I in no way vouch for the authenticity of any of these stories. If people's
lives are so dull that they want to lie about these things, I can't
really stop them... but feel free to call them on it.
"My Brush (Er, Crush?) With Morbidity" by Tom
40 years old and I've had quite a few brushes with morbidity but the
one that stands out the most was more than a brush, it was more like
full on contact.
the whole thing was over, I hobbled into the office and pulled my boot
off. My foot, between the big toe and the second was split open like
a y. The second toe was snapped off and hanging by a thread. Bones potruded
through my foot, all this but there was little blood. I had gripped
my ankle so tightly that the bloodflow was cut off good and proper.
Old Split Foot! What a fabulous nickname. Too bad you had to get it the hard way!!! Ouch.
"My [Friend's] Brush With Morbidity" by ipushufall
"A friend of mine was telling me a story the other day - we'll call him Rich. Anyways, he was working part time at his parents' carpet store one summer. At the end of the day, his mom gave him bus fare to get home. Little Rich was 16 at the time and decided to hitch a ride home and buy cigarettes with the money instead. He stuck his thumb out on the highway and eventually a man in a red Chevelle pulled over and gave him a ride home. In an effort to show his gratitude, Rich invited the man up to watch the Cubs game and have a few beers.
"The guy came upstairs and hung out with Rich. They started getting a little drunk and he started saying some pretty off the wall stuff. He told Rich that he's a bisexualand asked if he had ever been in an orgy. This man was 30 something at the time and Rich was confused as to what this had to do with baseball. Finally, the man gets around to propositioning my friend for a blowjob. Rich said no, and told him to get out.
"According to Rich, the guy gave him this really demonic look and charged him. There was a physical scuffle, but my friend fought him off and knocked him down the stairs to the landing. He looked up and told Rich that he'd be back for him and left.
"A few years later, our hero saw the dude's picture on the evening news! Apparently they had found about 30 bodies of teenage boys in the crawl space under his house. his name was John Wayne Gacy!"
Okay, I don't know if I believe this one - seems really unlikely. What is baseball but a bunch of men fondling big phallic shaped sticks, catching balls, and adjusting jockstraps and this guy claims that he doesn't know what orgies have to do with it? Yeah, right, buddy. Nice try!
"My Brush With Morbidity" by Ann
"I'm an apartment manager at a small urban housing complex, and I had been at my job for about three years when this incident occured. One of the residents had a violent boyfriend that I had repeatedly attempted to ban from our property, and one night for whatever reason, he stabbed the woman and her young girl (his daughter) to death in their kitchen. He then, apparently, changed clothes and went off to kill himself, leaving her apartment locked. We knew nothing until getting word of a suicide jumper and thinking, well. That's weird.
"Later, alerted by the family I went to the apartment to check on her. I must have been convinced she was asleep or something, or perhaps I'm just stupid, but instead of just letting the police in, I went on in myself and found the bodies in the small kitchen in what can only be called a wash of gore. Blood was tracked everywhere through the apartment, splattered up the walls and even on the ceiling. I'm told that the cleaning crew we hired had to wash the tile floor twice, because after the first time they finished mopping up, more blood began to seep up from the grout. I am a lifelong devotee of the morbid, but the sight was too much for me, and I ran out of the door, crashing into the frame with enough force that I had a spectacular bruise up my arm. (I should have taken pictures. Of my arm, that is.)
"That afternoon, my boss came into my office and dropped the woman's keychain on my desk. It was wet from where the police had retrieved it from the young man's body and dipped it in bleach. I say 'dipped' because I found a few days later they didn't actually scrub it. I put it on my filing cabinet for a few days, and one morning it occured to me that I needed to give the mailman the post office box key, so I picked up the ring to remove it. It was then that I realized the decorative keychain, a foam flip-flop advertising some clothing line, was streaked with dried clots of blood.
"After getting over that shock, I left the keychain under an old cloth right where I dropped it on the filing cabinet. Nearly a month passed. I still had not wholly recovered from the experience, but I had to do something with the damn keys, and it was a bit too late to return them to the family. I wound up just wrapping it in the cloth and taking it home, where it still resides."
Yes, you should have taken pictures... but not of your arm!!! Alas... another lost opportunity!
"My Brush With Morbidity" by Larisa
"As a nursing student at my college, I was required to take, among other fun things, ANATOMY. Unlike most of my classmates, I absolutely loved the class and everything about it -- first the tissue slides, then the big piles of bones and finally, after three anxious weeks, the cadavers.
