I've mentioned before that Carswell is overflowing with "Christmas" decor. Well, 1 south has officially gotten into the spirit. With the theme, "The Grinch Who Stole Christmas," there is decor in the unit from the tall ceilings to under the stairwells. The creativity is amazing and everyone seems to be joining in. We have a sled coming down the stairs with a Grinch on it, carrying presents to Whoville (just like the end of the book). There are "who people" all over the place, on walls, on columns, in doorways. They are by themselves, gathered with family, carrying who babies, all the people, just like the book. There are snowflakes hanging from up above - 3D paper snowflakes at that! There are two Christmas trees, a fake chimney with the Grinch coming down it and stealing all the Christmas presents from under one of the trees, and a cardboard one-room Who house - built to size. It says, "Merry Christmas" everywhere - including in letters written like the book - where some of them are backwards. Around the entries to about 90% of the inmate rooms, there is decor done by the rooms - stockings, paper cut to look like Christmas lights, signs, Christmas cards received in the mail, and at my door is a bunch of hanging ball ornaments with a fake mistletoe hanging in the middle (there is no encouraged kissing under the mistletoe, as that is against the rules). Sometime between today and Monday, our decor will be compared to all the other units, and the winning unit will eat first next week. Yes, we still have to be tidy, but this week our inspection is really about the decorations.
To be honest, I'd been not feeling too well, which was as good an excuse as any to not participate in all the decorating. But, part of me, was honestly annoyed that so much is being done for Christmas - as a place where the idea of "separation of church and state" should be strong (it is a federal institution). But, I have to admit, I was watching many of my friends get into the spirit and it was nice seeing people smiling, working well together, and the large unit come together.
One thing still bothered me, though. I was upset that there was no acknowledgement of "others" - those who may not celebrate anything or who celebrate other holidays. Everyone has a right to their own beliefs and religion. So, yesterday, I decided to join the creativity. I attached four pieces of paper - all different colors - into a large square. On it I wrote, "Whoville loves diversity," and then listed "Merry Christmas," "Happy Channukah," "Happy Solstice," "Happy Kwanzaa," and "Happy New Year." I also drew a "who person" to adorn the sign. It is not a large sign, and it is hanging outside my room, which is kind of in the back corner, but I felt better. It felt right to acknowledge that we can be in the spirit, too, but celebrate different things.
Yes, I am Jewish, but I always loved the story about the Grinch. I, also, have a picture from my childhood, where my grandma, my sister, and I are with Santa Clause. I'm not sure if we gave our "lists" for presents for Channukah to Santa. Knowing myself to be a smart-ass, I probably looked at Santa and said, "I'm Jewish," or something like that. Maybe not. Christmas is a season, although the religious part of it happens over a couple of days. If it is the season that brings some happiness to people, especially in prison, than I will not fight it. As of now, that is all the decor is. There is not a large cross or anything like that - it is like a cartoon land in our unit and it makes everyone overwhelmed and happy at the same time. Dr. Seuss can make people of all ages happy.
I must mention something more about the creativity. I have never in my life seen better drawing, better painting, better thinking (creatively), than I do in my unit. Yesterday, Curls, another person in my unit who is also a tutor and I were talking about how traditional education left so many people behind. I told her that looking at the creativity, many of these people were strong creatively, perhaps not academically. However, our traditional school system does not necessary help the creative thrive, they may just draw all over the binders, instead of doing their math. These are some of the people who could make an entire generation of art reach new people. Think about some of the graffiti you've seen - where people with spray cans can make an incredible picture without even outlining it first. Yes, it's graffiti, but don't lose sight of the art. I certainly could NOT do that. I could maybe draw stick people, and now, I am getting good at drawing a snail. That's about the extent of my talent (okay, I did draw snowmen, Santa, menorahs, and the like on some holiday cards I mailed out, but I am VERY limited on what I can draw decently).
Today, will be a half day of work. They are going to do inmate recall soon after lunch. We had received Christmas cookies and egg nog a couple weeks back, today, we officially get our present - a bag full of snack food. From my understanding, each of us will get some chips, candy, and items not traditionally sold by our commissary. They say that the bags get smaller year after year. That doesn't surprise me, as the number of inmates has increased year after year. People are already talking about what they will exchange, even though they don't know the exact contents. They are basing it on past years. I will stand in the line this afternoon, glad to receive my "gift," and having everyone say "Merry Christmas" to me. I will not be the Grinch.
Thursday, December 19, 2013
Wednesday, December 18, 2013
From Dragonfly: Signs of Compassion
It is easy to walk around prison with a negative attitude, be selfish, and not notice the little things. However, I try to be an observer, and there are always people doing for others - to me, these are signs that these people still have compassion, the ability to care for another human being, even as they are put into the impossibility of living here. I want to share some of the things that bring a smile to my face.
I see young women who will walk up to a wheel chair of a total stranger and offer to push them across campus or just to the next room (it all counts). Yesterday, I saw an African American older woman fixing the hair of a Caucasian older woman sitting next to her in the clinic. She had made her hair into a fancy bun and kept doing it until it was perfect with a smile on her face the entire time. I see women show concern for people who faint, have a seizure, or have an emergency sending them to the medical unit. I see women cry when someone else dies, loses a limb, has a still born, attempts suicide, or loses a family member back home. Empathy and sympathy exists in prison. I don't see this behavior by the staff - as they have to keep a professional distance - but I see it from inmate to inmate to inmate to inmate.
There is compassion for the women who have to shave their heads because it is falling out from chemo and compassion for the women who suddenly have to be on oxygen or a walker after being well just before. I see compassion for students who fail their GED, cosmetology, or apprenticeship tests. I see people helping others who are here for so long, they haven't seen family in more than 10 years. They become their family and help take care of them. I'm sure the compassion I see here is entirely different from what one would find at a men's prison. Gender roles would forbid the "touch" or gentleness.
I wanted to write all that, because I wanted to start with something positive, as today is a tough day for me. I had a bad migraine last night and with no ability to be in darkness or quiet, it was a very long night. So today, I have the migraine hangover that comes when the migraine lessens. With my migraine medication, I would have been able to start getting better last night, but since that medication was denied to me, I just have to wait it out or, if it I am desperate, I can get some i.v. medication. I wasn't quite that desperate last night - although, I did consider it. When I have the migraine hangover, I am usually more sensitive than usual, and that is certainly true today. Every little thing is getting to me. Things people say, or names people call me. Throughout my life I've found myself the brunt of many jokes, the same is true in prison. I can be neurotic, I know this. So, today, a coworker is calling me "Garfield" and laughing and I know not to care, but I don't like it. I didn't sit with her and the others from education at lunch because I was feeling sensitive. After lunch, I walked to their table and apologized for not sitting with them. I told them I was being sensitive. As with recovery, we apologize when we are in the wrong - always cleaning up our side of the street - but when they didn't apologize back, I don't care - because they are the ones needing to clean up their side of the street. I am an easy target, always have been, and I need not care what anyone else thinks of me - it is about them, not me.
