Jail reform

This past weekend a person I knew was picked up on a failure to appear (ever forget? Happened to them) and a DUI. Strangely enough, the person had not drunk enough to go over the limit, and a “careless driving” charge was tacked on as well. A cop friend of mine said that “careless driving” is one big catchall. If the cop saw you swerve without crossing the lines, he could tack that charge on without a problem.

This person was not informed of what their BAC was at any point, and it was claimed they “totally bombed” the field sobriety test. The person told me that yes, they did stumble, but it was more the result of being up for over 24 hours, and arthritis. The cop also said that he declined an attorney when I know he didn’t. The person said they were never offered one. I fully believe this. Because of my cop paranoia, I have rubbed off on everyone and if ever something happens that results in them going to jail, they most certainly would not decline an attorney.

Yes, we plan on fighting this, but that’s not what this is about. This post is about the conditions at the local jail.

I was there for two weekends last year and while I was not there long enough to see anything major, I can share stories from girls who had been there a while.

First up, in the three days I was in that holding cell, I was not allowed soap or toothpaste. This is not good, especially when at any given point, we had up to seventeen girls in a cell designed for four. Every one of us would use the same toilet and fountain, and nobody had any soap to wash their hands with after using said toilet. Is it any surprise that I came out with MRSA? (I tried to do something about getting MRSA, but I was met with, “You shouldn’t have gone to jail. It’s jail, not the Hilton!” These people failed to realize that if I catch MRSA in jail, I’ll wind up spreading it once I got out, yet the jailers did not care that inmates were getting MRSA.)

I was told stories by some of the girls who had been there before, and one of these stories was about an older woman. Nobody could remember what the woman was in for, and it doesn’t matter really. She was an insulin dependant diabetic, and down there in this county jail, you won’t get insulin. You’ll get metformin and that’s it. It doesn’t matter how bad your diabetes is, the metformin better work, or you’ll be screwed and according to the jailers, it’s your own fault.

One day this woman wasn’t feeling well, and she had vocalized it to the other inmates. Then she went to the toilet, came out and collapsed on the ground. The inmates rushed to her to try and help, but when they realized they could do nothing, began banging on the doors, trying to get somebody’s attention. Over fifteen minutes passed before a jailer even walked by, but he didn’t stop. He just glanced in and kept walking. Finally, a jailer came down, most likely to punish for the inmates making noise, and opened the door. When they showed her the girl on the ground, the CO went up to her, kicked her in the side and shouted, “GET UP.” The inmates tried explaining that the woman was a diabetic and needed to go to the hospital, but instead, this officer slapped the woman across the face in an attempt to get her to stop faking it (they always think you’re faking it). Finally, after fifteen minutes of no response, the jailer mumbled, “well I guess I better go get someone” (acting like it had just ruined her day) and she left. By the time an ambulance arrived, over an hour had passed. This woman is lucky to be alive today.

Then there was the story I just recently heard from my friend.

While he was in there, an asthmatic began having trouble breathing. If you think the jail will just give you an inhaler, you’ve got another thing coming. Sometimes, they won’t let you bring in your inhalers. Why? Well, it’s jail. Not the Hilton. You better not have any trouble breathing in there because you won’t get help.

This man collapsed to the floor, and the inmates did what they could as one inmate ran to his bunk to get his inhaler that he somehow got in. I don’t know how he got it in, but good job sir. The inmate returned with his inhaler and they worked together, someone checking pulse, another doing what he could to get the fallen inmate to inhale the inhaler (that sounds weird). Eventually, the man was able to breathe again. Imagine if you will, what would have happened if nobody had an inhaler snuck in.

Then there was the man with a “spider bite.” It was swollen quite a bit and looked like it was filled with something. To top it off, there were red streaks going up his arm. This is a sign that you need a doctor, right then. No fucking around.

