Mortality

         The last seven or so weeks have been emotionally challenging.  I was faced with various physical issues that tested my patience and state of mind.  I shared these with my family and with a very small number of my friends not wanting to unduly alarm them until I had more information to share.  I have learned much about myself during these weeks and, for those of you interested, would like to share this journey with you.   In order to not unduly alarm I will tell you that there is a happy ending.  

         In the latter part of July during my annual checkup with my urologist, he informed me that there were a couple of nodules on my prostrate.  He had been watching one and not been too concerned, but on this visit another one had appeared and he felt that a biopsy was in order.  In order to accomplish this it would require a procedure called a Transrectal Ultrasound-Guided Biopsy.  I won’t bore you with the details, but it did not sound very pleasant.  Because he was going to be out of town most of August I was not scheduled for the procedure until September 7.  It would be done outpatient in a hospital because general anesthesia would be used.  I left his office with trepidation and before I had driven 2 blocks I had already thought about making sure my will was in order, how I was going to tell the girls and thinking about listing the songs I wanted at my memorial service!  I know, I know…I’m an old theatre teacher with a very active imagination. 

         Seriously, it scared the crap out of me and I went into a blue funk.  I thought very carefully about whom I would burden with this information.  My immediate family, of course, and key friends were the first for who I reached out.  For those in town I waited until I could see them in person.  My ICE man and good buddy, Rick, was the first one.  I knew that I was going to have some depression issues and I needed his support.  I reached out to a few out of town friends and also to a couple of Diane’s cousins whom I count as my own.  My support group was in place.  Once the surgery was scheduled I told my good church buddies, Gary and Kathy McDaniel, so they could field any questions and to offer up some good old Methodist prayers. 

         I was told the surgery date just a couple of weeks before in occurred.  Rick had already agreed to take me to the hospital and get me home.  I had to be there at 5:30 am!  He didn’t blink and agreed.  Now, that’s true friendship.  I called my baby sis, Katy, to tell her that I was scheduled for the coming Wednesday.  They live in Lubbock.

“We will see you on Tuesday.”

“Katy, Rick said he would get me there.  You don’t need to come.” 

“Why not?”

I couldn’t answer that.  I thanked her, started crying and hung up.

They came.

         My anticipation about “going under the knife” (actually no knife was involved) made my nerves to become more exposed.  I worked hard to maintain some normalcy, but in retrospect I realize now that I was almost manic in my conversation, laughed too loud while trying very hard to be “myself.” 

         They arrived and we went to have my “last supper.”  I decided on tacos at Diane’s favorite taco place and reasoned that this would be a good choice.  I knew of course that my concerns over the procedure were exaggerated, but I am a good old Paducah boy and imagined the conversation would go like this.

         “Poor old Ronnie Parks.  He went under the knife and when they saw what was there they just sewed him up because there was nothing they could do!” 

         I know, I know…you can take a boy out of the country but…   You know the rest.

         The procedure was a snap.  Getting to the hospital was an adventure because it was flooding (yes, I said flooding) in El Paso that morning.  In addition there was a huge auto/semi wreck just at the Mesa exit and that’s where we had to turn to get to the hospital.  We made it, they knocked me out, they did it, I woke up and I went home.  No drama, no “nurse hand me a scalpel STAT” or anything!   The doctor told Katy and Terry that it went well, that there was a 70% chance it would be ok and that he would call me the following Tuesday. 

         The next week was the worst.  When one waits for biopsy results the minutes become hours.  Katy and Terry went home the next day to get ready for our annual get together in Ruidoso the next week.  Time was my enemy.  Simple tasks became excruciating and my ability to not dwell on the situation were futile.  I was unable to sleep well at night and woke up each morning with my joints and muscles screaming at me due to my sciatic condition.  My dreams were consuming and obsessive.  The nights were full of nightmares.  I was having a tough time and even experienced a few panic attacks.  I was alone and in the jungle of my mind.  When I checked my patient portal they indicated that the tests would not be ready until the next Thursday!  I scheduled myself to leave for Ruidoso on Wednesday after a visit to my eye doctor.  I had noticed that my right eye had become clouded and was fortunate to get a quick appointment.  This has further compounded my frustration.  I not only had cancer, but I was going blind! 