"We had three cadavers in our class: a very very tiny old lady (dissected by my class), a very large and muscular old man (dissected by the other class) and a very large woman that I felt extremely sorry for -- by the time I got to her it was her third semester acting as the fully dissected cadaver for the two Anatomy courses and she resembled a large turkey if a pack of dogs had strewn it across the Thanksgiving table. Even though she had been very fat and thus hard to work on, she was an excellent cadaver -- after a year of sitting on a gurney (not a ventilated table) in the cold room she was no more gross or smelly than the other two.
"Of the other two cadavers, I was disappointed to be stuck with the small woman. She had very small muscles and because of her small mass in comparison to the amount of preserving fluid they used on her, she was very wet inside. I usually had to wear goggles while working on her because I would stand over her on a stool and the fumes would waft up right into my eyes. She also had an ENORMOUS liver (she was an alcoholic according to her death certificate) and a neon green gallbladder. The man was my favorite cadaver -- he was very big and defined so it was easy to learn all of the muscles on him. Unfortunatly, he had the opposite problem of the small woman -- because of his large mass the standard amount of preserving fluid they used on him was not adequate. Towards the end of the semester it became very difficult to work on the inside of his body because of the smell and he began to get patches of mold. I heard that after I finished the class they retired Turkey Lady and retained him as the fully dissected cadaver -- except nobody the following semester would ever use him because he became pretty foul. It's sad.
"Anyways, I loved the cadavers and took every opportunity to work with them. I enjoyed peeling back the flaps of skin to expose the muscle and digging around for hidden organs -- and everyone else in my class enjoyed the fact that I would do most of the dirty work for them!
"The highlight of my semester came when it was announced that we would be removing the brain from our cadaver. When my teacher asked who wanted to do it my hand shot up....and it was the only one, hahah. I waited while another group of student removed the skin from her head and used a bone saw to open up the skull.
"When it was time, I went in to the cold room, along with a classmate who, for reasons I don't recall, was not wearing any sort of scrub top. He helped hold down her head for me while I worked. First I used a crowbar to wrench the brain and dura mater away from the inside of the skull -- for the record, it sounds just like glass breaking! After that, I stuck my hands inside her skull, wrapped them around her brain and started to try to wiggle it out. I spent about five minutes trying to work my hands further into her skull -- I had to make a pathway down to cut the spinal cord in order to pull it out. Unfortunately, the person who cut off the top of the skull did it at a bad angle and it was nearly impossible. We decided to flip the cadaver to see if it would help and when I pulled my hands out of her skull I found that my fingernails had shredded the gloves down to the base of my fingers and I had brain matter all over my hands and under my nails! Ack! I turned around to the sink just as another girl came in the room. She saw my brainy hands, shrieked a little and immediatly left, hahaha.
"To make an already long story shorter, there was no way to get her brain out in one piece as we had hoped, we had to cut up the cerebellum -- that little lady had a huge brain! After class I went home, ate dinner....and cut my nails."
"My Brush With Morbidity" by Jeff
"It was 1987. I was 17 years old, and living in suburban Cerritos, CA. At around 9 o'clock at night, my friends, Tom, Chris, and I caught news of a dead body just around the corner from where we were. Word had it that not only was there the exanimate remains of a guy lying on the ground there, but that he had been murdered, shot through the head with a small-caliber gun. Apparently, the shooter had come home to find his insignificant other engaged in an intimate act with the soon-to-be-dead guy.
had already been riding a wave of morbidity since the year before when
Aeromexico Flight 498 had fallen from the sky onto some unfortunate
tract homes nearby, spreading charred corpses and flaming debris several
blocks in all directions. So, as young men, who have a seasoned, unwholesome
fascination with death, tend to do, we headed down to the crime scene.
We rounded the corner to where we were told the body was, and, sure
enough, we saw police cars and yellow tape cordoning off a small area.
And there, in the gutter, face-down in puddle of his own blood and grey
matter, was the body. He was a young man, probably mid-twenties. The
small bullet hole at the back of his head, and his partially-clad appearance
seemed to confirm what we had been told about the circumstances surrounding
his murder. This man was shot while running away, frantically trying
to dress himself.
