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AT THE SIDEBAR (Column)
Grossed Out by Science
By J’AMY PACHECO
I didn’t think any piece of paper coming from my daughter’s school could be more horrifying than the head lice warnings she occasionally brought home during her elementary years.
Then I learned about the pig.
Her first week in honors biology class, she discovered that there was going to be a pig project that required a scalpel. My freshman daughter—whose primary experience with animals consists of playing with her dog—dreaded the day when she would be required to dissect a pig. Frankly, I did, too.
My own dissection experience came in the ninth grade as well. It’s been decades since I was handed a dead frog and instructed to pin it to a wax slab, but I still remember the smell of it.
I had the unfortunate experience of getting a frog that had something in its abdomen that nobody else’s frog had, which meant the teacher had the rest of the class gather around to look at it. I still remember trying very hard not to toss my cookies in class while the teacher poked and prodded the frog right in front of me.
My daughter explored alternatives to the dissection process, but hesitated to ask to opt out. She was worried about two things—disappointing her teacher, and being given a lot more work to do instead.
So as her freshman year flew by and the end-of-year pig project loomed larger, she began to worry, and fretted over what to do. Ultimately, she decided to try to go through with it.
One of the first tasks the students were given was an assignment to look up the definition for more than 100 words dealing with pig anatomy. She had one week to memorize nearly 80 of them.
She asked me to quiz her on the words—many of which I’d never even heard. I found that surprising, considering the amount of time I’ve spent at the doctor’s office.
For example, I had no idea I had things called “mesenteries.” Apparently we all do, and they essentially hold our organs in place. It seems like if you have something that important living under your skin, you should know about it.
I can’t help wondering how I managed to pass biology. Maybe I never even took it. Who knows?
One thing I do know—now—is that those little holes at the opening of our noses have a name of their own. And now that I know that, I’m thinking I’d better warn one of my little nieces not to reveal her middle name, because it sounds a lot like the name of the nasal opening. She’s a cute kid, and I’d hate for her to go through life being known as “The Nose.”
Some of the words on the vocabulary list were easy to remember. Who doesn’t know what a head, neck or elbow is?
Except we’re talking about a pig, and I couldn’t help thinking that if pigs don’t have arms, how can they have elbows? They’re classified as quadrupeds, so doesn’t that mean they have four legs? If they do, why aren’t the front leg joints called knees?
Whether intended or not, the exercise had a pharmacological component, because after pondering pig elbows, I ended up with a headache big enough to require a pain reliever.
Other words were more difficult. How, for example, does one come up with an association to remember what a “nictitating membrane” is? Or an auricle, or a masseter?
The vocabulary list, however, was nothing in comparison to the written description of the dissection process. Reading that paper, I found myself trying, again, to hold onto my cookies.
Without mentioning how grossed out I was, I asked my daughter how she was managing to get through the two-week dissection project. She told me she tells herself every day that the fetal pig in front of her is made of rubber. Oh, and so far, she’s managed to avoid having to actually touch it by volunteering to take notes for her group.
That’s a good thing, because she also mentioned that gloves weren’t provided. I immediately headed for the drug store, and bought a box of disposable gloves.
I’m not sure which is worse—thoughts of head lice exposure, or images of a pig dissection described on that paper.
One thing is certain—I’m going to have to seriously consider not reading stuff the school sends home. I don’t think it’s good for the contents of my thoracic cavity.
Thank goodness I now know what that is.
Copyright 2011, Metropolitan News Company