         Then it happed.  The air conditioner went out.  I lost it.  I sank to the depths and texted Katy and the girls and told them that I would probably not be able to go the next morning.  I was apoplectic and just wanted to wander off into the desert.  I had so carefully planned the sequence as to what was supposed to happen.  I had my adopted grandson, David, spend the night that night to get me to the eye doctor that morning.  I had lucked out on a 7:30 appointment.  They told me that I would be dilated in both eyes and could not drive for a while.  Here was my sequence.

1.    Go to appointment and brace my self for the results.  (I do have a blurred eye, but it can be fixed with an office laser treatment.  Something to do with the lens in my eye put there after cataract surgery years ago.

2.    Rick was going to pick me up since David had a class that morning at UTEP.

3.    I called my favorite plumbers and they were able to be there in an hour or so.  That would give my eyes a chance to clear up and maybe I could still make the trip.

4.    They came, got AC going again (long story there) and by 1:30  I was on the road to Ruidoso. 

Finally a plan had come together!

         Arrive in a flourish in beautiful Ruidoso.  I was praying that I would get the biopsy results while there so I wouldn’t be alone.

         Thursday arrived.  I checked portal that afternoon.  No malignancy detected.  I called doctor and his assistant said all was well and set up a follow up appointment in six months. 

         There it was.  Wish I could tell you that the slots rewarded us with great luck after we heard, but, alas. 

         Terry said, “That was your jackpot for the week.” 

         You know, he was right. 

I’m home now.  The AC was out again, but they came, did something and got it going.  Hooray!  It stopped again about 30 minutes after they left.  They are coming back first thing in the morning and maybe that will do it.  After my biopsy results that is not such a big deal any more. 

         What have I learned?  I learned that I am not as strong as I once was.  I had spent years experiencing the horrors of Diane’s illness and death.  I was the one who told Diane that they were going to amputate her feet piece by piece and finally her leg.  I was the one who willingly spent my life, cajoling, loving, caring for, providing the peritoneal dialysis every day, washing sheets sometimes several times a day, knowing that she faced amputation of her fingers because they were dying, keeping up a brave front while watching her disappear before my eyes.  For the most part I was the rock thanks largely in part to my wonderful daughters and sister and other friends in our lives. 

         Since she crossed over six years ago my emotional veneer has become very thin.  I cry easily, I obsess, I worry needlessly about my daughters and I am often unable to cope with day by day activities.  I travel and that is an immense help.  However, you have to come home.  A good friend of mine who lost her husband about the same time as Diane spoke of this a couple of years ago.  We agreed that people say to us that we are doing SO well! 

         She would reply, “They don’t see us at three o’clock in the morning.”

         This is quite a diatribe and I hope you made it through it.  I apologize and I assure you that it is not self serving.  Writing is a catharsis for me.  I pray that if you have finished this that it might offer you a truth.  For me the truth is mortality.  We have to work very hard to maintain our coping skills and understand as the years move forward we become vulnerable. 

         Let me rephrase that.  I have to work very hard to maintain my coping skills and understand as the years move forward I become vulnerable. 

         I still have my cape, but it’s a little tattered. 

        

         

Religious Ruminations

I enjoy going to church.  I really do.  I don’t go because of the fear of divine retribution, nor do I go because I feel like I HAVE to go.  I place myself in the “Christian” category with a subset of Protestant.  This is because of my own set of circumstances.  It’s a matter of my birth, my geographical circumstances and worship preferences.  I also believe that any religious practice has merit as long as it brings no harm and celebrates family and “loving your neighbor.”  It is my belief that there are many roads into heaven and as long as one practices the “do no harm” edict that’s just fine.  I do NOT believe that any one path takes precedence over the other.  I know that many of you who read this disagree with that belief, but that is just the way I see it and I am comfortable with it. 

      Now that I have that out of the way, let me get to the subject at hand.  Diane and I brought up our girls in a lower valley Methodist church here in El Paso.  We chose this church for the usual reasons.  First of all, we were married in this church.  Familiarity.    Next, we knew people there.  Socialization.  The church had an excellent and active children’s program.  Parental responsibility.  The music program in this church was probably one of the best in the city.  Creative outlet.  The preachers were friendly and very caring.  They visited you in the hospital, came to your home during crisis times and served as confidantes.  Nurture.