"My Brush With Morbidity" by John
"When I was in the 8th grade, a thin sickly looking little boy, my hearing began to fail me. It happened so gradually that I neither I nor my parents noticed. I would find out later that an infection had started in my throat and spread to my left inner ear via the eustachian tube. My throat healed within a week, but the tube remained blocked, and over the course of 15 months my ear began to slowly fill with liquid. I was freshman in highschool when the fever started, lasting for almost a week and fluctuating between 101 and 102 F. On day 6, at around 2 pm, my ear began to hurt and I could feel it throbbing with my pulse. I tried to sleep it off, but the pain only worsened and developed from throbbing into a single wave of pain unlike anything I had felt before. As I made my way to the kitchen to call my parents, I realized that I had absolutely no sense of balance. I made it safely to the phone, but I put it to my left ear out of habit. The pain caused by the sound of the dial tone brought me to my knees. I dropped the reciever and layed down on the linoleum floor, now overwheled by the pain. As I slowly reached the point where my eardrum would rupture, I began writhing in agony and screaming out to my empty house. It went on that way for about an hour until eventually everything faded to black. My parents came home to find me lying in a small puddle of blood and saline water on the kitchen floor, and of course brought me to a hospital. One of my last thoughts before losing consciousness was 'is this what death feels like.' And I'm having difficulty finding the answer."
Talk about wince-inducing!!!
"My Brush With Morbidity" by Dustbunny44
"I've been holding off sharing this one for fear of offending others involved in what must have been a private hell. However, if I keep the specifics to minimum I think I can talk about it. And it helps to talk about it since it's so disturbing. And actually, I don't know the names of anyone involved, but it still feels like an intrusion to talk about it.
"I was driving back to my residence in Texas after backpacking in the Rockies, driving through the vastness of the Southwest. I had left in the night and it was daybreak on a 2-lane highway when I drove up on a car pulled up across the middle of the road, and a van turned over near it. 2 people were lying in the road, and 2 others were standing, an adult male and a boy of about 14. The father asked if I could get some help, they just had an accident and did not know where to get help. Since I had just driven by a rest area I said "of course", turned around, and headed back fast.
"A mile away back at the accident, I pulled over and got out. The father was wailing at the sky 'Why didn't I stop us to sleep?'. Apparently his wife and a child were in the van, fell asleep, lost control and flipped. The boy walking with him was shaking, saying 'she's gone'. I think I tried to tell the father and boy that it wasn't his fault, or their fault, not to talk that way. I knelt by her in the road, not knowing what to do. She was cold, unresponsive, her mouth appeared full of something from inside her, she was not moving, not breathing. I felt she was gone; I didn't think of clearing her airway - it seemed like an intrusion - I didn't think there was anything I could do. The boy lying on the ground was moaning and moving his head; nothing was moving below his chest level. I thought it was odd that the other 2 were not around him, or her, trying to help - perhaps they had already given up. I remember finding a blanket amid the refuse on the road and covering him up to the waist to keep him warm. I was afraid to move him, fearing I might make it worse. And then traffic came, and I began helping divert it around the scene. The gentleman from the rest area arrived and helped too. In about 10 minutes a state police car arrived, and later an ambulance. I stayed for about a couple hours helping to slow traffic and divert it around the scene and clean up. When most of it had been cleared I spoke with the first police officer to arrive who said the mom had not made it and the boy was not hopeful.
"Then I drove away home."
Thank you for sharing your story. I can only imagine the horror that the father must have been feeling at that time.
"My Brush With Morbidity" by Patrick
was eleven years old or so, we lived in St. Petersburg Florida, in a
suburb called Pinellas Park. Usually, after school I would walk down
to a pool hall that had Asteroids (showing my age, I know) and other
video games, and allowed minors in before 8:00 at night, when the hardcore
players and drinkers started roaming in. The place was called Skips,
and I knew the owner very well, he often let me sweep up and empty ashtrays
for a buck or two. It was in a strip mall next to a Laundromat, and
a slimy check cashing place, about two miles from Hubert Rutland Hospital.
"The other guy came out of the bar with his friends in tow and headed back towards the other guy, I suppose to finish the job or something. I was standing about eight to ten feet behind the guy coming out of the bar and as I watched, guy number two stepped out of his truck carrying a single barrel shotgun cradled in his arms. Before anyone could even react, he pointed the gun directly at the other guy and pulled the trigger. I don't know what kind of shot was in the gun, or how big it was, but it took the top of his head above the eyes right off, and splattered me and two other guys with brains and blood. I stood there in shock, not moving, as the guy hopped in his truck and sped off. The first guys name was Barry or Larry, cause that's what this girl was screaming over and over. I stood there watching this huge pool of blood from underneath this guy form, and within seconds the cops showed up, they must have been caIled before the shooting during the fight.
