The Healthcare Arch

 The way I see it, healthcare in Mississippi works kind of like a roman arch.  Created by the Mississippi legislature in a rare moment of clarity, the University Medical Center forms the keystone.  To its right and left are St Dominic Hospital and Baptist Hospital.  To their right and left are Methodist Rehab and SV Montgomery VA Medical Center.  Under these five stones, every other clinic and practitioner, and facility in Mississippi forms the columnar base of the system.  

Right now, some of the stones in the base are starting to fray and crumble, but as long as the arch itself is sound, sick people in Mississippi can get the help they need.  Real roman arches can last for thousands of years.  This one has lasted a little over a hundred.  We've tried a few times to build some redundancy into the system, but they always failed.  Monitoring and maintaining the strength and integrity of these five stones is probably the most important thing going on in central Mississippi and Jackson.  

There was a time when we didn't have this structure, and Mississippians suffered because of it.  It's vitally important that our legislative and executive branches work to maintain the stability and strength of every part of our health care system.  We don't have a backup structure in case they don't.

Monster Children

Every parent, no matter who they are, wants just one thing.  They want the most expedient, obstacle-free, most easily defined path for their children to feel happiness and fulfillment.  That's it.  No politics, no agenda, nothing "woke"; just help me find a way for my child to be happy.  That's true if the child is dyslexic and prone to being overweight like I was, or autistic, athletic, or even transgender.  They just want their child to be happy.  

I've spent nearly sixty years studying monsters.  You could say I'm an expert, so maybe what I have to say is worth listening to.  Someone is writing bills to make some Mississippi children, who didn't do anything wrong, feel like monsters.  They're doing it for easy political gain, not to address any real issue the state or the state's other children are facing.

It started when cable television programmers tried to make channels dedicated to art and history, culture and science flopped.  People said they wanted to watch these things, but when presented with that choice on their home televisions, they chose more salacious programming, like wrestling and gossip shows. 

Because they'd already spent a great deal of money creating and placing these channels, their executives decided to borrow a page from PT. Barnham and started filling their channels about art and history, and science with freak shows.  One Thousand Pound Sisters.  Big World, Little People.  Honey Boo Boo, Doctor Pimple Popper, and a show about a small transgender child called Jazz.

Like the people in the other shows, The parents of Jazz, and Jazz herself, believed they were raising awareness of the issue, normalizing it, and educating people about it to help other transgender kids on their journey, but the suits back in New York knew exactly what they were doing.  They were charging people a penny a head to see the freak show, and although Jazz wasn't as successful as Honey BooBoo, the pain and trauma this child was going through made them a great deal of money.  It made some money for Jazz and her parents, but nothing compared to what the producers were taking in.

I Am Jazz, on the Learning Channel, did help raise awareness in some people, but it raised alarm in others.  The increase in public awareness of Jazz and her journey made some people afraid that these transgender children would invade their world, and very soon, you started to see legislation about where transgender children can pee, what sports they can participate in, and most recently, who can pay for their medical care and when.  

The best and most recent scientific study suggests that approximately .8 to 1.3 percent of all American children are or may self-describe as transgender.  To put this in perspective, in the most recent study, 19.7 percent of American children are obese, yet despite their much larger numbers, there is almost no legislation restricting the lives of obese children and very little legislation providing for the education and treatment of obese children, and zero legislation restricting the medical treatment of obese children, although there are some very sketchy and questionable treatments available for the condition. 

When I was coming up, there was precisely one openly transgender person at my school.  He was female to male, and to my perception, they seemed very isolated.  Hardly anyone ever talked to them.  In retrospect, I wish I had, but introducing myself to anyone without a specific business plan or purpose was pretty much just not going to happen in those days.  It's pretty rare now.  I had a teammate who liked to bully them, but in ways where he couldn't get in trouble for bullying, "Are you a dude?  You look like a dude.  Why do you want to be a dude?  Are you gonna play football, dude?"  

Watching all this was pretty uncomfortable for me.  I loved my school.  I've recently made moves to reconcile myself with it.  There was one area where St. Andrews was flawed in those days, though.  When there was a student with particular challenges, like autism or deafness, or transgenderism, nobody ever took us aside and said, "this is what's going on with your classmate, and this is the best way to respond."  Sometimes my parents would address these issues with me, and there were times when Mitch Myers would unofficially take us aside and talk about what a classmate was going through, but more often than not, most of these things we kids worked out on our own and poorly.

The legislation you see coming out of certain conservative states, states like Mississippi, has the effect of making transgender kids seem like a threat to people who may not have any exposure to them.  There are conservative politicians actively working to make parents afraid of transgender children and promising legislation to help protect their children from these monstrous, woke, transgender children.  No child is a monster, but I know some politicians that are

Making people worried or afraid of where transgender children pee or what sports they play, or what medical procedures they have is just plain evil.  Whatever else they are, they are children.  The best people to design the life path for transgender children are their parents, their doctors, their teachers, and themselves, not some fearmongering politician looking to attract votes with a meme about transgender kids.  

