“the perimesencephalic cistern is effaced”

After Joan Didion’s husband died suddenly, she gave permission for an autopsy.  What she quotes in her memoir is a paragraph of medical jargon, much of which I don’t know. It seems the man died of a massive stroke. As I read the autopsy, I appreciate the words without knowing their definitions. 

“There is moderate to marked midbrain compression and the perimesencephalic cistern is effaced.”

The last four words of that especially.

“A thin posterior falcine and left tentorial subdural hematomas are noted. A small parenchymal bleed, likely contusional, is noted in the right inferolateral frontal lobe. The cerebellar tonsils are at the level of the foramen magnum.”

I don’t know whether you want your cerebellar tonsils to be at the level of your foramen magnum, but if it were generally to be esteemed, it would probably not be noted in an autopsy. 

I don’t know how many of these words I am mispronouncing, but I enjoy rolling them around in my mouth and trying out different emphases. 

Years ago I wrote a series of poems using words for their sounds rather than their meanings. Since the English writing system is variably phonetic, I used existing words rather than inventing any. I wanted readers to know how to pronounce them. When finished I flipped open a dictionary at random looking for a word I did not know but liked the look of. I would use it as a title. You can’t group together words without their having meaning, as words are meaning objects and they gain more meanings depending on their company. Thus the poems I’d written by ear could be seen to have meaning, meaning imputed to them. After I used the unknown words I often learned their meanings so the titles would suggest more readings for the poems. 

source:

The Year of Magical Thinking

by Joan Didion

2005. Vintage / Penguin Random House, New York