"I never really got the full story of why it happened, cause I was just a kid and the cops just asked me a few questions, called my parents and stuck me in a squad car until my parents arrived, then I was sent home to get cleaned up. I never had nightmares about it, nor was it talked about at the bar, cause I didn't know anyone there that day, but I told every one I knew that story a hundred times, how the hot blood splattered my face, and the bits of brain tissue were pink and white on my chest, and how it dried brown and yellow on my shirt and pants. I begged my mom to leave the stains in and let me wear them to school, but to no avail. Ah well, such is the life of a minor in the city!"
Now, that's more than just a BRUSH with morbidity - that's a SPLATTER!
"My Brush With Morbidity" by Teena
am not sure if you would consider this morbid or not, but it certainly
scared me. I am a mortician and I work around dead bodies all day. I
have never seen one sit up, but I have seen fingers moving. Sometimes
when a body is still fresh (they stay warm for several hours after death),
when you move them they let out deep groans, which is just gas escaping,
but sounds quite disturbing.
my general policy not to publish "second-hand" brushes with
morbidity, for the most. You know, "This happened to my brother..."
etc. But if they are particularly unique or well-written, I make an
exception. Such is the case with Seb's latest submission:
"My dearest Comtesse D.
"You recently placed three short stories of mine in 'My brush with Morbidity,' for which I am eternally grateful. So much so, that when I remembered yet another sickly story from the land of windmills, wooden shoes and dikes (no pun intended :-) [of course not - despair], I immediately thought of you
"As I explained in my previous story, the city of Rotterdam is a fairly large city (750,000 people) in the Netherlands that I happen to call home. A long time ago - we're talking 20-odd years - my mother was working at a day-care centre for children. She had a co-worker whose husband worked as an undertaker. His speciality? Assisting the coroner at crime scenes... I have heard numerous stories about the insanity this guy dealt with everyday, but one story in particular stood out.
"So, your humble servant Seb presents you with: 'Going down - a day in the life of a Rotterdam undertaker' or 'My mum's co-worker's husband's brush with Morbidity'
"It was just another slow day at work for our undertaker (whom shall remain nameless but will be referenced to as E, for brevity's sake). A stiff here, a ripe one there and some recent heart-attacks, but nothing his subrdinates couldn't handle. But then came a call 'Hi E, this is the Rotterdam Police Dept. We've got a suicide for ya.' E. responded with 'Sure, I'm on my way'. The cop chuckled and said: 'Hehehehe, make sure you bring a shovel'.
"It's remarks like this that make a self-respecting undertaker tremble. What was going on?
"OK, before I continue, open an internet browser and go to google.com. Now type in 'Euromast Rotterdam' and select 'images'. Then search and look at the building in question. 186 meters up, in the middle of a park... THAT'S where the suicide took place!
"We again meet our hero at the base of the Euromast as he walks toward the police officers. 'So, where's the jumper?' he asks. A cop says, 'Well, E. Did you bring a shovel like we told you?'. Without sayin a word he points at one of his assistants who is carrying a large shovel. 'Good,' says the cop: 'the jumper is approximately 3 1/2 feet below you'.
"As it turned out, the man had jumped from a height of 150 meters onto the grass. In Western Holland, most of the ground is boggy clay and thus very soft. In fact, most buildings in Holland are built on poles that are hammered 30 meters down into the rock stratum. So with this soft ground, high altitude and a feet-first position, our hapless jumper got an instant-burial on touchdown. Slowly, E tilted his head down and then spotted a small hole in the grass. He bent down and then saw that the hole was actually a lot larger and deeper than it at first appeared to be. All that was visible were the jumper's hands, sticking out of the hole as if he was holding on to the edges of the hole he had created on impact, trying not to fall deeper down into Hades
"Well, E suggested to just fill up the hole and put a cross on top of it, but Rotterdam's finest wouldn't have that. According to the cops there are rules about burials and you cannot bury a human being just anywhere blah-blah-blah.