     Our church life was good during our years there.  The girls grew up with great friends and there were excellent role models in the church.  Diane and I were very involved and found ourselves at the church several days a week.  We didn’t mind and enjoyed the outlet.  The girls grew up and after they left we began to back away from being so totally immersed.  We passed the torch and for a period of time that worked just fine. 

     Then it began to happen.  Times began to change.  One of the first things that happened was in the late ‘70’s and early ‘80’s the “charismatic” movement started in the church.  There began a division among the congregation as to style of worship and theology.  Several families left in order to find a more literal style of worship.  As I stated earlier I do not condemn any difference in style, but resist it when it begins to be foisted on me.  That tempest died down after a while and the outcome wound up being the beginning of the nondenominational churches.  Again, do no harm, love one another and I am all for it.   However, this began the death knell for many mainstream protestant churches.  The giant sucking sound we began to hear were these churches drawing from the mainstream churches. 

     Here in El Paso demographics began to heavily impact the lower valley community.  Our lower valley Methodist church began to lose membership due to families moving out of the neighborhoods.  Children were growing up and not being replaced by young families.  The protestant migration began out of the valley and was being replaced by traditional Roman Catholic families.  At that time there were two Methodist churches in the valley.  One decided to relocate and asked our church to join them.  Diane and I favored this idea, but the old remaining families resisted it.  Now, most of these families have passed and this once thriving church is gone.  It was absorbed as a “campus” for another Methodist church across town.  Sad.

     That is the history of that one church.  Before I continue, let me put out some facts.  In 2010 a survey of people attending church in El Paso showed this:  74.85% attended Catholic churches, 8.6 % attended nondenominational churches, 5.7% attended Baptist churches, 2.7% attended LDS churches and 1.3% attended Methodist churches.  The remaining attended various other denominations or are Jewish or some other religion. 

I realize that El Paso is a unique border city and this does not reflect other cities.  However, statistics do show that there is a definite loss in membership in mainstream churches to this day.   One writer even went so far as to say that mainline churches are on the path of extinction.

     After all this sound and fury we perhaps need to step back and examine why this is happening.  We can spend days discussing such things as break down of the family, lack of parental supervision and other such things.  What I want to do is to bring it down to a very personal level and share with you what I am observing.  I am a member of a dying church.  I very carefully chose this church after Diane passed away by using my own personal rubric, what I needed.  It had a friendly open feel to it and the pastor was very engaging.  The music program was good and satisfied that personal need.  I was in an atmosphere of new friends who did not know me as  (1) a poor old widower, (2) Diane’s husband, (3) Melissa and Pam Parks’ father, or (4) retired high school counselor.  It gave me a fresh start.  Things rocked along and then I began to notice the signs.  People started moving away.  The congregation median age became older and older.  There has been very little effort to bring in new members and, quite frankly, no reason for anyone to want to join.  The signs are all there.  The pastor was reassigned and the new one is young and inexperienced.  Money has become a huge issue.  The “old timers” began to stop attending and I could see very little visitation going on.  The choir program is struggling along and seems, at this point, to remain the bright spot of the church. 

     OK, what’s the point, Ronnie?  I have always espoused that in order to build up a church it needs a great PR program.  “There’s no business like soul business!”  There is an old show business adage that states, “You gotta have a gimmick.”  In order to save souls you need butts in the pews.  If I were king of the Methodists this would be my first move in this particular situation.  In this part of the city there are four Methodist churches within about a twelve mile area.  Each church is suffering from the same malaise.  There is a lack of congregants and each is struggling along.  Take a lesson from the small school districts.  Consolidate!  Find a central location and merge!  St. Whoever Consolidated Eastside United Methodist Church!  Examine the ministerial rolls and pull in the most powerful and charismatic pastor and assistant pastor you can find.  Get a professional and scintillating music director AND accompanist and a youth minister who will have the kids clamoring at the door.  Start a school program.  Do dramatic presentations!  Host concerts!  Get the powerful United Methodist Women and Men going!  Have Sunday schools for any age group and special interest.  Get a singles group going.  Have grief groups, young parent groups, college student groups….ad infinitum.  Encourage our conference leaders to get with the program, come into the 21^st century and settle the LGBT issue and reach out to that demographic. 