I also went to the clinic today (again) because I wanted to know for sure if I was being released to the camp. Anyone medical, such as myself, needs 413 release to be transferred out of the medical facility. Don't ask what that all means, because I am not specifically certain, but it has to do with medical clearance. Turns out, after another 2 1/2 hours waiting to see the right person (and they only do this 1 time per month), that I was never being sent to the camp. My case worker must have confused me with someone else. The paperwork would have needed to start at the clinic, and it did not. So, they are now seeing if it was even possible to move me - do to my medication "methotrexate." They did confirm, once again, that I can ONLY be transferred to the camp across the street - no other camp in the federal system can take female prisoners at a care level 3 and I cannot have my care level decreased because of my medications and condition. I guess I'm going to be in the medical facility a bit longer. I'll update if I hear anything else.
So, that made me even more frustrated. Weeks ago I was told that I am being transferred. There were a bunch of emotions (bad and good) connected with that prospect. Today I find out that it was all a mistake. My case worker is on vacation until mid-January (yes, that long), so I can't even go to her and ask her about the mistake. Guess I need to get comfortable for a while. Good thing is, some of my friends are glad to hear I'm not moving right away. They certainly are showing compassion for my situation, but they are glad I'll be here with them through the holidays. Guess I can hold onto that.
I see young women who will walk up to a wheel chair of a total stranger and offer to push them across campus or just to the next room (it all counts). Yesterday, I saw an African American older woman fixing the hair of a Caucasian older woman sitting next to her in the clinic. She had made her hair into a fancy bun and kept doing it until it was perfect with a smile on her face the entire time. I see women show concern for people who faint, have a seizure, or have an emergency sending them to the medical unit. I see women cry when someone else dies, loses a limb, has a still born, attempts suicide, or loses a family member back home. Empathy and sympathy exists in prison. I don't see this behavior by the staff - as they have to keep a professional distance - but I see it from inmate to inmate to inmate to inmate.
There is compassion for the women who have to shave their heads because it is falling out from chemo and compassion for the women who suddenly have to be on oxygen or a walker after being well just before. I see compassion for students who fail their GED, cosmetology, or apprenticeship tests. I see people helping others who are here for so long, they haven't seen family in more than 10 years. They become their family and help take care of them. I'm sure the compassion I see here is entirely different from what one would find at a men's prison. Gender roles would forbid the "touch" or gentleness.
I wanted to write all that, because I wanted to start with something positive, as today is a tough day for me. I had a bad migraine last night and with no ability to be in darkness or quiet, it was a very long night. So today, I have the migraine hangover that comes when the migraine lessens. With my migraine medication, I would have been able to start getting better last night, but since that medication was denied to me, I just have to wait it out or, if it I am desperate, I can get some i.v. medication. I wasn't quite that desperate last night - although, I did consider it. When I have the migraine hangover, I am usually more sensitive than usual, and that is certainly true today. Every little thing is getting to me. Things people say, or names people call me. Throughout my life I've found myself the brunt of many jokes, the same is true in prison. I can be neurotic, I know this. So, today, a coworker is calling me "Garfield" and laughing and I know not to care, but I don't like it. I didn't sit with her and the others from education at lunch because I was feeling sensitive. After lunch, I walked to their table and apologized for not sitting with them. I told them I was being sensitive. As with recovery, we apologize when we are in the wrong - always cleaning up our side of the street - but when they didn't apologize back, I don't care - because they are the ones needing to clean up their side of the street. I am an easy target, always have been, and I need not care what anyone else thinks of me - it is about them, not me.
I also went to the clinic today (again) because I wanted to know for sure if I was being released to the camp. Anyone medical, such as myself, needs 413 release to be transferred out of the medical facility. Don't ask what that all means, because I am not specifically certain, but it has to do with medical clearance. Turns out, after another 2 1/2 hours waiting to see the right person (and they only do this 1 time per month), that I was never being sent to the camp. My case worker must have confused me with someone else. The paperwork would have needed to start at the clinic, and it did not. So, they are now seeing if it was even possible to move me - do to my medication "methotrexate." They did confirm, once again, that I can ONLY be transferred to the camp across the street - no other camp in the federal system can take female prisoners at a care level 3 and I cannot have my care level decreased because of my medications and condition. I guess I'm going to be in the medical facility a bit longer. I'll update if I hear anything else.
So, that made me even more frustrated. Weeks ago I was told that I am being transferred. There were a bunch of emotions (bad and good) connected with that prospect. Today I find out that it was all a mistake. My case worker is on vacation until mid-January (yes, that long), so I can't even go to her and ask her about the mistake. Guess I need to get comfortable for a while. Good thing is, some of my friends are glad to hear I'm not moving right away. They certainly are showing compassion for my situation, but they are glad I'll be here with them through the holidays. Guess I can hold onto that.
From Dragonfly: Sick Call
I have a recurring small health issue that I haven't had an issue with since I have been here for the past four months. The inner eye/edge of where the nose meets the eye gets red, inflamed, dry, scaly, itchy, and has slight pain. I don't worry about it, but when it first showed, just over a year ago, my doctor told me that I should always take care of it and prescribed me a gel-like steroid topical that is safe for eyes. I would goop it on mornings and nights, and the problem would mostly go away. In the year, I had three small flair ups of this slight irritation. Well, it started again about a week ago. Anyone who looked at me would ask what was wrong with my eye. I knew that it meant that I needed the steroid creme, but I dreaded the infamous sick call. I had made it four months at Carswell without having to go to sick-call and I was happy with that fact.