The parents of transgender children want what every parent wants.  They want a chance for their child to feel happy, to have friends, to feel fulfilled and accomplished in life.  They're not forcing their children on your children out of some twisted political agenda.  They're just searching for a world where their child can exist and have a chance at happiness, just like yours.  They're not monsters.  They deserve better than what they're getting in Mississippi.

 

Elephant Dinner

When I do stuff at Millsaps, people sometimes act weird when I tell them who I am, so a lot of times, I just don't tell them.  It's different with theater people.  They don't know me from my dad or my uncle or the building; they know me from Brent and Lance.  That makes all the difference in the world.  I earned that.  They know I've got paint under my fingernails, just like them.  They know I've spent midnights at Waffflehouse, running lines with a friend, or eating at two a.m. because we've been backstage since four p.m. just like them.  That's just the point.  I'm just like them; come back to support them, to help them feel like the effort they're making is appreciated and worthwhile.

 When I go to ball games, they have no idea who I am.  They don't know I've been going to basketball games at what they're now calling the Hangar Dome since before their parents were children.  They know who Anne McMaster is or Pat Taylor.  "Hey, that's that teacher; what's his name? That's pretty cool they come to the games.  I like that."  They don't know that Tommy Meriweather and I used to carry water and towels for the Lady Majors since before their parents met, but that's the point.  I'm just some random old guy, taking the time to come to their game, taking the time to show that I appreciate what they're doing, that I appreciate that they chose Millsaps.  To them, I'm just some random old guy.  But I'm one guy, and one guy matters.  One guy sees them.  One guy appreciates them.  Maybe sometimes they'll recognize that I've been there before.  "Is that somebody's dad?"

My dad accomplished some pretty remarkable stuff in life.  I was physically there when a lot of it happened, and even I don't know how he did most of it.  Daddy had a pretty simple philosophy in life.  It wasn't Mississippi "awe shucks" false modesty, either.  It's what he deeply believed.  

"Daddy, I've got this big, intimidating task ahead of me.  I don't know how I'm gonna accomplish it."

"Buddy, how do you eat an elephant?"

"One bite at a time?"

"One bite at a time."

It's not an understatement to say I have a second chance at life.  A year ago, I could barely move.  Now I move better than some of you and getting stronger every day.  One of the first things I thought about when I realized I had a second chance at life and what I was going to do with it was, "I've got to do something about Millsaps." 

We function best with around eleven hundred students.  We're not there right now.  There are reasons why we're not there right now, but reasons don't really matter; we still have to get there from here.  We have to eat this elephant.  

I don't have any of Daddy's magic.  I wish I did.  But, I do have determination and devotion, implacability, steadfastness, commitment, and intent.  I can be that old guy at every concert, every ball game, every lecture, and every time the doors open, I can be there.  I don't have Daddy's skills, but I have some skills, and I'm loading that chamber and bringing them to bear.  

I'm a big fan of Rob Pearigen.  If he gets sick, Phoebe is pretty strong herself.  Since this summer, I've been taking the time to get to know the current faculty and administration, and staff.  Some of them I knew from my own time as a student, but the others I'm learning fast what their skills and abilities are.  They're our army.  They're also people who have precisely the same goals that I have in this matter, and that's important.  I'm learning I have strong and capable allies, much more capable than I.  That matters.

"So, who's that old guy that goes to our games?"

"Just some old guy.  He might be crazy."

"Crazy?  How?"

"He says he's here to eat elephants."

"That's crazy; nobody eats elephants."

"Apparently, he does."

My Lady Friend

"To enter this brotherhood, we require you hold these obligations your life long.  Do you accept?"

"I do"

"To defend the weak.  Your life long.  Do you swear?"

"I swear."

"To guard the honor of woman.  Your life long.  Do you swear?"

"I swear."

The actual ritual is secret.  The actual oaths are secret.  But that's their effect.  It's part of our public face and public commitment.  Generations have taken it.  I took it.  My father took it.  My grandfather took it.  Our lives long.

I'm old, but she's forty years older.  She has a double name.  A very Mississippi thing to do.  One eye was taken away, and a patch now covers it.  She weighs no more than eighty-eight pounds, but she was determined to attend the United Methodist Church services at St. Catherine's village.

I met her while she struggled to remember the code for the security door leading out of the skilled nursing part of the center into the independent living part where the chapel is.  Two certified nursing assistants were beside her, trying to figure out if she was supposed to be there and if she was supposed to travel out of the skilled nursing area by herself.  At first, I thought perhaps she was confused.  Sometimes my neighbors can get terribly confused.  If the confusion gets worse, they're moved to a building named for my father, where they receive special memory care attention.