"He ended up having to dig the guy out and transport him to the morgue. When he finally got the corpse out of the hole it turned out to be reasonably intact, except for the legs. The femurs had been driven through the pelvis and abdomen into the chest-cavity, causing near-instant death by complete disintegration of the internal organs. As E said: 'the guy looked like his feet were directly attached to his balls'.
"So, if you want to off yourself without making too much of a mess, jump from a high-rise building into a soggy stretch of grass, feet first. At least it'll give the police, undertaker and some sick and twisted people in their vicinity something to talk about."
"My Brush With Morbidity" by Jaime
"I was lucky enough to secure a pretty good job within my chosen profession, video production and editing, but have to deal with the inevitable each day I work as a surgical video producer. The live patients are not so bad, its the cadaver videos I dread.
"We have a lab in which new doctors practice on parts, and Im there to capture it all on film. You wouldnt believe the gross stuff that happens one guy, hammering a knee a little too vigorously, was sprayed all over his face with cadaver bone marrow goo.
"The 2 worst things that have happened to me are:
"Spine Surgery Day Imagine arriving to work, 6am, still dark, to open a lab door and be greeted by rows and rows of disembodied heads, eyes open, faces frozen in death. Took a little while to get over that.
"Lower Extremity Day -- As I am a busy girl at work, I tend to rush about the lab sometimes. At the end of one day, the lab techs were gathering up the used parts. As I was running through the windowless lab doors, I almost fell into a mini dumpster sized tub of legs parked right in front of the door. Feet, thighs up to the hip, were just tossed into this tub for disposal. It was like a slow motion movie as I stopped (dead) in my tracks, teetering above this tub. Needless to say, the lab tech who parked it there was soundly reprimanded.
"I just know if I had fallen in, I would be drooling in a straight jacket now."
Wow - what an awesome job!!!
"My Brush With Morbidity" by Rafid
was 19 when I was in a drug rehab for a heroin addiction. We had this
guy O.D. in the bathroom, and although the nurses tried to revive him,
he died at the scene.
"My Brush With Morbidity" by Juan
"I'm from Bogota, Colombia, South America. Unfortunately, most 'big' cities have some dire parts and they become especially dangerous at night.
"It was 8PM and I had just finished doing some errands in downtown, and I was dumb enough to walk to a bus stop alone in such a dangerous part of town, full of prostitutes, junkies and thieves. When I got to the bus stop I thought I'd made it to safety, until one junkie approched me and asked me if had some change. His pupils were smaller than a pin's tip, which is usual in crack addicts, so I told him I didn't have any change to give him. He then tried to grab my bag, but I pushed him back. I tried to run but I felt as if someone had just punched me in the back, just below my right shoulder. I turned around and I saw the junkie holding a knife. He stabbed me again, this time on my right arm. I fell down and the junkie took my bag and ran away. I was so scared I didn't feel any pain, I just felt my right arm and shoulder soaking wet. About 30 seconds later the police arrived and I told them what had happened, then an ambulance came and took me to a hospital were they gave me a tetanus shot and some stitches.
"Even though I had such a dreadful experience I feel lucky, because I'm well aware that I could've been killed."
"My Brush With Morbidity" by Starla
"I've meant to send this story in for some time, but kept managing to not get around to it, so I finally have bitten the bullet and here goes. A little background: I was born in Oklahoma dn lived there till I was almost fourteen, when my mother Lorraine married my stepdad Larry and we all moved to Southern Delaware where he is from, this would be in early summer 1994.
"Shortly after we arrived, we went to Ocean City, Maryland, about an hour and change from our home. I had never seen the ocean before so it was a real big treat for me, and I really took to the water and salt air and sand.
"On the second day down there, the waves were kind of rough but lots of people were in the water. I was fooling around in water maybe four and a half feet deep, which is pretty deep when you consider that my final adult height is four feet ten. There was a black lady next to me who was pulling a little boy around in an inflatable boat. I wasn't paying much attention to them, but suddenly I saw the lady quickly turn the boat back and start pushing it toward shore. She gestured at me to follow her, but since I didn't know her and didn't really understand what she meant, I hesitated, and that's when I felt something bump against me.