Sick call is only available Mondays, Tuesdays, Thursdays and Fridays. Any inmate with any medical problem, who needs a prescription refill, or has a medical issue of any type has to start with sick-call. Our sick call is in the clinic on the second floor of the main building and serves the entire inmate population. First, we each need to fill out a document before arrival that states why we are going to sick-call. We need to bring that document with us. At 6am, we have to be walking to the clinic (as soon as the housing units open for breakfast). We cannot go to eat first, as we must sign in by a certain time or we lose out on sick-call for the day. So, at 6am, I walk into the clinic, my book and my filled out sheet of paper in hand, and sign my name on "group 3." We are put into one of four groups based on the last two digits of our first five digits in our inmate i.d. number. The PA's that see the sick-call inmates rotate every quarter, so most people do not have a medical professional that sees them regularly.
Anyway, I have a seat and read my book, waiting for my name to be called. About 6:15am, a nurse walks around in an order selected by her, and picks up all the sick-call sheets. The first time my name is called is at 6:30am. A line of us are called to the vitals room, where my blood pressure is taken. I thought they would weigh me too, but they said that it takes too much time to do blood pressure and weight. As usual, my blood pressure is low - but seems quite low on the second number - 110 over 52. No one says anything about it, so neither do I. I am told to go back out to the waiting room, and the blue uncomfortable benches, and wait to be called by my Physician's Assistant. From what I could tell, the P.A.'s started to call people in about 7:30 or 8am. By 8am, the clinic waiting room is packed. The wheelchair/walker area does not serve everyone...
(Okay - I'm finishing this a day later... as I was writing the above, Lola came in and told me that Freckles would eat the ice cream that Nurse had saved for me... so I needed to save and come back - which is now on the next day... I got 3 spoonfuls of real vanilla ice cream. It was wonderful.)
Back to the clinic waiting room: So there are wheelchairs and people stacked everywhere - going out into the hallway, some people are sitting on the floor, others leaning up against the receptionist's booth. You have to say, "excuse me" about 15 times to walk across the room. Since I was there for sick-call at 6am, I had found my bench space and never moved from it.
If you've ever "waited" to see a medical provider, which everyone has, you know that people get impatient. Well, by 10am, I had heard the PA that I had to wait to see call back maybe 3 people... there were at least 20 of us assigned to her and there seemed no order to her decision on whom to call next. It certainly wasn't by the order we arrived and signed in, nor was it by the order that they collected our sick-call sheets.
At 10:20, someone waiting to be seen had a massive seizure right in front of me. If she is not supposed to be in stressful situations, then not being able to sit for hours in the clinic waiting room would surely bring on the seizure. There's no way of knowing who "needs" to sit and who doesn't. The most able body people tend to take up the benches and care not if someone elderly or really ill is standing for hours. Luckily, most of the elderly have wheelchairs and walkers - not so much because they need the help walking, but because they can sit during the long waits at pill line, the chow hall, clinic, and just about everywhere else. The seizure lasted several minutes. Even with it occurring in the clinic, it took a bit for a medical professional to head over to her. Of course, they needed to make sure people stepped back, so the seizure could end. They did not stick anything in the mouth.
(... another break from this writing... Freckles came into the email room and we went to breakfast... it's 6:40, so the going "bananas" crowd had already eaten...)
Anyway, finally a stretcher was brought out and the woman seizing was taken into an observation room. A lot of seizures happen here. I see one - or hear about on - almost daily. Before coming here, I had only seen one in my life. A lot of the people having seizures are diabetic. The other day, a woman in my unit went into a diabetic coma. Hours later, she was right back in our unit on her top bunk. How can they put people with seizure issues on a top bunk??
At 11am, I am still sitting in sick-call, waiting. I'm getting hungry (I hadn't eaten dinner the night before or breakfast that day, so I'm feeling the emptiness). There is still no sign of getting called by my P.A. and we cannot ask when we will be seen. Our duty is just to sit and wait. It's been 5 hours. I look to my right, and a woman next to me is reading her book... not sure the title, but the chapter she is reading is called, "If it ain't one ting, it's another." I couldn't agree more!!! We hear that food service is open and several people ask for permission to go eat... not granted.
I am fortunate to have thought to bring my own book. It is called, "A House in the Sky" and tells the story of the more than 460 days Amanda Lindhout spent as a captive in Somalia. It is a memoir, co-written by a well published journalist, and it is a great book. I will not say that it's a happy book (but since we know it's a first-person memoir, it's always good to know that she somehow survives this experience). I highly recommend the book - especially for people who love to travel to new places and have that adventure bug in them. However, be prepared for some very depressing and frightening moments as you read through - as being a captive in a terrorist country can never be a good thing. I read more than 200 pages while I am sitting at the clinic.
At 11:20, with my stomach gurgling, I hear my name. Finally. I walk back with the PA, who tells me that based on what I wrote, she believes I have something (I couldn't understand). She did not give me a more than a quick look, and told me that she will order me what she can, but most things are not allowed or in the pharmacy. I tell her my history with this issue, although she doesn't ask. She asks nothing about my general health. When you go to sick-call, you can ONLY discuss one thing. If you have more than one thing to discuss, you have to go that many days... wait that many hours... to be seen.
She says she will try to order what I need. She goes into the computer, and then says, the DOP won't approve the medicine I've taken in the past. She says, "I don't know why... It's really cheap." Even the medical providers are in disbelief of the limits of DOP health care. So, she says she will try to find something and that I can go. I ask, "how will I know if you are able to order a medication?" She says, go to the pharmacy (another long line) and see if I was successful. Otherwise, come back for another sick-call and we'll see what I can do..." Really!?!?!?
Well, at 3:30pm, I went to the pharmacy line and they did have something for me. It's an eye drop and meant for the eyes, but it says from her, to place the drop "outside my eye." It's the best she could do. Instead of having the cream, I have something that will run down my face the minute it is applied. The cream stays in place and I would sleep with it. That is Carswell health care - we'll see if the eye drops (they do have steroids in them) help.
Around the same time as I was getting the medication, I heard tragic news. A woman in the unit next to me was found hanging, and unresponsive. Luckily, she was found in time and is breathing. That means that she has to go to suicide watch now. She will spend days naked, except for an apron, with someone watching her 24/7. For someone who was obviously depressed, having to be watched by a stranger while you are naked can't help. They say that this time of the year is hard for many people in prison. We are away from our loved ones at a time when we would normally be surrounded by them. I'm glad she survived, but afraid for what's next for her. Will she get the real help she needs? Will they just move her to the mental health floor, where she will be surrounded by people with severe mental impairments? I don't know.
