5 things to know about body donation
The role of artefact when there’s no body present
Recently, Barbara, co-founder of A Quiet Revolution, had a long chat with a friend, Jane, about body donation. Jane’s dad donated his body to science. It was a profound and at times shocking experience for Jane. We hope Jane’s story helps others deal with, prepare for or think about this particular end of life experience. Here’s what Jane shared…
Dad donated his body to science
“Dad showed me the form he’d completed for body donation to Glasgow University’s School of Medical Science. I can’t remember when it was; maybe about a year and a half before he died. I just thought that meant it was all arranged. I don’t know who had copies of the form and didn’t think to ask. I just know my mum co-signed.
“I had a chat with dad about end of life events, what he wanted and didn’t want. None of that was recorded. To this day I don’t know why I didn’t check out the process and protocols.
At a loss
“Dad died at home in February 2017. I remember feeling completely at a loss as to what to do next. It appeared everyone else felt the same. Mum refused the District Nurse to come to do the laying out… the washing of the body. We sat in the small living room with dad’s body in the hospital bed.
“My brother and I were dad’s Executors. My brother phoned the solicitor who had a copy of the body donation form. (None of us had thought of it as an “application”). It made total sense when the solicitor explained the protocol in terms of dad’s medical records … for example needing vetted for infectious disease; suitability of the body. If he was “successful” they would keep his body for up to 3 years.
Dad gets into Uni
“So we sat and waited for what seemed a very long time. I think maybe a couple of hours. Then the solicitor phoned my brother who announced, “The old man’s getting into Uni!” By that point I had a sense of total detachment; misplaced humour flying around. It was all very surreal.
“We were told that the local funeral director (on contract with the Uni I think; not our choice) would come to pick him up and then transport him to the University once they’d prepared the body (whatever that meant). I piped up: “But he wanted to be taken for a run over the hill one last time so they’ll have to do that. We need to arrange that now or even just do it now.”
“My brother made the call to the funeral director and was told that last trip was not possible. No-one in the family contested this. I felt at the complete mercy of the system and paralysed… powerless.
Wrapped up like fish and chips
“Another long wait (a couple of hours) and two guys arrived from the funeral director’s. They wrapped dad up whilst the six of us waited in the wee kitchen. Again, it was all very surreal: standing crammed into the small space, mum pulling towels down off the pulley overhead and we could hear lots of rustling of paper. I remember thinking: “They’re wrapping him up like fish n chips”.
“A guy opened the kitchen door and handed in dad’s wedding ring. Then he appeared again to hand in his watch. Then again to say they’d finished. We walked into the living room where we could see out the window, dad in a body bag being slid into the back of an estate car.
“We agreed next steps there and then after lots of exhausting “discussion”. We spent a lot of time debating what to call a get-together for the purposes of the newspaper notification of death. His “memorial” was to be three weeks later and we were still stumbling over words: funeral… memorial… celebration of life?
“The event didn’t go well. The lack of a plan before he died, our family dynamics and other issues got in the way.
“The Uni wrote to my brother in the Autumn (don’t know why it didn’t go to mum) re a memorial ceremony for the families of the people whose bodies were currently being used. They do this every October. It was to be led by a Church of Scotland minister with the names of the people acknowledged on a list and hymns sung. None of us went. A faith-based ceremony isn’t the right fit for us. It felt meaningless.
Cremated without us
“A year on, in February 2018, a letter went to my brother (again, don’t know why, probably as he registered the death) saying that dad had been cremated on a date a couple of weeks earlier. We had the option of collecting the ashes from the crematorium or leaving them there to be scattered in the memorial garden. We didn’t know his body had been let go by the Uni or that he had then been cremated. It felt like a bit of a shocker… surreal again. I picked up the ashes and remember putting the seat belt around him without thinking, followed by a hysterical laughing-then-sobbing moment. I felt like he hadn’t actually gone. That’s how it was for my mum too. She didn’t start to really grieve until after that as she always felt he was “up at the Uni”.
Thanks to Jane for sharing this very private story of a harrowing experience. Let’s learn from it.
5 takeaways about body donation
So here are my takeaways from Jane’s experience:
You can’t just put body donation in your Will and expect it to happen. It doesn’t work like that. Your body can only be donated after a process of applying to a teaching hospital and them accepting you. It will depend on your health and their needs.
Body donation might sound like a nice, tidy, cheap, low-key alternative if you’re not into show but remember, it’s not just your wishes that matter. Talk to your significant others so you all fully understand what the body donation process might feel like for those who have just suffered a loss. Of course it’s up to you, but think of your impact on those you care for.
Make sure you’re informed about your choices. See Final Fling and browse around its blogs on how to organise a funeral, what makes a good funeral, rules and regulations, funeral ideas, alternative funerals. Make your own ritual. As the picture above shows, you can use artefacts - a photo, favourite book, a well-used or much loved object - to recall the person when the body isn’t present.
Sit down and talk to your nearest and dearest. It’s the best way to get the best end for everyone. Record the outcomes of your conversations so you’re clear on wishes. It might be good to take it in turns to share what you want. Honestly, you’ll be surprised how much fun it can be talking about favourite songs, life highlights, important people in life.
Make plans, ask questions, get prices, write down your wishes, share copies of the wishes. (Even sign and date them.) Get the best end you can - for all of you.
Barbara Chalmers, A Quiet Revolution’s co-founder, is part of the death movement - people who have an active interest in making end of life experiences better. She’s Director of Only Human, offering human-centred service design consultancy and celebrancy. She’s Founder of the once ground-breaking platform for end of life planning, Final Fling. She’s a trained Funeral Director. She’s always happy to chat.