Instead, corrections officers squeezed the bump until pus flew out, gave him a band-aid and sent him back to his cell. The next day, his entire arm was swollen, and the red streaks were even more prominent. After arguing with their “nurse” (I fully believe jail nurses are working in jails for a reason. If they were any good, they’d be in a hospital setting or a doctor’s office. There is a reason for this, and this is not an insult on nurses.) who wanted to squeeze it again, they finally took him to the ER. While in the ER, the doctor lanced it in a professional setting and proclaimed that it was MRSA as pus flew out. Of course, this man was prescribed medicine that he would not receive while in jail.

As far as prescribed medications in jail, the person I know has several conditions and is on twelve different medicines. While he was in there, he was not given any of his pills. They wouldn’t even allow us to bring them down for him. A couple of his conditions has disasterous results if you abruptly stop taking them, like an SSRI or an Anti-psychotic. That and the nurse argued with him over an anti-seizure medication being given for migraines. “But this is for seizures! Do you have epilepsy?” when he said no, it was for migraines, along with the beta blocker he was on, she continued arguing that the medicines were being used wrong. Basically it was foreshadowing. He didn’t have epilepsy, therefore, in her eyes, he didn’t need that pill. He didn’t have high blood pressure, so he didn’t need the beta-blocker. She was an idiot.  The person I knew went four days without his SSRI for depression, and another pill, I don’t remember what, that you are to be weaned off of. Not abruptly stop.

I get a lot of you like to say “Welp, don’t go to jail. I’m a law abidin’ citizen!”

Hah, no you aren’t. Do you speed? Do you forget to use your blinker? Do you jaywalk? Do you stream movies for free? Ever downloaded a song without paying? Ever taken a medication that was prescribed to someone else because it was an emergency for you?

You’re a criminal too. You aren’t any better.

I have touched on jail reform many times, but nobody listens. Half of the people in county jails are in there on petty or victimless crimes. A majority are in there for marijuana. They aren’t bad people, in fact, some of the nicest most caring people I’ve met were inmates in jail. I trust those inmates more than the CO’s. Mind you, not all CO’s are bad. When I was in, a woman tried to sneak me some pens and paper so I could work while in there, as well as some toothpaste and a small toothbrush so I didn’t have to go THREE DAYS without brushing my teeth (weekenders don’t get commissary. They also don’t get toothbrushes or toothpaste.). She did manage to sneak me the dental items, and when she did, she said, “you make sure to keep this hidden. Before you get out, flush it. Yes, the toilet can handle it. I could lose my job because of this.”

I did as she asked.

The real issue is the MRSA. You can sit there all smug thinking, “it’s jail. It’s a bunch of criminals. Who cares what happens to them (even though you’re a criminal too)?” all you want, but you fail to realize, the majority of inmates will get out. They will wind up touching the same things you touch, sneezing in the same area you walk through and you, Mr. I’m a law abidin’ citizen, you will be exposed to it and could possibly get it. MRSA has no real cure. If you or your child ever get MRSA and you can’t figure out how, remember this blog post. Realize that a former inmate, trying to get his life together, probably went through where you went through. Maybe then you’ll start petitioning for some type of jail reform.

I am now the proud mother of a teenager/ My rainbows and cupcakes delivery

Thirteen years ago today (truly, it doesn’t sound right when I say it. Thirteen years? Bloody hell.) I was in the hospital, after having been induced, feeling a little like a celebrity. So many people were there including: My grandpa (god rest his soul), my father, my mother, my sister, my now ex-husband, my cousin (who had never seen a vaginal delivery, despite having three children. Hers were all c-section, and she had asked me if she could sit in. I told her yes, because, why not?) and my cousin’s cousin!

Long about 8:00 in the evening, I came out of a Stadol induced haze. My labor pains earlier had gotten quite bad, enough that I asked for drugs, and drugs I got! By this time my grandfather and uncle had gone home, but most everyone else was still there. I sat up and looked at my mother and said, “I think I have to take a shit.”