I know this place is listed as a health care facility, but I fail to understand the concept of just keeping us alive, but not an attempt to help us actually thrive. Sick-call is just one example of a bureaucratic block to actually getting the health care we need. People avoid going, because they don't want to wait so long, they can't sit that long, or they don't trust what the medical providers will say. There are just too many stories of problems. Inmate.com wasn't wrong, though, that the sick-call experience should be avoided if at all possible.
Sick call is only available Mondays, Tuesdays, Thursdays and Fridays. Any inmate with any medical problem, who needs a prescription refill, or has a medical issue of any type has to start with sick-call. Our sick call is in the clinic on the second floor of the main building and serves the entire inmate population. First, we each need to fill out a document before arrival that states why we are going to sick-call. We need to bring that document with us. At 6am, we have to be walking to the clinic (as soon as the housing units open for breakfast). We cannot go to eat first, as we must sign in by a certain time or we lose out on sick-call for the day. So, at 6am, I walk into the clinic, my book and my filled out sheet of paper in hand, and sign my name on "group 3." We are put into one of four groups based on the last two digits of our first five digits in our inmate i.d. number. The PA's that see the sick-call inmates rotate every quarter, so most people do not have a medical professional that sees them regularly.
Anyway, I have a seat and read my book, waiting for my name to be called. About 6:15am, a nurse walks around in an order selected by her, and picks up all the sick-call sheets. The first time my name is called is at 6:30am. A line of us are called to the vitals room, where my blood pressure is taken. I thought they would weigh me too, but they said that it takes too much time to do blood pressure and weight. As usual, my blood pressure is low - but seems quite low on the second number - 110 over 52. No one says anything about it, so neither do I. I am told to go back out to the waiting room, and the blue uncomfortable benches, and wait to be called by my Physician's Assistant. From what I could tell, the P.A.'s started to call people in about 7:30 or 8am. By 8am, the clinic waiting room is packed. The wheelchair/walker area does not serve everyone...
(Okay - I'm finishing this a day later... as I was writing the above, Lola came in and told me that Freckles would eat the ice cream that Nurse had saved for me... so I needed to save and come back - which is now on the next day... I got 3 spoonfuls of real vanilla ice cream. It was wonderful.)
Back to the clinic waiting room: So there are wheelchairs and people stacked everywhere - going out into the hallway, some people are sitting on the floor, others leaning up against the receptionist's booth. You have to say, "excuse me" about 15 times to walk across the room. Since I was there for sick-call at 6am, I had found my bench space and never moved from it.
If you've ever "waited" to see a medical provider, which everyone has, you know that people get impatient. Well, by 10am, I had heard the PA that I had to wait to see call back maybe 3 people... there were at least 20 of us assigned to her and there seemed no order to her decision on whom to call next. It certainly wasn't by the order we arrived and signed in, nor was it by the order that they collected our sick-call sheets.
At 10:20, someone waiting to be seen had a massive seizure right in front of me. If she is not supposed to be in stressful situations, then not being able to sit for hours in the clinic waiting room would surely bring on the seizure. There's no way of knowing who "needs" to sit and who doesn't. The most able body people tend to take up the benches and care not if someone elderly or really ill is standing for hours. Luckily, most of the elderly have wheelchairs and walkers - not so much because they need the help walking, but because they can sit during the long waits at pill line, the chow hall, clinic, and just about everywhere else. The seizure lasted several minutes. Even with it occurring in the clinic, it took a bit for a medical professional to head over to her. Of course, they needed to make sure people stepped back, so the seizure could end. They did not stick anything in the mouth.
(... another break from this writing... Freckles came into the email room and we went to breakfast... it's 6:40, so the going "bananas" crowd had already eaten...)
Anyway, finally a stretcher was brought out and the woman seizing was taken into an observation room. A lot of seizures happen here. I see one - or hear about on - almost daily. Before coming here, I had only seen one in my life. A lot of the people having seizures are diabetic. The other day, a woman in my unit went into a diabetic coma. Hours later, she was right back in our unit on her top bunk. How can they put people with seizure issues on a top bunk??
At 11am, I am still sitting in sick-call, waiting. I'm getting hungry (I hadn't eaten dinner the night before or breakfast that day, so I'm feeling the emptiness). There is still no sign of getting called by my P.A. and we cannot ask when we will be seen. Our duty is just to sit and wait. It's been 5 hours. I look to my right, and a woman next to me is reading her book... not sure the title, but the chapter she is reading is called, "If it ain't one ting, it's another." I couldn't agree more!!! We hear that food service is open and several people ask for permission to go eat... not granted.
I am fortunate to have thought to bring my own book. It is called, "A House in the Sky" and tells the story of the more than 460 days Amanda Lindhout spent as a captive in Somalia. It is a memoir, co-written by a well published journalist, and it is a great book. I will not say that it's a happy book (but since we know it's a first-person memoir, it's always good to know that she somehow survives this experience). I highly recommend the book - especially for people who love to travel to new places and have that adventure bug in them. However, be prepared for some very depressing and frightening moments as you read through - as being a captive in a terrorist country can never be a good thing. I read more than 200 pages while I am sitting at the clinic.
At 11:20, with my stomach gurgling, I hear my name. Finally. I walk back with the PA, who tells me that based on what I wrote, she believes I have something (I couldn't understand). She did not give me a more than a quick look, and told me that she will order me what she can, but most things are not allowed or in the pharmacy. I tell her my history with this issue, although she doesn't ask. She asks nothing about my general health. When you go to sick-call, you can ONLY discuss one thing. If you have more than one thing to discuss, you have to go that many days... wait that many hours... to be seen.
She says she will try to order what I need. She goes into the computer, and then says, the DOP won't approve the medicine I've taken in the past. She says, "I don't know why... It's really cheap." Even the medical providers are in disbelief of the limits of DOP health care. So, she says she will try to find something and that I can go. I ask, "how will I know if you are able to order a medication?" She says, go to the pharmacy (another long line) and see if I was successful. Otherwise, come back for another sick-call and we'll see what I can do..." Really!?!?!?
Well, at 3:30pm, I went to the pharmacy line and they did have something for me. It's an eye drop and meant for the eyes, but it says from her, to place the drop "outside my eye." It's the best she could do. Instead of having the cream, I have something that will run down my face the minute it is applied. The cream stays in place and I would sleep with it. That is Carswell health care - we'll see if the eye drops (they do have steroids in them) help.
