Pre-Cut Cadavers & Other Med School Meditations

“The cadavers are pre-cut,” is not a sentence I expected to hear in my lifetime, but once I heard it, that was it. I know I’ll never forget it.

My husband and I were standing in a gleaming white hallway of Albert Einstein College of Medicine, a leafy, educational enclave situated in the Bronx. We, along with other parents of first-year students, were on a short campus tour ahead of the evening’s main event: the traditional white coat ceremony, the beginning of a doctor’s journey in the field of medicine.

All the families were divided into groups designated by stickers on their name tags. Our stickers were black, and when it was announced we’d be paired with the parents wearing blue stickers, I immediately giggled, noting it was fitting for our surroundings. Perfect, even. Black and blue? Medical school? No?

The pre-cut cadavers may have been a better audience.

Anyway, I wish I had a picture of my face after our tour guide mentioned the “pre-cut” thing. I imagine I looked like the dog does when I tell her something I’m excited about. Her face registers a moment of confusion before wagging her tail and simply matching my energy. I understood by the context clues and intonation that pre-cut cadavers would prove helpful to these future doctors, kind of like training wheels only…okay, you know what? Maybe not quite like training wheels. Whatever. The point is: it makes things a little easier for them when they’re starting out.

The cadavers got me thinking about donating my body to science, because of course they did. It seemed like an especially attractive idea after a presentation earlier in the day that included a segment on supporting the university. The odds of me being able to deliver a substantial financial gift in my lifetime are pretty slim, but my body could probably at least show up to a few classes when I’m done with it.

My thoughts about a future in med school were interrupted by a hot flash. Grateful to be standing in front of an AC unit in the classroom designed for teachers to observe students in an exam room setting, I laughed to myself; a case study in the famously glossed-over topic of menopause.

By the time we reached the white coat ceremony, I was flush with the anticipation and emotion that comes with milestone moments. I was also struck by the awareness that the room was filled with hundreds of people feeling those same things.

The doctors tasked with guiding this new generation through their next four years and beyond offered some inspiring words that really transcend the profession. They explained: of all the things the students could learn or achieve as doctors, the most important would be to ensure their patients know they care, treating not just their physical bodies, but also caring for their minds and spirits. Of all the things they can offer, one surgeon said: hope matters just as much as, if not more than, wisdom.

These words were echoed in an oath written and recited by the class of 2030 to close the ceremony. It reads in part: “We solemnly pledge to serve humanity, do no harm, and live with honor…serving with compassion and empathy.”

In a country where healthcare, science, and research are all fighting for their lives, it is inspiring to see young people dedicating their lives to making the world a bit better for all of us. It’s even more inspiring when you know one of them personally. Coming from a small community, many people not only know my stepson Porter Matthews, but many have also worked with or even been cared for by him through his work as an EMT as well as a volunteer at the hospital, in our local food pantry, and at a local hospice home. Porter is where he is now not just because of his incredible mind, determination, and work ethic, but because of the help and support he received from his community. Those same helping hands helped slip that white coat over his shoulders.

There is a lesson in this for all of us, I think. We find hope, we heal, we move forward, all by taking care of each other. May we all find the courage to find the best use of the gifts we’ve been given in the time that we have, offering hope with wisdom, service to humanity, all while doing no harm.

This essay has been adapted slightly from the original, which appeared in my column in the August 13, 2026 edition of the Perry Herald in Perry, NY.