#biologists

"“Necropsy,” the word, was invented to distinguish between the act of examining dead humans from that of examining dead animals. An autopsy would determine the cause of death of any animal, human or not, until the early 1800s, when a French doctor proposed “necropsy” for the nonhuman. All of us still die, but now we humans are autopsied and whales necropsied. Our exams involve the same process (opened up on the table) and end goal (to determine cause of death), but we are spared, at least etymologically, the suggestion of our corpsehood. The word “necropsy” breaks down to “death” + “seeing”; “autopsy” to “self” + “seeing.” When I first learned about this etymological split, it seemed silly, even redundant. It reminded me of all the ways we shoehorn distinctions between ourselves and other animals, often harming both of us. But I understand now that an autopsy can be an uncanny act of prediction for the dissector: one of many ways to go, a possible future. When biologists necropsy a whale, I assume they are not reminded of our individual threat of cancer or the universal threat of a car crash. They do not subconsciously compare their arms to a whale’s fin, their teeth to bristly plating of baleen. The Woods Hole Oceanographic Institution has compiled an exhaustive introductory guide to marine mammal necropsy. The guide suggests you obtain as much background as possible before examining an animal: the time and date of discovery, the environmental conditions, a record of its trauma. The guide also offers a bulleted list of tips to keep in mind during the examination: Develop a routine, and be objective. Document everything. Understand and acknowledge confounding variables. The guide is surprisingly forgiving to first-time coroners. Describe what you see, smell, feel, and hear, it advises. Do not worry too much about using all technical terms. “Learning the language will come with time. Write it how you see it.” For those, like me, unfamiliar with the terms, the guide also contains a glossary. Caseous: resembling cheese. Cyamids: whale lice. Ectasis: a widening. Fusiform: spindle shaped. Stellate: arranged like a star. Tortuous: having many turns, winding or twisting. Peracute: very acute, violent. In the United States, every stranded marine mammal must be examined for traces of human interaction. Abstract charts filled with geometric markings offer clues about the killer. A row of ellipses indicates twisted twine. A series of diamonds, entanglement in a net. Long slashes or short crescents suggest a propeller was involved. The guide includes a list of questions and answers to help you identify abnormal lesions “found grossly,” which means what you see with your own eyes, without the help of a microscope. Where is it? Dorsal, ventral, lateral, medial, proximal, distal, cranial, caudal, anterior, posterior. What is the shape? Round, spherical, ovoid, crescent, nodular, conical, lobular, tortuous, discoid, bulbous, sessile, stellate, reticular, fusiform, irregular, loculated, branched, amorphous. What does it feel like? Wet, dry, tacky, hard, firm, soft, friable, gas-filled, viscous, gelatinous, gritty, resilient, rubbery, granular, flaccid, depressed, raised, smooth, rough, nodular, grooved, crusted, spongy, thick, thin. Though they have a precise application here, the questions sound eerily universal, something you could ask to describe anything: a fruit, a cloud, a bruise; what it is like to fall in love, to be wrong, or to die. The answers could be combined in a seemingly infinite number of ways yet always will result in something dead."

⚠️ DON’T START DISCOURSE ABOUT RPF IN THE NOTES!! YOU WILL BE BLOCKED IF YOU DO SO ⚠️

mycologists, biologists and otherwise interested in mushrooms folks of tumblr:

Ann Tsukamoto