Doctors often say: “Pathology is the gold standard for diagnosis.”
Pathology is the process and principle of the occurrence and development of disease, including the causes and pathogenesis of the disease, as well as the changes in the structure, function, and metabolism of cells, tissues, and organs and their laws during the disease process. Surgical tissues, puncture tissues of thyroid, breast, lung, etc., biopsy of the endometrium, gastrointestinal endoscopy, examination of a piece of meat dropped from a certain part of the body, etc., are collectively referred to as biopsy.
For example, a person has a relatively large mole, which affects the appearance. I plan to cut it off, but after cutting it, I need to send a pathological examination because only one mole is seen with the naked eye, but its essence is a simple mole. It’s still malignant melanoma, we don’t know. A seemingly simple appendicitis operation also requires pathological examination, because the appendix may also become cancerous. If you suddenly cough up a blood clot or something that looks like meat one day when you cough, you should also go to the hospital for a pathology examination immediately, because the tissue or blood clot may look similar when it is removed from the body, but the specifics can only be known through a pathological examination.
Many diseases are very cunning, and all cells are invisible under the microscope of the pathology department. As the “gold standard” of diagnosis, pathological examination can not only determine the nature of the disease, but also interpret the process of disease occurrence and development, provide clinicians with better evidence, and formulate more reasonable treatment plans for patients. Therefore, pathological examination of the tissues cut or dropped from the body is necessary, which is very important for disease diagnosis and guiding treatment.
before noon, the whole town suddenly flashed through the gruesome news like an electric shock. There was no need for the telegraph, of which one could not have dreamed at all at the time; the news flew from mouth to mouth, from group to group, from house to house, with hardly less rapidity than the electric spark. Of course, the teacher gave the afternoon off, you would have suspected the opposite very much. A bloody knife had been found close to the murdered man and someone had recognized it as belonging to Muff Potter, so the story went. Also, a late citizen should have come across Potter washing himself in the creek, around one or two in the morning, and when he saw himself sneaked away in a hurry – all kinds of suspicious moments, especially the washing, which was usually very much against Potter’s way. The whole city, it was said, had already been searched for the ‘murderer’ (the audience was quick to come by with evidence and verdict), but he was nowhere to be found. Horsemen were dispatched in every direction and the sheriff was convinced that he would be caught before nightfall.
The whole city made pilgrimages to the cemetery. Tom’s heartache disappeared; he joined the procession, not that he not a thousand times better would have been somewhere else – but an uncanny, inexplicable magical power lured and drew him there. When he arrived at the place of horror, he pushed and forced his little person through the dense crowd and was soon faced with the ghastly spectacle. It seemed a generation ago since he last looked at it. Someone pinched his arm. He turned and his eyes met the Huckleberries. As if on command, they both looked in the opposite direction, afraid that someone might have noticed the look they threw each other. Everyone, however, chatted in a suppressed whisper and had enough to do with the terrible and gruesome event, the scene of which one was around.
“Poor fellow!” “Poor young man!” “This is what all corpse robbers should learn from!” “Muff Potter has to dangle for it if they catch him!” These were the remarks that were made. But the clergyman said: “That was a divine judgment – here we see the hand of the Lord.”
Tom was shaking from head to toe, because his gaze had fallen on the dull face of the Indian Joe. At the same moment the crowd began to sway and increase push and individual voices shouted: “There he is, there he is, there he comes himself!”
“Who? Asked twenty others.
“There, now they’re stopping him! He turns around – hold on, hold on, don’t let him run away! ”
People who were sitting in the branches of the trees, above Tom’s head, said that Muff was not trying to escape – he just looked very stupid and amazed.
“Damn cheek that!” Said one, “probably wanted to take another look at his work; did not think to find company! ”
The crowd parted now and the sheriff strode through with great importance in his eyes and expressions, holding Muff Potter by the arm. The poor fellow’s face looked neatly sunken and the horror that held him spell stared out of his eyes. When he stood in front of the murdered man it shook him like a spasm, he buried his face in his hands and burst into tears.
“I really haven’t done it, friends,” he sobbed, “on my word of honor, I haven’t done it.”
“Who accused you?” Shouted a voice.
The shot hit. Potter raised his eyes and let them go around, the most agonized hopelessness in his gaze. Then he saw the Indian Joe and called:
“Oh, Joe, and you promised that you’d never-”
“Is this your knife?” With that, the sheriff shoved the murder tool under his nose.
Potter would have fallen if he hadn’t been caught and gently lowered to the floor. Then he groaned:
“I thought so if I didn’t come and the – knife -” He shuddered, then waved he with his weak hand to the Indian Joe and whispered tonelessly:
“Tell them, Joe, tell them, everything – it’s free after all.”
