The class gathered around as Ms. Hood made a midsagittal incision in the pregnant rat's motionless abdomen. Under heaps of muscle and connective tissue, each baby rat had its own sac that was part of a long, convoluted chain. With a gloved hand, she slid the first fetus out of its amniotic sac.

I forgot to breathe. A tiny, hairless baby rat emerged, about half the size of my thumb. Its centimeter-long tail was tucked between its tiny back feet. Its eyes were sealed shut, its mouth slightly open. It was beautiful.

She took out a couple more fetuses, and the crowd around her dwindled as people took them back to their lab tables. Before long, I was the only one left.

“Would you like to remove one?” Ms. Hood offered with a smile. Timidity nearly stopped me, but then I thought, When in your life will you ever get the chance to hold a fetus? Don't pass this up. I nodded with childlike eagerness.

I ran over to get some gloves and hastily pulled the stubborn latex over my ring-adorned fingers. Then I stood over the mother rat's open uterus for a few seconds. A deep sense of respect settled within me as I observed how her internal organs had been pushed out of the way to accommodate her large litter. Then, I picked up one of the remaining amniotic sacs. It was incredibly delicate between my fingers.

“Wow,” I whispered. Ms. Hood smiled.

Holding my breath, I slit open the membrane with a scalpel. As my fingertip traced each miniscule vertebra, the whole room melted away. I held the dead baby in my fingers for a moment before setting it down in a tray with some of its siblings.

“Can I remove another one?” I asked quietly, subdued by the gravity of the experience.

“Of course,” Ms. Hood said. I picked up a second section, and freed the fetus from its sac. I slowly and gently brushed off the excess membrane, and stood in solemn silence for a while with the tiny rat resting in my palm. I looked at the mother and her eleven babies, knowing their eyes would never open to witness the world. Sad though it was that they were dead, a positive feeling swelled in my heart that I couldn't quite place.

Minutes later, the bell blared. The usual cacophony of passing time barely penetrated my thoughts. As my bubbly classmates streamed out the door, I finally recognized the feeling. It was gratitude. These animals' lives had been sacrificed so I could learn about life. Their bodies had been given to us in the name of science, the pursuit of knowledge. I was so fortunate to have been provided this license to explore a real body and observe the incredible ­integration of its ingeniously evolved systems.

“It's like unwrapping a present,” I reflected. My words reverberated off the empty classroom walls and returned to me. Contented, I lifted my backpack and walked out serenely, carrying my gift deep within.