"I glanced down and saw a woman who I thought was swimming underwater. I stepped aside, thinking to give her room to pass me, but she bumped me again and when I looked closer, that's when I saw she was no swimmer. She was facedown under the surface of the water, wearing what I think was cutof shorts and a red or pink bikini top, and she had long light brownish hair that floated all around her upper body and brushed against my arms when I reached down automatically to do what? Push her away from me? Help her? I didn't know then and I don't know now. All I do know is her head kind of rolled to the side and I saw her face and it was all bloated up and a sick greenish color and her eyes looked like they were just whites, no iris or pupil.
"I screamed and headed for land, but lost my footing and went under, taking about a gallon of salt water and coming up choking and still screaming. My stepfather larry heard me and saw me struggling and ran in to help me. He told me later he thought I'd gotten stung by a jellyfish, which is pretty common in the area. He got to me before I was halfway to the beach and picked me up and I was crying so hard I couldn't tell him what was wrong. He kept asking me whee does it hurt? and I finally managed to point to the body, which was floating about thirty or so feet from us by that point, going in and out with the waves. He finally saw it for what it was and ran back to land with me.
"Meanwhile the lady with the little boy had gone into shore and very quietly alerted the lifeguard, I guess she didn't want to upset her son or cause a panic. So all of this happened in the space of a very short period of time, and soon after I was back on the sand, the Beach Patrol and the police were going into the water. The pulled the body out and covered it up with a sheet of some kind and kept shooing away the people who crowded in to try and get a look.
"We found out later that the body belonged to a woman who'd gotten falling-down drunka nd slipped over the side of a party boat a couple days before. Apparently everybody on that boat was so drunk they didn't even miss her for several hours.
"Needless to say, we left the beach right then and it was quite some time before I wanted to go back again. It's been twelve years and I'm all grown up now, but I still keep my eyes open when I go swimming in the sea.
"Of course, if this had happened today, I would definitely have tried to get a good look at the floater, so I could pass on the gory details to fellow Morbidites."
Wow - talk about a LITERAL brush with morbidity!
"My Brush With Morbidity" by Drew
live in a smaller city, around 30,000 people, in Canada. I was walking
home from school in the winter months following a trail beside the railroad
tracks like I did everyday, when I finally came to where the tracks
met the road I found police tape encircling my neighborhood. My first
thought was that of murder.
I can definitely see why!
"My Brush With Morbidity" by Cynthia
"Going to an autopsy was one of my top '25 things to do in life before I die'. Several years into police work, I was to escort a recently deceased female to the state morgue for the medical examiner to determine if she died by domestic assault or not. As luck would have it, there were eight bodies to be autopsied that day (July 4th) and since we were last to arrive, I got to see the first seven also. Six of the eight were thought to be alcohol and/or drug related. One of the recently deceased was the state comptroller, who had been found naked and thought to be on viagra. Autopsy number three was a middle aged man who may have expired due to alcohol poisoning. When the medical examiner had the body rolled over on its side to look at the underside, a fart escaped the bloated body and filled the room with the most noxious odor. I mean, the insides of dead people is bad enough that the whole ride home I had my head out of the window to clear my nasal passages. But the dead mans fart was awful in that it combined the smell of a fart and the rotting insides of the dead. Watching the assistants saw open skulls using no facial masks and getting splattered with tissue was pretty gross. Seeing the bodies autopsied all the same way each time was anticlimactic and put me off wanting to be a forensic pathologist or medical examiner any more than I wanted to be a taxidermist or work in a slaughterhouse."
What a pity that you had a bad experience. But didn't Oscar Wilde say that when the gods wish to punish us, they answer our prayers?
"My Brush With Morbidity" by Joseph
"The date is October 23, 1983. I was stationed onboard the USS IWO JIMA, it was early. About 6:30 word is passed to prepared to receive incoming wounded. During the prior months we started receiving almost daily announcements to prepare to receive incoming wounded, with one or two wounded Marines coming aboard. This day was different.
"At a few minutes before 7:00 I was called to the bridge and asked to direct the Navy contingent on a rescue effort, and to get 50 volunteers. I was then told that the Marine Barracks had been bombed. By 7:30 my volunteers and I were leaving the ship. The hangar bay was already filling up with wounded. My understanding is that later that morning the entire hangar bay was filled.
"We arrived at the Beirut airport and immediately went to the barracks site, which was a converted office building. I believe it was about 6 stories, with an atrium in the center. Its interior was adorned with Marble. The building was at one time by the Lebanese equivalent of the FAA.
"In the basement was a galley, where the morning crew was preparing breakfast. For the most part officers were located on the first floor, and enlisted on the upper floors. The Marine Medical Staff was on the first floor.
