Blacksheep Speaks

Prison Letters, Part One

Mom,

*yawns*

Good morning. I hope you are doing well today. Me, I am searching my memory for appropriate curses to hurl at the prison medical staff. Yes, I am kidding........sort of. A couple weeks ago I put in a medical request to have my ears examined. At that time I received a memo stating that I would be seen in medical that evening. They never called me out for it. So, I wrote another request, being sure to be specific about the problem, using short, precise wording so that when the head monkey read it, it would still be legible through the banana smears.

Now, let me tell you about yesterday: Thanks to the....er.....extreme generosity of our guard staff, I was allowed to sleep in until 2:30 a.m. I really would have appreciated the extra 30 minutes of sleep IF I didn't have to be at work until later.....but I was scheduled for 2:45 clock-in. Okay....so....I made it to work by the skin of my teeth. Maybe 30 minutes after I got there, Medical called me out. I got down to the sick bay and was met by a sweet-looking nurse with a cheery "Good Morning!" At this point, I still had no clue why I was there....until I made it back to the examining room and Miss Sunny Thoughts started to grow fangs and hunger for my blood. This, by the way, was my third unannounced blood draw in as many weeks. Anywho, she picked my left arm (in spite of my telling her she would be better off with the right one) and proceeded to poke around for several minutes before cheerfully announcing that I apparently don't own any blood. My left arm (at that point skewered and bruised beyond belief) was then released as she looked hungrily at my right one. Pouncing on that, she poked around for another few minutes. Finally, I offered to do it FOR her (yes, this IS me talking). She refused my offer, and, a moment later, actually found the blood she was looking for. Unfortunately, after satisfying her hunger for hemoglobin, she couldn't turn off the spigot, and I bled rather freely for several more minutes.

Okie. I finally made it back to work--not one of my better mornings. I finished my shift, headed back to my room, and went to bed (because of my shift, I sleep whenever I can). 30 minutes later, a guard was standing next to my bunk poking at me. "Are you (name withheld)?" (poke, poke, poke). {Note to self.....18 year old self-important prison guards do not appreciate half-awake witty responses from inmates.} Once it was established that I was, in fact, myself and not Pudentain (sp?), I was hustled off to Medical again, this time for a meeting with a psychiatrist and several rather psychotic-looking inmates, one of whom actually WAS from the psycho ward. It seems that, unannounced, the "Coping With Stress" class that I signed up for (weeks ago) was ready to begin. At this point, I was too asleep mentally to appreciate the subtle irony of being roused from my slumber and bullied about just to attend a stress reduction class. Anyhow, as soon as the class finished, I went back to my room and crawled gratefully into bed.

30 minutes later......the guard is again poking me on the shoulder. "Are you (name withheld)?" {At least this time I had the presence of mind to forego the witty response.} The guard informs me that I am wanted in the infirmary. I pull myself out of bed, get dressed, and hobble back down to Medical. This time, I am escorted into an examining room containing someone masquerading as an actual doctor. He looks up and says, "Are you (name withheld)?" I bite my tongue and just nod. He then looks at me and says, with a straight face, "What seems to be the problem?" This time, I couldn't help myself......since I had absolutely no clue why I was there anyway......I opened up my mouth and blurted "SLEEP DEPRIVATION!" He looks at me oddly, regarding me in the same manner as one might regard something stuck to the bottom of one's shoe....and, consulting my file, says, "it states here that you are having a problem with arthritis flaring up at work." For the next few moments, he pokes around on my hands. Looking very thoughtful and intellectual, he finally delivers his wise opinion: "The bone leading to your little finger is crooked. Why is that?" I told him that it had been broken and never casted. At this, he stares at me in utter disbelief, prescribes extra-strength Tylenol for the arthritis, and sends me back to my dorm. I crawl back into bed, sure that the ordeal is over, and fall asleep.

30 minutes. *poke poke poke* "Are you (name withheld)?" I just sigh and get dressed and head to Medical. THIS time, I am met in the waiting area by an artificially sweetened technician who hustles me back to X-Ray. Apparently, the doctor doesn't believe that my hand had been broken and wants proof. After several x-rays and a consultation with 2 other medical-type people, she shows me the x-rays and delivers the startling diagnoses that yes, the bone had at some point been broken. The x-ray verifies 4 breaks. (It was actually 6, but I don't feel like arguing.) They send me back to my room and I again crawl into bed; this time, thankfully, I am allowed to sleep.......till AFTER supper. *grumble*

Fast-foreword to this morning.......I received an answer to my medical request about my ears. The response was: "Seen yesterday in Medical by doctor. Problem dealt with."

Now, if you will pardon me, I need to fill out a medical request.........

Signed,

Your Loving Daughter