Around the same time as I was getting the medication, I heard tragic news. A woman in the unit next to me was found hanging, and unresponsive. Luckily, she was found in time and is breathing. That means that she has to go to suicide watch now. She will spend days naked, except for an apron, with someone watching her 24/7. For someone who was obviously depressed, having to be watched by a stranger while you are naked can't help. They say that this time of the year is hard for many people in prison. We are away from our loved ones at a time when we would normally be surrounded by them. I'm glad she survived, but afraid for what's next for her. Will she get the real help she needs? Will they just move her to the mental health floor, where she will be surrounded by people with severe mental impairments? I don't know.
I know this place is listed as a health care facility, but I fail to understand the concept of just keeping us alive, but not an attempt to help us actually thrive. Sick-call is just one example of a bureaucratic block to actually getting the health care we need. People avoid going, because they don't want to wait so long, they can't sit that long, or they don't trust what the medical providers will say. There are just too many stories of problems. Inmate.com wasn't wrong, though, that the sick-call experience should be avoided if at all possible.
Monday, December 16, 2013
From Dragonfly: Budgeting
This week is the "scholastic book fair" at Carswell. Inmates can shop books and goodies to send home to their families. Some inmates spend like $200... most can't afford much. It also happens to be the last commissary week before the new years, so people are needing to stock up. I am trying to live on a tighter budget, but it is hard. I spend almost the $70/month they allow us for our phone time. A lot of people have their loved ones have local numbers, that decreases the cost of phone calls significantly. Unfortunately, for me, every phone call is long distance. My average phone call is about $3.50. Then there's Trulinks - which I adore. Trulinks costs $0.05/minute. So, if I spend 30 minutes on the email system, it costs $1.50... that's about $45 per month! In commissary, I always purchase beverages - apple juice, cranberry juice, v8, and a 6-pack of sprite. I drink the juices in the morning and/or just after I am off work. The sprite is a special treat every so often. Those cost $3.30 for the 6-pack of soda, $80 for the juices, and $1.20 for each can of v8. It all adds up!
Then, there are the people who hustle for what they want, and those of us who purchase it. The hustlers work newbies (a lot) and those who want favors (such as laundry, ironing, hair braiding, etc.). When a newbie comes into prison, especially one that self surrenders, the hustlers start to be nice, show them around, and offer a friendly ear. What they are doing, for the most part, is trying to figure out if the person will be a gold mine. Will this person want 'favors?' Will this person buy me coffee or creamer? If I tell them that I haven't had money for a month, will they have their family deposit money into my account? This is how the hustlers think... and they are everywhere.
I had a couple roommates in the bus stop who were experienced hustlers. They'd be all nice and then go in for the, "Do you shop this week? Can you get me... I'll pay you back or do ______ for you." It's so common. I made myself clear immediately that my money is tight, and, for the most part, I haven't been hustled. But I say "for the most part," because, in fact, I have been hustled a couple times. My roommate, Bandana, wanted creamer and I got it for her. She promised me crackers in return... I waited 2 1/2 weeks for my crackers. I had to bug her constantly - but she's a true hustler. She wasn't going to get my crackers, someone else that owed her had to pay her the crackers so that she could give them to me. So, in fact, her payment was dependent on someone else's payment. Not cool. Recently, I bought a large mug, when I was given a cooler the next day, and I can only have one. My roommate, Braids, wanted to buy the large mug, but she never actually came through with what she's owed, so I took it back and gave it to a friend instead.
We all have to be careful of the hustlers, cause it can cause a big issue with our budgets. South was an automatic target. She is older and people immediately gravitated to her and called her, "grandma." They played nice and told her that they have her back. Then, they would say, "Grandma, do you have any cookies?" South would go to her locker and give them some cookies. They'd say, "Grandma, can you get me some ice cream?" She'd do it. She didn't realize she was being played until no one gave anything back. South and I have fed people many times, who then turn around and eat in front of us without giving us anything. I officially only feed a couple people, the ones who also make me lunch or dinner once in a while. No longer do I care if I bring out a sweet for South, that I need to bring one for everyone at the table. They can watch us eat our dessert - no more sharing. There's always the friendships that do share, though. Me, South, Nurse, Lola, and some others, we are sharers with each other. We make meals together and we always pay our debts. We can trust each other financially.
Budgeting is especially hard for those who ask others to do them lots of projects/favors. Some people will owe $10 for a painted mug, $5 for laundry services, $2 for ironing, $20 for personalized cards, $35 on a crocheted blanket (plus the cost of yarn), etc. Sometimes, people go to commissary and nothing they are purchasing is for them - they are all for debts. The worst thing is when someone asks you to pay a debt with something that is out - like my crackers were - as then it can take weeks to pay off a debt. The person will harass you until the debt is paid in full. These are people who out on the streets had other kinds of debts and the consequences of not paying your debt was severe. They don't play games.
It was interesting this morning over breakfast. I was talking with Lola and we were talking about how we make so much less money than people who are hustlers. Hustlers make $2.50 per load of laundry. They do each client's laundry 2x/week. With only 2 clients, they will make $10/week - $40/month. As you all know, I work every day, 7+ hours/day, and make about $15 per month. There's something wrong there. It is far more attractive to be a hustler for good money, than to work the traditional jobs. Just like the kinds of hustling they did on the streets - quick, fast, incredible amounts of money, for practically no real work (standing on a street corner and selling something illegal). It's really sad that the same behavior and mentality helps them be successful in prison. Additionally, these hustlers show no money on their books (they are counted as indigent), so they don't have their income count against their FRP payment calculation.
I'm glad I am not a hustler. I love my job and I am grateful that some money is put into my account every month. I do my own laundry, I am making my own cards/gifts. Budgeting is really hard in prison, but it's not going to be any easier walking out of prison without a job and income. I figure, no time like the present, to learn how to really live within my budget.
Then, there are the people who hustle for what they want, and those of us who purchase it. The hustlers work newbies (a lot) and those who want favors (such as laundry, ironing, hair braiding, etc.). When a newbie comes into prison, especially one that self surrenders, the hustlers start to be nice, show them around, and offer a friendly ear. What they are doing, for the most part, is trying to figure out if the person will be a gold mine. Will this person want 'favors?' Will this person buy me coffee or creamer? If I tell them that I haven't had money for a month, will they have their family deposit money into my account? This is how the hustlers think... and they are everywhere.
