January 28th 2025
Dafne Faitelson
dafnefaitelson@berkeley.eduMedicine has the power to define and outline the balance between an entity’s viability and fragility. It also has the ability to affirm the physical correlation of one’s existence. For me, this power has been the root of my curiosity. My studies in Anthropology and Molecular Environmental Biology, coupled with my real-world experiences, have only deepened my passion to understand the meaning and the weight of life and all of its derivatives.
This piece is a reflection of my time working for a biotechnology company that is on the forefront creating new technologies for therapeutic use in medicine. My time spent working here was alongside their fleet of chicken used as lab models and also as a resource extraction of antibodies. The core of me is an animal lover, and this piece is a reflection of breaking a promise that I hold close to my heart, something that weighs so heavily on me, and it serves as a perspective into the victims of developing technologies in a selfish world. As I study to become a doctor, I question the value of life, I question the margins of my promise to do no harm, I question where those boundaries fall and somehow smudge into nothingness.
Content Warning: The following writing contains emotionally intense descriptions of animal euthanasia and its psychological impact. It may be distressing to readers sensitive to themes of death, ethical dilemmas, and the emotional toll of such actions. Reader discretion is advised.
Do no harm, Dafne Faitelson
Blood rushing to my face. A delay in time, like if the planets came to a screeching halt in their orbit. I felt the moistness of my body in my scrubs. No seconds pass. As I become face to face with the heaviness of what I am about to do with my own hands. What crime must I commit now? I forget to breathe in, the air seems too heavy now and my body wants to reject the scene in front of me. But it’s time, only in dreams must the planets stop advancing orbits. My palms feel the dampness of the malabsorption of sweat precluded by the tight green latex-free gloves I have armed myself with. I hold my hands with lightness, attempting to make no evil to the life presenting in front of me. This life, perky, slightly bothered by my presence and warrants me to put them back in their enclosure. I know that I am kidding myself, I hold the evil in my sweat hands. My everything, my will to fight, my unconditional love for animals, my mothers strong words, my longing to persevere, the belief in me that saving life is worth this, all fight an enlightening paradox in my brain. They showcase their symptoms through my tear ducts and my wet scrubs, my shaky hands, and a fat lump in my throat. What am I doing? Why am I here? I shouldn’t be here. I hold the tiny chick, I analyze their eyes, the pupils constricting in panic, the fluffy four-day old wings, little feet, kicking at my grasp. And just like that I locate the spinal column and the skull. I press it up against the sharp metal edge of the sink counter and I close my eyes. I can not hesitate. I can not hesitate. I feel the evil taking over me, my body sinks and I feel a pool of blood in my feet. Pressure applied for one, two, three, four-pop! Dislocation of the cervical head is complete. I feel my mind falling, like a Chopin piece in its ending chords, a glass shattering, a disappointment in my soul, a disconnection from my spirituality. And I come rolling back to consciousness, like a novice narcotic user on a bad trip. I look back at my hands, now creating a surrogate egg for the wringing chick. I feel the last movements of their feet, kick and kick. Their lungs collapse, excreting air and mucus. The last pushes of energy from their tiny body, being absorbed by my fingers. The heart beats and beats until the hematoma in the neck is far from repair. And then make contact with their eyes. I imagine how gut-wrenchingly ugly, how pale and cold, how the last sight for this soul is an image of a grim reaper. I see myself staring back.
