Mr Pict’s parents flew over the Atlantic to stay with us during the festive season. As such, we had the opportunity for some babysitting so we left the kids with the grandparents so that we could head into Philadelphia for the day. Time alone together as a couple is incredibly rare so what did we do with this brief period of child-free time? We went to the Mütter Museum to look at medical specimens. Ah the romance!
I have wanted to visit the Mütter Museum since we emigrated to the Philly area just over three years ago. However, not being certain of how child-friendly it was, we had not been in a position to go. I am definitely much more into medical oddities than Mr Pict is but he was happy to accompany me to the Museum and check it out.
The Mütter Museum is actually part of the College of Physicians and the original collection was compiled and donated by Dr Thomas Dent Mütter in order to serve as an education tool. The collection is absolutely vast and apparently only 13% of it is on display at any one time. This is no doubt in part because the building is actually pretty small by Museum standards. One exhibition space is essentially just the mezzanine around a staircase, for instance. For obvious reasons – these exhibits being the remains of individual human beings – photography is not permitted within the galleries. I, therefore, decided I would take a sketchbook, pencil and fountain pen along with me so I sketched (which is permitted) as I wandered around. The cramped spaces and the fact that the Museum was so busy made drawing quite awkward, primarily because I found it hard to find a spot that allowed me a good enough view to draw a specimen while not obscuring the views of others but also because ever so often people would gather around me to see what I was drawing and made me feel self-conscious since I was only rattling off rapid sketches.
We started off on the aforementioned mezzanine level. This was organised on a sort of Brothers Grimm theme, connecting medical conditions to some of the grotesque elements of their stories. I thought that was quite an unexpected and interesting theme on which to curate the collection. There were lots of desiccated limbs and the occasional head. We read about dry samples – useful because medical students could actually handle them and information, things like blood vessels, could be written or drawn on them – and wet samples, the type stored in jars of liquid. In addition to the actual human remains, there were casts and wax models of other medical anomalies. Strangely enough, because these actually looked more human, given they were neither shrivelled or bloated by the preservation techniques, they were more disconcerting to look at than the actual human remains. Probably the star attraction on this level were the slides of tissue taken from Einstein’s brain. For me, the most interesting part of that particular exhibit wasn’t the tiny slivers of grey matter but the fact it highlighted the ethics of taking and keeping samples of human tissue. Neither Einstein nor his next of kin had consented to having his brain removed and studied which means that ownership of any of his brain tissue surely violates moral codes if not medical ethics. The case of Einstein’s brain is particularly captivating of course because of his fame and the fact his death was relatively recent. The same moral debate, however, could be applied to probably the majority of specimens held by the Mütter Museum. I very much doubt that most of the people whose bodies or parts are on display consented to be used for medical science and education. This moral quandary added another layer of interest and engagement to our visit.
Probably the most arresting display – for me at least – in the whole museum was a cabinet, the length of one wall, of scores of skulls. Arranged in serried rows in glass cabinets, these skulls were the collection of Joseph Hyrtl, an anatomist from Vienna. Apparently the idea of the collection was to demonstrate the variety evidenced in European anatomy, not eugenics or phrenology, and as such each skull was labelled to identify its origin. What was disconcerting and somewhat unsettling about these labels was that it gave not just the nationality of the individual but in most cases their name, age, and cause of death. It was impossible not to think of the lives behind these skulls, the stories that led to their deaths, the loved ones they left behind to mourn them. In many cases, the deaths were violent ones – either execution or suicide – and so the tragedy was amplified. There were teenagers, for example, who had committed suicide when they were discovered to have committed a theft and I found myself wondering what desperate straits had motivated the crime and what awful crises they must have experienced to feel that the only solution was death. I found I could not just gloss over any single skull. Each of them represented an individual person and I felt this quite powerful obligation to pay my respects to each of them, to acknowledge that each had existed. It was weirdly emotive and I find it quite difficult to convey that mixture of fascination and poignancy.
Given he is a Civil War nerd, Mr Pict enjoyed a gallery devoted to the effects of that bloody conflict on human anatomy. There were the famous photographs of skeletal remains being exhumed from battlefields in order to be interred in cemeteries and the photographs of legs and arms in the baskets of field hospitals but there were also bones containing bullets and shrapnel, intestines scarred from dysentery and preserved organs ravaged with other diseases that felled many soldiers. The Mütter Museum houses a vast collection of books so another exhibition was dedicated to Vesalius, whose writings and drawings became some of the earliest medical textbooks.
The basement floor of the Museum is really where most of the “oddities” are. This is the area of the museum that is really devoted to rare medical anomalies most of us won’t encounter in our lifetimes either because they are so rare or because medical advances would either prevent the conditions or would at least make them treatable. Most challenging for Mr Pict and I were all the specimens of babies, both fetuses and newborns. I imagine very few people would be unmoved by these tiny little bodies in jars or otherwise preserved. However, because we have experienced pregnancy loss and had a stillborn son, these particular specimens were even more emotive for us and stirred up trauma and grief. Mr Pict found it too difficult to spend much time in that area of the museum. I found I could compartmentalise enough to have a read and a look and I even drew one of the conjoined twin skeletons. It was definitely the most difficult part of the museum, however.