Huckleberry and Tom now heard silently and rigidly how the hard-hearted murderer gave testimony in the most serene calm. At every moment they expected the clear sky to open and the righteous God to throw his flashes of anger on the head of the nefarious liar; every further moment of delay in the judgment aroused her greatest astonishment. And when he had finished and stood before them still alive and unharmed, the urge, flickering faintly in her soul, vanished again to break the sworn oath and to save the poor prisoner’s life. Such a wrongdoer like Joe, they were now fully aware of, must have devoted himself to the devil. But engaging in a fight for their legitimate property with this power could be all too disastrous.
“Why didn’t you leave? Why did you come back here? ”One of the people asked the alleged murderer.
“I couldn’t help it, couldn’t help it,” he moaned. “I wanted to go through it, but it kept driving me here.” And again he sobbed, heartbreaking.
The Indian Joe repeated his statement just as calmly and finally confirmed it a few minutes later at the death survey. Since there were still no lightning bolts, the boys saw confirmation of their belief that Joe had sold himself to God in person. He was now the object of the most gruesome, most uncanny interest for them, as they had never felt it before, and their gaze hung as if spellbound on his face. Inwardly, they decided to trace him, at night especially when they were would offer them the opportunity to do so, in the silent hope of being able to sneak a glimpse of his gruesome master and master.
The Indian Joe helped lift the murdered man’s corpse onto a wagon that was supposed to take it away, and there was a whisper through the crowd that the wound was beginning to bleed easily. Huck and Tom were already hoping that this happy circumstance would put suspicion on the right track and were therefore very disappointed when one of the spectators remarked:
“No wonder! Potter was three paces away, of course it had to bleed! ”
Tom’s terrible secret and nagging conscience kept him from sleeping for more than a week after this incident. One morning at breakfast, Sid said:
“Tom, you keep throwing yourself around and chatting so loudly in dreams that I can’t sleep half the night.”
Tom turned pale and lowered his eyes.
“That’s a bad sign,” said Aunt Polly seriously. “What’s on your mind, Tom?”
“Nothing, aunt, I don’t know about anything.” But the boy’s hand trembled so much that he spilled the coffee.
“And you’re talking stupid things like that,” Sid continued. “Tonight you said: ‘It’s blood, blood and nothing else!’ And you said that over and over again. And then you said: ‘Don’t torment me like that – I want to admit it.’ Confess what? What do you want to confess? ”
Everything was swimming in front of Tom. It is hard to imagine what could have happened now, had it not been for the searching look suddenly faded from Aunt Polly’s eye and she, without knowing it, came to Tom’s aid by exclaiming:
“Of course! ‘s the gruesome murder that will create him makes. I’m feeling the same right now. I dream about it every night. I’ve already dreamed it was me! ”
Mary said she was feeling the same, and Sid seemed pleased with it. Tom withdrew from his eyes as soon as he could, then complained about toothache for a week and tied a thick cloth around his mouth and jaw every night. He did not know that Sid watched him every night, sometimes loosening the bandage himself, leaning on his elbows, leaning over him and listening for a long, long time, after which he carefully pushed the cloth back into its old place. Tom’s fear and anxiety gradually disappeared, the eternal toothache became boring and therefore dropped. If Sid had really managed to make a verse out of Tom’s incoherent murmur, he kept it to himself. – Tom felt like his schoolmates could never get enough of it to hold judicial death reports on dead cats and the like. Sid noticed that Tom never tried to take on the role of coroner, although otherwise he was used to being the leader of every new venture. He also noticed that, strangely, Tom never appeared as a witness, even showed a decided aversion to this kind of pastime and avoided it wherever he could. Sid was surprised, as I said, but said nothing. Finally, the death watch went out of fashion and ceased to worry Tom’s conscience. even exhibited a decided aversion to this kind of pastime and avoided it wherever he could. Sid was surprised, as I said, but said nothing. Finally, the death watch went out of fashion and ceased to worry Tom’s conscience. even exhibited a decided aversion to this kind of pastime and avoided it wherever he could. Sid was surprised, as I said, but said nothing. Finally, the death watch went out of fashion and ceased to worry Tom’s conscience.
Every day, or one day at a time, during this time of tribulation, Tom took the opportunity to sneak up to the small, barred dungeon window and smuggle all sorts of little consolations he could get at the “murderer.” The prison was a tiny brick building that stood at the end of the town in the middle of a swamp. There were no guards, prisoners were Rare. These offerings went a long way in easing Tom’s conscience.
The inhabitants of the town had a great desire to get to the body of the Indian Joe because of the robbery. But his reputation was so terrible that no one could be found who wanted to understand how to take over the management of the matter, and so it was allowed to stay. In both of his statements he had cautiously begun the brawl without first admitting the intended corpse robbery that had preceded it, and so it was considered wise not to bring the matter to justice, at least for the time being.