Perspective

It's still early in the week.  I promised myself fun and adventure, and by the end of this day, realized - hell.  My life IS an adventure. 

Upon entering the lobby at work this morning, I spotted Jonesy, the dog handler and his charge, a beautiful chocolate lab.  I've known Jones for years, didn't feel the least bit uncomfortable walking up to him and saying - wow, i know why YOU'RE here.  And the lab bounded up, nudged my hand and acted very pleased to see me.  Now, when a drug dog seems to take a liking to you, you have to wonder...did my brother leave something in my car and the scent is in my clothing?!  So I said to Jonesy - Man, I hope this doesn't mean something.  He laughed and said, no, she's just being a regular dog right now.

*

On Friday, a young man transferred into the unit from another camp.  He should not have been moved.  His platelet count was eighteen.  Eighteen!  We were able to get him scheduled for clinic on Monday - he is in such bad shape, clinic wanted him back on Thursday.  His labs were drawn again...his platelet count has dropped to ten.  If he falls, he could bleed to death before he could be transported to the hospital that's less than three minutes away.  If he sneezes too hard, he could die within minutes.

We're a field unit.  We have no infirmary, nor a safe place for inmates at that kind of risk.  PA talked to him, offered him a seg cell for his own protection. 

*

Over the years, I've seen some of the damnedest things in prison, and some of the most sad.  One inmate was a stroke victim.  I had read his crime version - he was guilty of decapitating another human being and had absolutely no remorse.  He was just plain mean before, and even more so after his cva.  He hated fish.  Every Friday, the kitchen served fish, and every Friday, Brown invited me up to watch her deliver the tray to his room.  The inmate couldn't speak intelligibly, but he managed to get his point across.

Brown took him the tray.  He stuttered - FSH!  F**K!  B***H!, then smacked the tray across the room with his hand.

His condition deteriorated.  He was in and out of acute care hospitals for a period of months.  On his final trip out by stretcher, he shot the bird to every nurse, aid, officer, and other inmates in the hallways.

He definitely was not a man to find religion in his final days.

But there were those who were truly penitent. And it's appalling to see potential so wasted because of a moment of rage, a moment that might not have happened had the person not been under the influence of drugs...

In most cases, it's impossible not to feel compassion.  I am no bleeding heart liberal, but I could tell you stories.