This may be difficult -- my typing skills have headed south and continue to worsen, but i'm thinking journaling might help me a little. SO, I will exercise what's left of my brain in between the 23 lesions and look back over my career in prison, for a while.
Back in 1998, I was looking for a job, and was called by a former customer from the restaurant. "We have a job opening in medical records, and we would really like it if you applied." That was amazing to me, since these people knew little of my qualifications except that when we ran out of tartar sauce, I could create my own quick recipe and throw it together. It must have been great sauce! I applied and was recommended for the job.
On the first day, my supervisor took me on a tour of the hospital floors where I would be filing in patient records. We climbed the stairs to G-2. There was a short man standing in the hallway, and supervisor said, don't get too close to him. He will push you down the stairway. No problem! on the way back to the office, i hugged the wall and stayed away from staff and inmates who could possibly have been hit in the head with a lock in a sock and suffered traumatic brain injury, something I understand a little better, these days.
From medical records at one facility, I transferred to a satellite unit in medium custody , which was also a mental health unit. I was the ward clerk. There, i met the most wonderful person, Psychologist Dr. H. He and I bonded, and often I would go to his office to borrow a cup of calm. my office was located upstairs where the segregation unit was, and all day long, there was something going on. you wouldn't believe the things someone will swallow to get a ride to the hospital -- razor blades, flip flops. or worse, what they would suitcase (insert into their rectum), like a tattoo gun.
This job was probably the hardest one I've ever had, but also the most satisfying one, because it toughened me up and made me completely unafraid to take matters into my own hands and find solutions to big problems.
One young man was very ill and I had been trying for weeks to get him an appt. we had a provider on the unit only 3 days a week, and the provider at the hospital, rightfully, could not and would not talk to the ward clerk. I passed this info on, but nothing happened. Then one day, nurse Anita called me and said..if you don't get an appointment for him, he's going to be D E A D dead. my heart almost exploded. I hung up, called UR and said HELP ME! if this guy doesn't get an appointment, he's going to be DEAD dead! Told them the problem, they changed providers and he got his appointment.
I was seldom afraid and often disgusted. One man on seg thought he was satan. another man roaming the hallways thought he was Jesus and had his name changed to EZ Christ. One day, i was in the nurses' station when he came to med pass. The social worker said, Ms. B, have you met Jesus? and so, i was properly introduced. That's the only time I spoke to EZ.
Once, a guest of the state stepped in front of me and laughed. I was returning from lunch and said. what, i have mustard on my face? and he replied - sometimes, you drink dr. pepper! It's hard to miss the hilarity in that...
There were encounters that made my hair stand on end. i was always picking up vibes, was behind someone on the stairway, and felt a dark cloud. turns out he was decompensating. instincts on cue. and there was the inmate who wanted to be my janitor and became angry when I told him, no, you aren't. He was later demoted for doing something perverted in the ladies' restroom. no need to say what.
eventually, a position opened up at my original facility. I applied, went back, became a transcriptionist and transcribed for a korean, egyptian, afghanistani and an american. More challenges, but i was bored. one year later, i went back to medium custody and became the transfer coordinator. will never forget my first swap. we had to get rid of one at our unit, so i took another from a different facility. Wrong! the one i accepted had left a gang, and they had marked him as food for other gang members by tattooing him with burn marks. the very evening he arrived, he was sent elsewhere. well...i wasn't bored.
i recently had to leave that position due to health issues and will probably never go back. My original nickname there was Deborah's pit bull because i was notorious for running inmates away from the door or out of my office. my final nickname was secret squirrel, because if I did let an inmate in and he had something to confide to management, i passed the message on to the top.
what an adventure.