"I'm trying to go to the chapel.  I want to go to the chapel.  I don't want to be late."  She said.

I was heading to the chapel myself.  Tuesday afternoon at four o'clock, different visiting Methodist ministers had a service every week.    If she knew she was headed where I was headed but just couldn't remember the code to open the door, told me her mind must still be pretty sharp and I should help her.  I called the nurse's desk.

"This lady would like to go to church.  Is she allowed?  I will take responsibility for making sure she gets there and back safely."  

I told her we had approval and I would escort her, so I asked the CNA to introduce us. Properly done, a gentleman always asks to be introduced by a trusted, neutral party.  Where we are, they don't come much more trusted than the CNA's who manage our lives.  

Introduced and approved, we were on our way.  She moved pretty slowly, so I matched her pace.  Continued small talk let me know she wasn't getting out of breath or overly tired.  That day her voice and breath were Solid and steady, and she told me about her life, her late husband, and how she enjoys being in the hall across the building from me.  By the time we reached the chapel door, we were very genuine friends.    

After the service, I made my way home with three ladies in tow.  Doctor Amazing, her willowy friend, and my new friend, Miss Two-Names.  Passing the nurse's station, I got a thumbs up for bringing back three.  I'm pretty sure they watched our progress on the closed-circuit television.  Doctor Amazing and her Friend were near their rooms, so I dropped them off and stayed beside Miss Two-Names for the trip to her room, two halls away.

Making our slow progress down the hall, she said, "Thank you for taking me.  It makes me feel like a lady again."

"I can't imagine a time when you weren't a lady,"  I said and handed her off to the nurses on her hall.  "Home again, safe and sound,"  I said.  

"I see you had company!"  The nurses said, and Miss Two-Names related the story of how we met and how pleasant the preacher was.  

In my parlance, calling anyone a "lady" marks and recognizes the many roles women play in our lives, beginning with giving us life and carrying us inside them until birth and in their arms after.  There's a feeling in some quarters that we should stop using words like "lady" because defining women separately from us can be used to restrain them.  "A lady doesn't do such things."  While I appreciate their position and feelings, in my parlance, the word is not to restrain them but to restrain me.  I am, by my oath, at their service.  

That my new friend had, at some point, ceased feeling like a lady was a bit hurtful to me.  She may not be young and strong, but she's still very much a lady and will be no matter what condition her earthly frame finds itself.  That I could rekindle those feelings in her made that Tuesday a very special day and made me commit myself as her special protector for as long as she needed a friend who made her feel like a lady.

After that day, my new friend's hall had a small outbreak of covid, so they had to go into fourteen-day quarantine.  In a facility like this, such extraordinary measures are necessary.  When the quarantine period was over, I asked the nurse in her hall if Miss Two-Names could go to church with me.  "I'm ready to go now."  She said.  And, so she was and off we went.  

On the long walk to church, she told me the same stories she told me the last time.  I don't mind.  She found some energy and motivation in having a gentleman at her elbow.  It's a role I've played with many little ladies in the third and fourth score of their lives.

"I'll see you next week,"  I said when I dropped her off.

"Thank you for taking me.  You're my good friend."  She said, and I wished her goodnight.

The next week, I gathered my trio of Methodist ladies at the nurse's station for the trip to the chapel.  Miss Two-names was dressed for the occasion, but she had a pained look on her face as the approached us.  

"I, I, I don't know if I should go."  She said, panting for breath.  She turned to head toward her room, but I talked her into sitting a bit first to catch her breath.  Sitting so tiny in the wing-backed reception room chair, she couldn't catch her breath.  "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."  She said, worried she upset my plans for the day.

I asked the nurse to have a CNA come with a wheelchair.  I didn't want her walking back to her room.  "You rest in your room," I said.  "I'll get the nurse to come to see you.  When church is over, I'll come to visit you and tell you how it was."    

At the chapel service, I thought only of her.  After it was over, I visited her room.  She was too tired to talk, so I patted her hand and said I'd check on her later.  Passing the Nurse Practitioner in the hall, I asked her to check on my friend.

The next morning, I asked one of the nuns if she'd seen my friend Miss Two-Names.  She said she was much better, so I visited her room and talked for a little while.  The nun thanked me for helping and watching over my friend.  "Maybe she's entering a new phase," the sister said. "Normally, she's able to make that walk without a problem."  "I hope not,"  I said.

Defend the weak.  Guard the honor of woman.  It comes with some heartache sometimes, but I bear it.  It's my oath.  I'll continue to visit my friend.  She should always, always feel like a lady.