?

Log in

No account? Create an account

August 26th, 2002

I am become Shiva, destroyer of mice

Well, there's good news and bad news. The good news is, I won't have to kill all of my mice today. The bad news is, I have to spread out the trauma of killing mice over two days. Curse my supervisor for being too busy.

I got to play with congealed mouse blood on friday (had to seperate the blood cells from the sera). Came to the realization that congealed mouse blood is the exact same colour as summer pudding, which was a little disturbing.

All in all I had a good weeked, although I didn't do that much. I caught up with many more poeple that I was expecting to (Tom, Sean, Sarah, Kirsten from naginata, Del and Cameron) which was rather strange in and of itself. I guess this means that I am moving closer to that whole socialising thing again. Scarey.

I also played a bunch of a PS2 game called 'Shadow of Memories'. It is actually very good, in retrospect. It is quite artsy and thought provocing, kind of a mystery-thriller-adventure game. It is quite short (but with six possible endings you are supposed to play it through multiple times) and the graphics weren't spectacular (no FMV to be seen), but what really struck me was how well motion captured it was. The people actually moved like people. It was really cool. I'm gonna check out a faq before I play though again, so I know how to get the other endings.

But I still can't shake that nagging feeling that in a couple of hours, I shall officially be a cold-blooded killer. I don't like this part of science. Sigh.

I am Jack's lack of morality

Why I hate being a scientist, #00001

They never call it killing. They always say terminate or cull or euthinase or gas. Maybe that is so they can dissassociate themselves from the reality of what it is that they must do. No pain, no suffering, and going to a better place.

This is what I told myself as I watched them skitter in their boxes, climbing upsidedown on the wire, sometimes rearing up on their back legs to look at me or sniff me. Every day that I went in to see them, I said, "hello, babies!" They were my little girls, even though I never palyed with them or became really attached to them. But I worked with them for three months. While I couldn't tell them apart, I felt I knew them as a group.

And I felt like I was betraying them, betraying their tiny little lives as I moved them one by one into the bucket with the hose leading into it. That awful black plastic bag lined bucket. And I felt sad as I took them out again, going through the tests to ensure than they were brain dead. And I felt sickened with myself for the procedure that I had to do.

There is no worse sound in thw world than that of the bones of the skull being crushed.

Now I feel dirty and ill and horrible. I feel as though some of my innocence has been lost. Sixty tiny little lives are on my conscience. I know that the work I am doing must be done, I know there is no other way, and I know that the mice didn't suffer in any way during the experiment or their subsiquent deaths; none of this gives me the right to take their lives flippantly or with a grain of salt.

Every living thing deserves respect. Every life. Even when that life is taken away. And I want to cry because my supervisor just patted me on the shoulder and told me that he was there if I wasn't okay. And I'm not okay. And I don't want to be okay. But I have to do what I have to do.

This is why I hate being a scientist.