I had a couple roommates in the bus stop who were experienced hustlers. They'd be all nice and then go in for the, "Do you shop this week? Can you get me... I'll pay you back or do ______ for you." It's so common. I made myself clear immediately that my money is tight, and, for the most part, I haven't been hustled. But I say "for the most part," because, in fact, I have been hustled a couple times. My roommate, Bandana, wanted creamer and I got it for her. She promised me crackers in return... I waited 2 1/2 weeks for my crackers. I had to bug her constantly - but she's a true hustler. She wasn't going to get my crackers, someone else that owed her had to pay her the crackers so that she could give them to me. So, in fact, her payment was dependent on someone else's payment. Not cool. Recently, I bought a large mug, when I was given a cooler the next day, and I can only have one. My roommate, Braids, wanted to buy the large mug, but she never actually came through with what she's owed, so I took it back and gave it to a friend instead.
We all have to be careful of the hustlers, cause it can cause a big issue with our budgets. South was an automatic target. She is older and people immediately gravitated to her and called her, "grandma." They played nice and told her that they have her back. Then, they would say, "Grandma, do you have any cookies?" South would go to her locker and give them some cookies. They'd say, "Grandma, can you get me some ice cream?" She'd do it. She didn't realize she was being played until no one gave anything back. South and I have fed people many times, who then turn around and eat in front of us without giving us anything. I officially only feed a couple people, the ones who also make me lunch or dinner once in a while. No longer do I care if I bring out a sweet for South, that I need to bring one for everyone at the table. They can watch us eat our dessert - no more sharing. There's always the friendships that do share, though. Me, South, Nurse, Lola, and some others, we are sharers with each other. We make meals together and we always pay our debts. We can trust each other financially.
Budgeting is especially hard for those who ask others to do them lots of projects/favors. Some people will owe $10 for a painted mug, $5 for laundry services, $2 for ironing, $20 for personalized cards, $35 on a crocheted blanket (plus the cost of yarn), etc. Sometimes, people go to commissary and nothing they are purchasing is for them - they are all for debts. The worst thing is when someone asks you to pay a debt with something that is out - like my crackers were - as then it can take weeks to pay off a debt. The person will harass you until the debt is paid in full. These are people who out on the streets had other kinds of debts and the consequences of not paying your debt was severe. They don't play games.
It was interesting this morning over breakfast. I was talking with Lola and we were talking about how we make so much less money than people who are hustlers. Hustlers make $2.50 per load of laundry. They do each client's laundry 2x/week. With only 2 clients, they will make $10/week - $40/month. As you all know, I work every day, 7+ hours/day, and make about $15 per month. There's something wrong there. It is far more attractive to be a hustler for good money, than to work the traditional jobs. Just like the kinds of hustling they did on the streets - quick, fast, incredible amounts of money, for practically no real work (standing on a street corner and selling something illegal). It's really sad that the same behavior and mentality helps them be successful in prison. Additionally, these hustlers show no money on their books (they are counted as indigent), so they don't have their income count against their FRP payment calculation.
I'm glad I am not a hustler. I love my job and I am grateful that some money is put into my account every month. I do my own laundry, I am making my own cards/gifts. Budgeting is really hard in prison, but it's not going to be any easier walking out of prison without a job and income. I figure, no time like the present, to learn how to really live within my budget.
Sunday, December 15, 2013
From Dragonfly: Vivid Colors
I will start by saying that the remainder of my visit with Sporty and T.S. went really well. We finished it with three more pictures, which I will cherish (this time with a white background and chairs). It is fun to watch the other inmates with their family members taking pictures. Sometimes, I never see these inmates smile, but there they are, hugging their children, grandchildren, spouses and/or parents and a smile as bright as the sun is on their face. We are not allowed to touch during the visit - except for a hug/kiss at the beginning and end, but we can hug in our photos, and that touch is so very important. It's a touch that sends a thousand "I love you's" into the heart of the inmate and their family members.
I have been wanting to write about tattoos. People in prison are from ALL walks of life, but one thing that could connect 90% of us is that we have tattoos. I happen to have two tattoos - one is on my left ankle and the second is in a more hidden spot on my body. Neither is large or flashy and neither would be considered "high art," but here, in prison, the art on people's body's is amazing. I'm not just talking about those who are young either. Even South, at 66 years of age, has a nice butterfly tattoo - and others older than her have tattoos. Somehow, tattoos became popular enough that it's crossed boundaries of lifestyle and age. Race does not matter with tattooing either. There are tattoos on people of every racial background here.
Some of the tattoos are incredible and have such vivid colors. There are some people who are highly tattooed, with their arms and legs covered (and I only imagine the rest of their bodies). There are some that have their spouses name tattooed on their ring finger, because they could not bring their lavish ring with them into prison. There are neck tattoos (a lot of them) that are sometimes scary and sometimes incredibly beautiful. One woman has the federal criminal code section that she violated tattooed on her neck. I don't ask questions such as "why?" There are people who get tattooed while in prison - using a needle and ink. So far, I've had two roommates who have been tattooed while I was their roommate. One got a huge star on her wrist, another got the name of her spouse on her ring finger. I am in disbelief that they would risk having dirty needles and unsafe environments for getting tattooed, but I have no idea what the places they were tattooed before being incarcerated were like to compare (I only went to tattoo parlors, but people do tattooing out of their homes and on the streets). Also, getting tattooed in prison could land you in the SHU - no body alteration of any type is allowed (unless there is a medical reason - such as cutting off a limb or a shaved head due to chemo).
There are people who have tattooed their heads, tattooed their entire legs, tattooed their toes. There are tattoos on shoulders and tattoos on wrists. There are full hand tattoos and tattoos that take up entire torsos. It is so common to see, that I do not even notice the heavily tattooed any more - it is just a part of the experience of prison. Many, many have tattoos of their former gang affiliations. Even the C.O.'s tend to have tattoos. There are tattoos of flowers, tattoos of mermaids, tattoos of ladders and fish and naked bodies and names of loved ones. There are tattoos that say "mother" and tattoos that are ten colors. There are tattoos of Irish symbols and a lot of tattoos of stars. There are tattoos behind ears and some on the back of the neck (not sure why you'd never want to see your tattoo). There are tattoos of finger prints and shoe prints and hammers and nails. Tattoos of babies and tattoos of crosses and many tattoos of skulls. There are tattoos of birds and tattoos of dolphins. There are tattoos you would never imagine would be on a woman and some that you can only imagine on a woman. It seems to not matter what the tattoos are of - just having one connects you to everyone else who has been "inked." I suppose in this one way, I fit in, in prison.