My mother leans down and says, “What?”

I repeat, with a little more gusto than a whisper from being on drugs all day, “I HAVE TO SHIT!”

My mother pauses for a nanosecond, and then her eyes widen and she tells me, “No! Don’t shit! [J.Theberge’s father] Get the doctor!”

My dad, who had been mulling around most of the day, getting the food and drink for people looked up and said, “huh? Why?”

Then my mother said those words to him, “SHE HAS TO SHIT!” (mind you, my mother is currently a near 40 year RN, so she knows exactly what she’s doing, and talking about. She was merely repeating what I had said.)

My father and now ex-husband rush from the room, barking as they rushed down the hallway, saying that we needed the doctor nowt because the baby was coming.

Finally, he gets in there, and I remember complaining that the man had huge, “sausage fingers.” It was quite exhausting, and at one point I had my sister and ex-husband holding onto a leg while I pushed.

At 8:25 a little bundle of child came flying into the world (The doctor stood on the other side of the room with a catcher’s mitt. Don’t believe me? 😉 ) and they threw him onto my lap (bloody and gross) whilst I delivered the afterbirth, which I did NOT eat, and I did NOT take home with me (you gross people). It was promptly put into a biohazard bag and disposed of.

I also clamped the cord. Oh the horror, eh?

I also had more stitches than Buford Pusser (Thank you Jeff Foxworthy. I did not understand that joke when I was a wee one. As an adult who has popped out other humans, I totally get it.)

This has been the labor and delivery story of my firstborn. I’ve noticed those are quite popular online anymore, because people think (for some strange reason) that they are magical, rainbows and cupcakes moments, that somehow make me a primordial earth goddess of womanhood (only if I do it the *RIGHT* way. In a hospital? WITH DRUGS? NOT EATING THE PLACENTA? CLAMPING THE CORD?! NO SKIN TO SKIN IMMEDIATELY? OMG, I should have just tossed the kid into the orphanage because that was not the *RIGHT* way.)

I also didn’t breastfeed. 🙂 (Oh yeah, jump all down my throat about how every bit of what I did was wrong, and if I had only done it the *RIGHT* way, I would be deserving of a medal, and it would have been a magical moment.)

Natural birthers, lactivists… some of the worst bunch to ever grace the internet.

Anyways, a wonderful, happy birthday to my TEENAGER. I have a TEENAGER. Jesus, where did the time go? The next time I blink, he will be an adult. I don’t like this. I don’t like aging, and I don’t enjoy my children growing so fast, however, tis a part of life.

God, I just realized, I grow closer to being a grandparent every day.

Remind me to have their father explain why condoms are great. I refuse to be a grandmother before I hit 40.

But then I could be a GILF, so it’s a win-win either way.

I dedicate this song to you, my teenaged son that acts just like me. I’m sure my mother is still trying to figure out how to be a fly on the wall.

Happy Birthday, son!

 

Justice for Morgan Angerbauer

A news story has begun making the rounds that absolutely sickens and disgusts me, but what sickens me more is that hardly anybody is talking about it. So today, we are talking about it.

Twenty-year-old Morgan Angerbauer was an insulin dependant diabetic from Texarkana. She was arrested for drugs and a probation violation. The probation she was on was for drugs. These are non-violent drug offenses, and anybody who knows me knows I believe most drugs should be legal, and if not, we shouldn’t send them to jail. They need rehab.

The few days leading up to July 1st, her blood sugar became dangerously high, ranging up to 500, and she was only given insulin one time. Throughout most of the day on June 30th she had pleaded for help, begging for her sugar to be tested and to be given insulin. The nurse refused. Her defense was that she missed her medical call, and if you miss that you have to wait until the next one. The thing is, Morgan was very ill and passed out (other inmates verified this) during her medical call.