I have an interest in the history of freakshows. Among the most famous “freaks” were the conjoined twins, Chang and Eng Bunker whose origins in what is now Thailand originated the term “Siamese Twins”. The Mütter Museum possesses a death cast of Chang and Eng’s heads and torsos and their conjoined liver because the College of Physicians conducted the autopsy when the men died in the 1870s. Those were interesting to see since I have read so much about Chang and Eng. There were also some fascinating osteological specimens. These include the tallest skeleton on exhibit in America, that of a man who stood at 7’6″ tall. His remains were contrasted with those of a dwarf who had died in childbirth. There is also the skeleton of a man named Harry Eastlack who succumbed to a condition called FOP which caused all of his issues to ossify. He had actually donated his body to the collection to aid research into his medical condition and potentially benefit others.
Mr Pict and I both found at least one thing each in the Mütter Museum that made us squeamish. In common with many of the male visitors, the genital specimens made Mr Pict feel a little uncomfortable. Among these was a plaster cast of a hugely swollen scrotum. Every man I observed looking into that particular case appeared to wince. For me it was the eyeballs. One glass case contained row upon row of wax models of eyes suffering from various maladies, diseases and injuries. Not much about the human body makes me squirm but I definitely do not like anything to do with eyeballs. The last time I was prescribed eyedrops, all four children had to pin me down while Mr Pict dripped them into my eyes. That is how much I detest anything to do with eyeballs. I definitely felt decidedly queasy looking at all of those eyeballs.
Our trip to Philadelphia was not all body parts, however. After our excursion to the Mütter Museum, we were (maybe somewhat peculiarly) ravenous so we went for lunch in a Mexican restaurant. It was a definite treat to eat a delicious lunch without having to wrangle kids. Great food while relaxing with wonderful company – uninterrupted – was the perfect end to a lovely and fascinating day out.
Eyeballs makes me squeamish too. I have gotten much better than I was, but only because I have an eye problem that has needed a lot of attention in the last 11 years. I’ve been poked and prodded so much, I’m sort of used to it now. I actually got to the point where I was able to have stitches removed from my eyeball without freezing. That said, I still can’t look at anyone else having anything done to their eyes. I can’t even look at anyone with bloodshot eyes.
I’m glad I’m not alone in the eyeball thing! My husband thinks it’s ridiculous that I can eat food while watching an autopsy on TV but can’t deal with eye drops or that thing ophthalmologists do where they puff air into your eyes.
You’d hate the giant contact lens that ophthalmologists use to see the retina then… I nearly fainted the first few times I had one used on me.
Eugh! That makes me squirm just thinking about it.
It sounds just so fascinating Laura – love too that you added your sketches!
Thanks, Joy. I thought a few of my sketches would suffice in place of my usual photos.
Wow. I’m just trying to process all of this. A lot to take in. I surely would have fallen to my knees and sobbed at the fetuses bc that’s a raw nerve, as you also understand. As far as the conjoined twins, whenever I see successful surgeries on TV (usually of Third World children flown to the US for surgery), it always makes me so sad for those like the Bunker twins, or the Hilton Sisters, who could probably have lived normal lives in 2016. Did you have weird dreams that night?
I actually didn’t have any weird dreams but the fetuses definitely stirred up some raw emotions that stayed with me for a few days. I think it’s being my ability to equate my experience of loss with those the parents of those babies must have felt so it’s not even so much the medical specimens but the very human stories behind them.
Oh wow! So interesting! I wish we had something like that… Too bad they don’t allow photos!
I love taking photos, as you know, but I totally understand why the policy exists. Not only is there a need for preservation but these were someone’s loved ones once and not everyone whose remains are held there gave consent. It’s definitely fascinating stuff though. I’d love to check out more medical museums.
Love your sketches!!! You made a good source for future reference material!! Glad you had fun!
Thanks, Sue. It was good practice, drawing in a rush and on cramped conditions and with people spectating and questioning me. I much prefer drawing on my lonesome.
I love that you two went to a macabre museum…LOL something we would do. Great sketches, I would take my skethbook, and never find the nerve to pull it out of my bag!
That surprises me. I would have felt certain you would have no qualms about drawing such things in public. It definitely pushed me out of my comfort zone.
Really? I am super self-conscious…also, I can’t ignore people, so I end up talking and not drawing. 🙂
I recently read a newish biography of Dr. Mutter and it’s worth a look. I had no idea how progressive his medical ideas were and I was struck by his kindness to his patients and the care he took to help them through surgery ( done at the time without anesthesia and cleanliness was a new idea he embraced but most doctors didn’t. A person from an era of medicine almost unimaginable to us, but a bridge to ours. I’ve visited the museum and among other things I wondered what future eras will think of us?
I think that must be the book I picked up in the gift shop. I didn’t buy it but made a note of it so I could read it some time.
I came away with a whole different idea of him, and the Museum, and I learned a lot about how lucky we are people like him existed or otherwise what surgery would be like today.
Great read Laura and isn’t it an excellent museum for drawing? How one goes from fascination to repulsion to compassion looking at these things. Thanks for sharing your personal story there. It’s easier for me – just a weird place to draw strange things. I think medical people have to be very tough minded, but back in the day it must have been even more so.
Thank you very much for reading and responding, Marc. Indeed, the mixed emotions I felt viewing the medical objects must be nothing compared to what medical people must have had to process but I am glad they did so since they furthered our knowledge of disease and treatment. It was definitely full of interesting things to sketch – things I would not have the chance to draw otherwise – and I would like to go back some time when it was less busy to do just that.