There was talk before I came to prison - by my former advisor (I think I may have mentioned this before) - for me to get a tattoo of my university's symbol. She had told me - "I want you to get the tattoo, so you can always look down and see where you are coming back to." She and I joked about it a month later, when we learned that someone who had tried to burn down a building at my university would also be in Carswell - she said, "ummm, maybe that tattoo is not the best idea now." We laughed. In a way, though, she was serious. She was supporting me so much and knew of my deep love for my university, that an idea of tattooing it's symbol on my body was not out of the question.
Now, I am on a ton of meds and have a lot of medical issues, so actually going through with the tattoo was never going to happen. I dreamed about how it may look, though, perhaps with my word, "hope," somewhere added to the tattoo. I have not been tattooed since I was 21 years of age, but the consideration was there. If I had done that tattoo, I would have worn it proudly - even today, after everything - as I do not blame the entire university for the acts of some people within the school. They still taught me SOOOO much and I appreciate all the opportunities I was provided. For the first time in my life, I actually believed I belonged in an academic setting, earning the degree I was seeking. I still "hope" that the dream is still going to happen, but I have many dreams and I can let go if I must. Just not yet.
So, the woman in Carswell that has no tattoo is the one that feels left out here. One woman, who sits at my table a lot, told everyone that she believes I would not have a tattoo - she believed it of South as well. When we both corrected her, she felt like such a minority. What a weird way for people to "fit in."
I have been wanting to write about tattoos. People in prison are from ALL walks of life, but one thing that could connect 90% of us is that we have tattoos. I happen to have two tattoos - one is on my left ankle and the second is in a more hidden spot on my body. Neither is large or flashy and neither would be considered "high art," but here, in prison, the art on people's body's is amazing. I'm not just talking about those who are young either. Even South, at 66 years of age, has a nice butterfly tattoo - and others older than her have tattoos. Somehow, tattoos became popular enough that it's crossed boundaries of lifestyle and age. Race does not matter with tattooing either. There are tattoos on people of every racial background here.
Some of the tattoos are incredible and have such vivid colors. There are some people who are highly tattooed, with their arms and legs covered (and I only imagine the rest of their bodies). There are some that have their spouses name tattooed on their ring finger, because they could not bring their lavish ring with them into prison. There are neck tattoos (a lot of them) that are sometimes scary and sometimes incredibly beautiful. One woman has the federal criminal code section that she violated tattooed on her neck. I don't ask questions such as "why?" There are people who get tattooed while in prison - using a needle and ink. So far, I've had two roommates who have been tattooed while I was their roommate. One got a huge star on her wrist, another got the name of her spouse on her ring finger. I am in disbelief that they would risk having dirty needles and unsafe environments for getting tattooed, but I have no idea what the places they were tattooed before being incarcerated were like to compare (I only went to tattoo parlors, but people do tattooing out of their homes and on the streets). Also, getting tattooed in prison could land you in the SHU - no body alteration of any type is allowed (unless there is a medical reason - such as cutting off a limb or a shaved head due to chemo).
There are people who have tattooed their heads, tattooed their entire legs, tattooed their toes. There are tattoos on shoulders and tattoos on wrists. There are full hand tattoos and tattoos that take up entire torsos. It is so common to see, that I do not even notice the heavily tattooed any more - it is just a part of the experience of prison. Many, many have tattoos of their former gang affiliations. Even the C.O.'s tend to have tattoos. There are tattoos of flowers, tattoos of mermaids, tattoos of ladders and fish and naked bodies and names of loved ones. There are tattoos that say "mother" and tattoos that are ten colors. There are tattoos of Irish symbols and a lot of tattoos of stars. There are tattoos behind ears and some on the back of the neck (not sure why you'd never want to see your tattoo). There are tattoos of finger prints and shoe prints and hammers and nails. Tattoos of babies and tattoos of crosses and many tattoos of skulls. There are tattoos of birds and tattoos of dolphins. There are tattoos you would never imagine would be on a woman and some that you can only imagine on a woman. It seems to not matter what the tattoos are of - just having one connects you to everyone else who has been "inked." I suppose in this one way, I fit in, in prison.
There was talk before I came to prison - by my former advisor (I think I may have mentioned this before) - for me to get a tattoo of my university's symbol. She had told me - "I want you to get the tattoo, so you can always look down and see where you are coming back to." She and I joked about it a month later, when we learned that someone who had tried to burn down a building at my university would also be in Carswell - she said, "ummm, maybe that tattoo is not the best idea now." We laughed. In a way, though, she was serious. She was supporting me so much and knew of my deep love for my university, that an idea of tattooing it's symbol on my body was not out of the question.
Now, I am on a ton of meds and have a lot of medical issues, so actually going through with the tattoo was never going to happen. I dreamed about how it may look, though, perhaps with my word, "hope," somewhere added to the tattoo. I have not been tattooed since I was 21 years of age, but the consideration was there. If I had done that tattoo, I would have worn it proudly - even today, after everything - as I do not blame the entire university for the acts of some people within the school. They still taught me SOOOO much and I appreciate all the opportunities I was provided. For the first time in my life, I actually believed I belonged in an academic setting, earning the degree I was seeking. I still "hope" that the dream is still going to happen, but I have many dreams and I can let go if I must. Just not yet.
So, the woman in Carswell that has no tattoo is the one that feels left out here. One woman, who sits at my table a lot, told everyone that she believes I would not have a tattoo - she believed it of South as well. When we both corrected her, she felt like such a minority. What a weird way for people to "fit in."
From Dragonfly: Holiday Visitation
I am in the email room, having just left my strip search after my visit today with Sporty and T.S. It's best to leave the visit just a bit before the end of the time, because the line for the strip searches can be long. In fact, a brawl was about to happen between a couple people in wheel chairs about the order of the line. I kid you not. Luckily, the "cutters" rolled to the side and let the line go in the order we were originally waiting. It can take a half hour or more to get through the line into the side room, where four inmates at a time strip, squat, spread, and cough. I try to get the bathroom, so at least I don't have to see anyone else stripping and only the guard can see me. I also need the help of the walls to keep my balance at times.
Anyway, my visit with Sporty and T.S. was wonderful. I still cannot fathom why people believe that it would be too hard to have people visit. I got to sit and listen (without a 15 minute time limit) to everything T.S. did during her first semester of college. I got to talk in depth about ideas for the upcoming summer (job, internship, classes, study abroad, etc.). I got to hug her and tell her how beautiful she is. Tomorrow, I get to do it all over again. With Sporty, I was able to hear about many of my friends and family back home. We were able to talk about movies that are out, and books we each should read. Phone calls just cannot take the place of a visit with the ones you love. It is a long day, so if several friends come at once, it is probably better than just one person visiting and having to keep up the conversation. It's not an issue with Sporty or T.S. and I, but with some people, I can imagine they'd just get bored sitting in there. I did eat some yummy very-bad-for-you mini tacos, orange soda, and some microwaved popcorn - YUM!