Around 4am on the morning of July 1st, the nurse finally goes to check on Morgan, who is passed out in the cell. She tries to wake her, but she is severely unresponsive. From there, the nurse checks her sugar, or tries to and is given an E-3 reading, which means “off scale high” or “too high to read.” Instead of immediately giving her insulin, or contacting emergency services, the nurse proceeds to squeeze a tube of straight glucose down her throat.

Morgan becomes even more unresponsive and gray, but the kicker of all of this is that nobody contacts emergency services. Nobody thinks to get her to a hospital, even though the entire day before, her blood sugar readings were dangerously high to indicate a medical emergency.

Morgan died that morning. Her cause of death? Diabetic ketoacidosis. Her blood sugar at time of death was 813. The nurse was severely neglectful. She ignored pleas for help, but that’s very common in jails. They don’t care about you if you’re an inmate.

The nurse has now been arrested for negligent homicide, which is a class A misdemeanor, but if you ask me, everybody in that jail should be charged. This did NOT have to happen.

I am tired of the way inmates in jails are treated. Don’t give me that, “Well, you shouldn’t have gone to jail,” bullshit. Half of the people in jail shouldn’t even be there. Even if you should, workers at a jail have a duty to protect the health of the inmates because your health should be a basic right.

Another reason your health should be protected is a story of mine. I spent two weekends in jail. There were 14 girls in my cell at one point, all using the same toilet, and nobody had any soap to wash their hands with. I asked repeatedly for soap, but I was told, “this is jail, not the hilton. Shouldn’t have gone to jail.”

Is it any surprise that when I came out, I had contracted MRSA? If you are one of those, “Welp, you shouldn’t have gone to jail,” people, I will have you know that I do interact with the public. I go places. I sit in the booth you’re about to sit in when you go out to eat. I walk past you. I cough, I sneeze like every human out there. I caught MRSA in jail, and I can easily pass it on to several people, without even meaning to. Here in my area alone, quite a few people have contracted MRSA since I came out. These are your “law abiding” family members who are catching it. (Law abiding my ass. I know you speed, download yourself some free music and movies, have a few beers and think you can drive. You’re just a pretentious hypocrite.).

Back to Morgan.

Everything I said can be verified easily. Her family released the video of her final moments in jail, and it’s absolutely disgusting to watch. The whole incident lasted over an hour. Forty-five minutes passed before anybody called 911. The video is edited for time, but all the important bits are there.

I’m happy the nurse is being held somewhat accountable, but everyone who came in and out of that room (barring the inmates. They can’t do a damn thing. They can’t even get help.) should be held accountable. Any one of those jailers could have called emergency services. I am not a nurse, but I can tell within the first few minutes that this is a medical emergency and she needs a hospital, not some untrained nurse shoving glucose down her throat (way to block an airway, idiot.).

I will link the video here, but you have been warned that it is highly disturbing. If you don’t want to see someone die before your eyes, I wouldn’t watch it. Just take what I said and go from there.

We need serious jail reform in this country, especially Texarkana because this is the THIRD death in a year. Michael Sabbie was one of them (he kept pleading that he couldn’t breathe, that he had pneumonia, but they maced him and beat him anyways. He died later in his cell.).

This video is disturbing. If that bothers you, please don’t click this link.

Airline Amy!

I met a flight attendant who’s name was Amy.

“Off the Deep End,” anybody?

Am I so old that I connected these things in my head?

Listen up you younguns, back in 1992, a man known as “Weird” Al Yankovic put out a parody album (This one was his SEVENTH) called “Off the Deep End.” On this album, there were plenty of parodies of well-known bands, like Nirvana! Surely, you have heard “Smells like Nirvana,” correct? If not here you go:

Rawk on

On this same album was a song called, “Trigger Happy,” that I particularly enjoy singing when the topic of gun rights come up.

