spun on his stool in time to catch the doctor’s eye. “Derrick, crank her up. We’ve got a hot one tonight,” Simms said. Taking his cue, Derrick began checking gas levels and green lights. Minutes later, the orderly wheeled Jan Eckert in and lifted her onto the operating table where her vitals were checked and two IVs inserted into her arm.

Dr. Simms stood just off the foot of the table, taking in every step of the final pre-op procedures.

Derrick was standing now, speaking in low reassuring tones to his patient. “I’m going to place this mask over your mouth and nose. I want you to breathe slowly but deeply. This is my special blend—it’ll help you relax.” In reality it was pure oxygen, the Propofol in the IV would put her out within five seconds of the first drip.

As he spoke, Jan opened her eyes and smiled up at the young anesthesiologist.

“Patient’s awake, Doctor,” Derrick said.

Simms walked around to stand next to Derrick so he could look directly down at his patient.

“It’s alright my dear, I’ve done thousands of these MVP corrections.” Then to Derrick he whispered, “Do you think she heard me?”

“No, Doctor.” Derrick turned back to check her pulse and respiration. “BP 96 over 69, pulse 44, I’d say she’s out.” He then pulled her eyelids back. “No ocular reflex, she’s out.”

“Good to go?” Simms asked.

“Good to go, Doctor,” Derrick said.

Just to be sure, Derrick leaned over and gently probed the palm of her hand with a needle while watching her heart rate and pulse for any change that might indicate she was still sensitive to pain.

“She’s all yours, Doctor,” Derrick said.

Simms walked back to the patient’s side taking up a scalpel and sliced through the skin, cutting up from the mark that started just below and to the right of the xiphoid process and continuing up the middle of the breastbone, stopping at the interclavicles.

“Nurse,” Simms said, extending his hand.

Clouse, who’d been following the doctor’s progress, was ready. She placed a small circle saw into his outstretched hand.

As he flipped the switch, the operating room came alive with a whining whir. Stepping tight against the table, holding the saw with both hands, Simms allowed the rotation of the blade to draw itself and his hand along the incision. He briskly pulled it out and turned off the motor when he reached the top of the cut.

The whirling blade singed the skin along the incision leaving the faint scent of burned flesh lingering in the air, a familiar odor that no one seemed to notice.

Simms, still poised over his patient turned his head and looked intently at Derrick.

“Not a blip, Doctor, she didn’t feel a thing.”

“Spreaders,” Simms said, once again extending his right hand.

Clouse dabbed the perspiration from the doctor’s forehead, then stepped back out of the way.

“Thank you, Nurse.”

He gently placed the spreader on the patient’s chest, allowing the flat bars to slip into the groove in the bone made by the saw. Holding the device in place with one hand, he began turning a small crank with the other, listening intently for the familiar “crack” indicating the separation of the ribcage. He then gazed into the cavity that housed the still-beating heart.

“Clamps,” Simms said, extending his hand yet again.

One at a time, he pinched off the major blood sources leading to the heart.

“OK, Nurse, get the suction ready.” He began snipping the arteries, keeping one hand under the heart as the once dry cavity filled with blood.

“Keep it clear, I‘m losing view. That’s it, that’s it.” He elevated the heart slightly, then snipped some more.

“BP and heart rate dropping, Doctor,” Derrick said.

“Nurse.” Simms didn’t need to say anything more. Clouse knew exactly what to do.

“Doctor, the ice chest is on your left,” she said.

With a smile of victory, the doctor lifted the heart for the camera and staff to see, placed it in the icy container, and then turned to Derrick with a questioning look.

“She never felt a thing Doctor, never felt a thing,” Derrick reassured him.

Simms smiled and sighed with relief. “Good work everyone.”

Traffic on the four lanes of drake’s drive narrowed into two and crept along, a fact that was lost on Rusty Kidding as he guided his Honda Gold Wing motorcycle along the dotted line between lanes.

When traffic began to speed up, Cecil Dumont exhaled loudly, gently accelerating. “Finally,” he said. Out of the corner of his eye, he detected a space opening on his right.

“Yes!” Cecil said. He cranked the wheel hard as he nosed out of his lane and aimed for the space, gunning the engine. He never saw the motorcycle.

Cecil’s SUV struck the Gold Wing hard, catapulting Rusty twenty feet through the air. He landed on his side in the outside lane and slid onto the dirt shoulder.

Cecil barely felt the collision and wouldn’t have stopped if not for the blaring horns, and the fact that traffic was suddenly slowing again.

Sweat trickled down Claire Anderson’s temples, sides and back, turning her sleeveless sweatshirt a charcoal gray where it pressed against her breasts and spine. She finished her workout and glanced up at the clock, their shift had already started and Rye wasn’t back with the ambulance yet. She crossed the floor, grabbed a towel, and headed for the bathroom.