In my final weeks of medical school, I learnt how to certify death. You begin the exam by observing the deceased, calling their name and waiting for a response. You listen to their chest – for a heartbeat, for the sound of their breath. You are searching for the absence of life. For utter quiet.

When I learnt this exam, I was struck by the skin. How in the moments after death, it toughens into a hard waxy exterior. It made me think of plasticine. I have vivid memories of playing with plasticine – or Play-Doh – as a child. Sitting at the kitchen table pressing the gooey substance into different shapes, stretching it thinly and pushing it back together. When I would leave it out overnight, I would find it hardened and waxy in the morning. Like it was finally able to set in place.

Thinking

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