"We arrived to find the building collapsed on itself. I rounded up all the Navy personnel and assigned them sectors. Marines were already on the building pulling out survivors, as were local civilians. We established a triage area for the wounded, and a morgue site for the bodies.
"There were constant orders for silence so people could listen for noise from the rubble. There was occasion when we were order to halt work because of sniper fire, although I do not remember hearing any fire. After pulling out as many survivors as possible, we moved in heavy equipment to lift falling debris. I will not describe the bodies as I knew many of the men of died, but it was heartbreaking to lift a slab of concrete, to find the remains of good men flattened until the weight of the building. With each slab removed, we found more of out friends killed.
"The men in the basement were all killed, with the brunt of the debris having crushed them. Some men on the first floor were never found, having been literally blown apart. I have personally never known so many people killed at one time, and I hope never to have to see it again. I can only image the horrors of Sept. 11."
"My Brush With Morbidity" by Lorri
"I had my scalp 'degloved' in a car accident. The driver was drunk and going way too fast around a curve. I wasn't awake while I flew out the back window of the Camaro but I did wake up upon landing 100 feet down a mountainside to find myself covered in blood unable to move. It was 5:45am but it was a full moon that night. I held my hand up in front of my face and it was bloodsoaked. I had blood, leaves, and dirt in my mouth. Apparently when I went out the window (from the front seat) my scalp caught the glass and framework of the back window and tore from front to back. I know this because after being discharged from the hospital I demanded my family take me to see the car. (it broke in half, the hood came off and a door landed at the bottom of the mountain) My hair was still on the framework. I ended up with 40 staples and countless stitches underneath them. (also fractured my neck) Needless to say I have a pretty little scar that goes diagonally from the corner of my right eyebrow to the back of my left ear. I cut muscle and nerve and have a small dent in my forehead near my hairline. I should probably be dead but I'm still here suffering away with the rest of the world. LOL"
"My Brush With Morbidity" by Erro
"I work as an embalming apprentice in a very high volume funeral home, so I see things everyday that would probably qualify for tons of Brushes With Morbidity. Though they'd be more like Bludgeons With Morbidity, considering our case load!
"I could talk about the 22 year old girl who OD'd on heroin and left a very pretty corpse. Or the equally young and pretty girl who fell and hit her head, and died from an allergic reaction to something the ER gave her to control brain swelling...
"Or last week, when I picked up a body at the morgue of a large hospital, I looked to my right while inside the cooler. There was a rack loaded with plastic bins. I noticed small white bags in the bins. Based on their labels, there were about 20 babies in that cooler. Knowing that and seeing it are two different things, though. Small white bags just don't have that much impact unless you see what's in them.
"Today (1/1/2006) kind of topped those.
"This afternoon I picked up a two year old boy from the M.E.'s office. It was my first child case.
"His DC (death certificate) listed cause of death as 'blunt force trauma' and the 'Homicide' box was xx'ed out. Quarter sized bruises covered his entire body and it appeared that either his collar bone or neck had been fractured. He had an apple sized fresh bruise on the right crux of his neck/shoulder area.
"It was hard to ignore the sight of the huge gaping Y-incision that dominated his entire torso. When you looked at his little face, you were distracted by the incision along the back and sides of his head where his calvarium was cut away in a wedge during the cranial autopsey. You could see inside his skull, past the freshly barbered hair, rudely sliced skin, inner musclelayer, and then his brain. Usually the brain is included in the chest contents bag, but I guess he was so small (about 20 lbs) that there wasn't room for extra.
"There was ink on his fingers and soles of his feet where he had his prints taken. There was blood clotted at the back of his head, where it leaked out of his barely attached calvarium and scalp flap. We will take care of this later, when we embalm him. He will be lovingly washed and cleaned up. We will also sew up all the incisions in his body and cover his bruises with makeup. By tomorrow he will look peaceful, like he is only sleeping.
"I had wrapped the body bag in a sheet when I loaded him into a van. When I took him out of the van I didn't get a cot for him. I carried him into the prep room in my arms. I laid him on a dressing table and proceded to check him in to the system so we could take care of him.
"He was two years and one month old.
"He had a birthday last month.
"He had Christmas last week.
"And then on New Year's Eve, someone beat him to death.
"Happy New Year."
Very well-written, erro... packs a whallop!
Brushes With Morbidity...