     The point is that in my little piece of the world there are not a whole lot of Methodists around.  Let’s put what’s out there together and try to get something done.  I realize that this is a radical proposal.  I also realize that I will probably never see this happen, but it would be a nice start.  I would also propose that other mainstream churches consider this approach. 

     In the meantime, back to me.  I will continue to rock along for a while where I am.  I fear that there will be a point when I have to make a decision.  I’ve got about six or seven good active years left and know that soon I will have to make a life change.  However, it would do my heart good to see positive strides forward. 

God bless us all.

       

Conversational Tennis

Good conversation is akin to a tennis match.  It is a matter of lobbing the topic and observations back and forth.  It is not a handball court whereby the observation is lobbed out and then merely bounces back without any human contact.  That is a speech, not a conversation.  In my advanced years I have begun to notice we have more orators than conversationalists.  That’s a sad thing. 

I have also noticed that it often very difficult to get someone to initiate the conversational serve.  That is frustrating and at times the game falters and the verbal ball just sort of dribbles away.

“Hey, how’s it going?”

“Oh, OK.”

“Anything interesting going on?”

“Not really.”

(silence)

“Oh, all right.  Nice talking to you.” 

Sad.

Another scenario is when people grab on to the ball and don’t hit it back.  You become relegated to an occasional “uh-huh” or a “is that right.” 

Frustrating.

At another time we often hit the “one up” person. 

“Drove over to the next town and had a great Italian dinner!”

“ How well I remember the meal we had in Florence.”

Good grief!

Game over.

I try very hard to be engaging in any conversation.  I am genuinely, yes, GENUINELY, interested in learning some one else’s story.  The largest compliment I can receive is when someone is genuinely, yes, GENUINELY, interested in my story. 

I have many, many friends with whom I can pick up a conversational thread immediately.  There are no awkward pauses and no orations.  It’s a wonderful tennis game with both being the winner. 

In my dotage I realize that I often repeat a story.  I’m sorry about that.  However, in a really good conversational game your partner just looks across the net, smiles and nods and allows you that little slip.  In true Parks fashion I might embroider it a little more and make it even more listenable! 

Therefore, this little rant is a reminder not only for the reader, but for me as well.  Eye contact, non verbal responses, genuine interest are gifts that we can all impart to others.  

Watermelon

Watermelon

     I bought a watermelon a couple of days ago.  That is always a large decision for me.  The first watermelon of the season is taking a huge leap.  It creates in my mind a tremendous sense of anticipation as to whether I have chosen the right one or I have rushed the season.  More often than not I have jumped the gun and made the wrong decision.  Watermelon angst can be debilitating.  I waited for a couple of days before I carefully laid out my watermelon-cutting knife and put down my watermelon-cutting board.  I found an empty WalMart sack to receive the rinds and with trembling hands made the first cut. 

     Anticipation takes many forms.  The final results from an anticipatory state of mind can lead to disappointment or great jubilation.  I am guilty of extended anticipation.  Those who know me well know that I begin planning very early.  The perfect example is how I approach the planning of the epic summer adventures that I enjoy with Pamela and Darryl each year.  The moment I know dates and destination I swing into my vacation mode.  I begin gathering maps, making reservations, checking each destination about what is to be seen there and planning my wardrobe.  I start laying out certain items very early and make checklists as to what needs to be taken.  Part of the joy of traveling is in planning and list making! 

     The downside of anticipation is that often the end result can be disappointing or simply not up to expectation.  This can simply be not enjoying a dessert that looked delicious or having a life decision not working.  We often hear about the disappointment of retirement not meeting expectations.  Each day we make decisions of of sort or another.  Often we become frozen in indecision and that can lead to other problems.  The spectrum ranges from rather inconsequential in most cases all the way to becoming a serious problem.  I always think of poor old J. Alfred Prufrock who wonders if he dares to eat a peach or wear his trousers rolled. 

     Am I promoting the concept of being non-anticipatory?  Absolutely not!  What I am promoting is that we gird our emotional loins and be willing to accept the outcome.  I also declare that anticipation can be joyous, but must be couched in reality.  You are not always going to hit the jackpot, but you can revel and enjoy the attempt to do just that! 

     Oh, yes….the watermelon!  It was delicious and I am loving it!  One of life’s victories!  I waited long enough and I picked the right one. 

     Happy thumping!