Tonight, T.S. and Sporty are going to dinner with SIL and my niece. I'm so grateful to have family close by that are supportive. I think of how many people here that get no support from their families, or whose families will not/ can not visit and it makes me very sad. I could have another 6 months in here, so I value this special time with the people I love.
We also took pictures. In commissary, we can purchase "photo tickets." They are $1 each and that's how many digital shots we can get. They usually put up a backdrop, and we take photos in front of those - but today, the pictures were in front of a Christmas Tree. Never mind my religion, I will cherish these photos (which I will be able to receive in about a month). Yes, it takes a very long time for them to print our digital pictures. I have no idea why. These same photo tickets can be used in indoor rec, where we can take pictures with other inmates. I recently had a picture taken with Danbury and South (before Danbury left) and I also took one by myself to send to my mom. She got it just yesterday and I think she liked it. Yes, I do smile in the pictures. I may not be happy all the time, but I still laugh and I still smile. Being in prison is not the end of the world, it is a blip in a long life and we can refuse to have any happiness, or we can be grateful for the moments of smiles that we find. I choose the smiles.
Tomorrow, T.S. and Sporty will be back for another visit. I think T.S. wants to sleep in a bit later than the 5:30am they woke today - to be in the car line by 7am after breakfast. They were 14th in line at that time and got into the visitation room around 9am. Yes, it can take that long or longer. They officially open the gate at 8am, but it takes a long time to process, plus Sporty said that they were randomly searching cars. Sporty's was not searched.
A very sad thing happened as I was headed into the visitation room. I saw one of my former students, one I adore. She was all done up and excited that her mom was visiting from Nevada. Well, they refused her mom entry because she has a metal knee. In the past, her mom has been searched by wand and allowed to enter - but today she could not because they said she needed an official medical card about her titanium knee. They insisted that if she could not get through the metal detector without setting it off (impossible with a titanium knee) then they would not let her come in. My former student was heart broken. I don't blame her. As I was let into the building, her i.d. was returned to her and she was told to go back to her housing unit. Her mom flew all the way here and did not get to hug her daughter. Just awful.
I highly encourage everyone to read the visitation rules thoroughly before taking the trip to visit their loved one in prison. Every facility is different. I was told that "if" I do go to the camp across the street, I will not be strip searched. I will be able to walk outside with my visitors. I will be in a room with real tables. It will be a totally different experience than the one I have each time someone visits me here. Still no word on if this "camp thing" is really happening. I will try and talk to my case worker when she comes back from her vacation.
I'm off to nap. A long visit is very tiring for me, but I am so glad it happened! Thank you Sporty and T.S. for a wonderful day!
Anyway, my visit with Sporty and T.S. was wonderful. I still cannot fathom why people believe that it would be too hard to have people visit. I got to sit and listen (without a 15 minute time limit) to everything T.S. did during her first semester of college. I got to talk in depth about ideas for the upcoming summer (job, internship, classes, study abroad, etc.). I got to hug her and tell her how beautiful she is. Tomorrow, I get to do it all over again. With Sporty, I was able to hear about many of my friends and family back home. We were able to talk about movies that are out, and books we each should read. Phone calls just cannot take the place of a visit with the ones you love. It is a long day, so if several friends come at once, it is probably better than just one person visiting and having to keep up the conversation. It's not an issue with Sporty or T.S. and I, but with some people, I can imagine they'd just get bored sitting in there. I did eat some yummy very-bad-for-you mini tacos, orange soda, and some microwaved popcorn - YUM!
Tonight, T.S. and Sporty are going to dinner with SIL and my niece. I'm so grateful to have family close by that are supportive. I think of how many people here that get no support from their families, or whose families will not/ can not visit and it makes me very sad. I could have another 6 months in here, so I value this special time with the people I love.
We also took pictures. In commissary, we can purchase "photo tickets." They are $1 each and that's how many digital shots we can get. They usually put up a backdrop, and we take photos in front of those - but today, the pictures were in front of a Christmas Tree. Never mind my religion, I will cherish these photos (which I will be able to receive in about a month). Yes, it takes a very long time for them to print our digital pictures. I have no idea why. These same photo tickets can be used in indoor rec, where we can take pictures with other inmates. I recently had a picture taken with Danbury and South (before Danbury left) and I also took one by myself to send to my mom. She got it just yesterday and I think she liked it. Yes, I do smile in the pictures. I may not be happy all the time, but I still laugh and I still smile. Being in prison is not the end of the world, it is a blip in a long life and we can refuse to have any happiness, or we can be grateful for the moments of smiles that we find. I choose the smiles.
Tomorrow, T.S. and Sporty will be back for another visit. I think T.S. wants to sleep in a bit later than the 5:30am they woke today - to be in the car line by 7am after breakfast. They were 14th in line at that time and got into the visitation room around 9am. Yes, it can take that long or longer. They officially open the gate at 8am, but it takes a long time to process, plus Sporty said that they were randomly searching cars. Sporty's was not searched.
A very sad thing happened as I was headed into the visitation room. I saw one of my former students, one I adore. She was all done up and excited that her mom was visiting from Nevada. Well, they refused her mom entry because she has a metal knee. In the past, her mom has been searched by wand and allowed to enter - but today she could not because they said she needed an official medical card about her titanium knee. They insisted that if she could not get through the metal detector without setting it off (impossible with a titanium knee) then they would not let her come in. My former student was heart broken. I don't blame her. As I was let into the building, her i.d. was returned to her and she was told to go back to her housing unit. Her mom flew all the way here and did not get to hug her daughter. Just awful.
I highly encourage everyone to read the visitation rules thoroughly before taking the trip to visit their loved one in prison. Every facility is different. I was told that "if" I do go to the camp across the street, I will not be strip searched. I will be able to walk outside with my visitors. I will be in a room with real tables. It will be a totally different experience than the one I have each time someone visits me here. Still no word on if this "camp thing" is really happening. I will try and talk to my case worker when she comes back from her vacation.
I'm off to nap. A long visit is very tiring for me, but I am so glad it happened! Thank you Sporty and T.S. for a wonderful day!
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