Is it any wonder?

I was nine years old when I stumbled upon the book Death, Dissection and the Destitute while going through the book shelves in search of Treasure Island. It was certainly a grand coming to terms with what my mother as Dr. and head of department deals with on a daily basis. I sort of waved the book at her at the time, expecting admonishment and an apology- and she told me to read it, because it was 'utterly fascinating.' I flicked through it. Lots of long words. Lots of mental images that haunted me for years.

I thought that this moment in all its rather gory glory (sorry, sorry) couldn't be topped; but actually it turns out I was wrong. My mother is currently applying for a pay rise at her hospital and has left little written notes to herself scrawled on envelopes around the house -
Reason to grant this No. 2: Have identified weakness in departmental and trust protocols for handling the bodies of dead patients.

This time my coming face to face with her job doesn't come complete with pictures, so you'd think it would be monumentally less vivid. You'd be wrong.

I did, of course, have to ask about this. I don't care if it turned up again - they lost a corpse on its way to the hospital morgue. They. Mislaid. A. Corpse.

I hate my imagination right now.

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Two week hiatus. Back soon.