It annoys a lot of people

Weird Al had a lot of songs. I actually have a story involving my awesome former OBGYN. I was scheduled for a c-section with my last pregnancy, and I was prepped for surgery. My amazing OBGYN comes walking in and starts talking to me about the usual surgery stuff. When he gets behind the curtain, before touching anything, I suddenly hear him, “Let me see, that IV, here we go, time to operate, I’ll pull her insides out… I’ll pull her insides out and see what she ate!! Like a surgeon…”

This is a good time to mention that my OBGYN and I had a great relationship. He was one of the best doctors I have ever had, and I owe him one of my children’s life. He and his wife were really good people. So don’t go whining about how that’s horrible. I thought it was hilarious, and it put me more at ease about having my gut sawed into.

The point of this, is when you are a huge fan of Weird Al, and you grew up with his music (I grew up with ALL THE MUSIC) and you know every song, when you meet a flight attendant named Amy, his song “Airline Amy” will pop into your head. Thankfully, she was aware of the song when I looked at her and said, “My mission is to get you in an upright, locked position!”

Airline Sexual Innuendo

If you don’t know who Weird Al is, and I don’t see how you could not have heard anything by him, considering he’s been at it for over thirty years!

And on that note, I leave you with this, youngsters.

Get offa my lawn!

A Day In the Life of a Hypochondriac

I am a hypochondriac, which stems from an anxiety disorder, or so I have been told.

Now, not to be rude, but there are a lot of self-diagnosers out there. Why they claim they have an anxiety disorder when all they do is get a little nervous over major things (don’t we all) is beyond me, and when they do that, it makes people like me look like we are just attention whores.

Firstly, if you think you may have a condition, please see a doctor. If you don’t like what that doctor says, we have second opinions for a reason. In fact, most doctors recommend you get them because they know they are only human and can make mistakes.

When I say I have anxiety issues, I really mean it and yes they are diagnosed. I have separation anxiety, abandonment issues (this is a story for another day, on where these started. I’ll drop the hint of they started where all my issues started, in the year 2008), hypochondria and plain old generalized anxiety. I know my panicking over little things is silly, but my logical mind cannot overcome the panic.

For instance, when that shit happened with the ex-bestie (whom for the purposes of this blog, shall be called “the Skopijan”), I was nothing but a bundle of raw nerves. Why? The separation anxiety and abandonment issues, which he wound up separating and dropping me like a bad habit because a girl told him to (That’s all it boils down to. A girl told him to. So he did. Maybe one day he will grow some testicles, but at this point, I fear it is too late). Yet, looking back on it, I can see how silly it was for me to get so upset over it. A person without my “condition” would have been a little sad at the end of a friendship, but would have easily gotten over it, especially since the friend had done nothing but use them for money (I wonder if he has acquired a job yet. I’d ask his lady friend who was nice to me and seemed interested in talking, but once she realized I couldn’t send her screen caps to fuel her paranoia that he was cheating on her, she didn’t want to talk. He probably is, dear.). They wouldn’t have been so upset. Not me, I lost my collective wits and did nothing but freak out for over a month. Now, of course, I look back like, “The Skopijan was not worth my tears. Good to be rid of someone like that. I don’t need that shit.” A doctor also told me that this boils down to another bit of GAD called “adjustment disorder.” I apparently don’t take change too well. Now whether I believe that to be a real medical condition that needs to be “medicated” is another story. Most people don’t deal with change well at all. I just happen to be one of them.

Because of this, I am also a severe hypochondriac. For those of you who don’t know, I think I have everything wrong with me. So let me tell you what the past two weeks have been like for me.

I have convinced myself (or near convinced myself) that I was:

Having a heart attack (slight twinges in my chest, mainly due from leaning on my elbows which puts strain on your chest muscles)

Having a stroke (because I lean on my elbows a lot, I stretch out the cubital nerve. It’s also known as cellbow, or cell phone elbow. It’s like carpal tunnel but on the other side of the hand where your pinky and ring finger go numb, tingle, etc)

Had breast cancer (thought I felt a lump. Then I sought it out and couldn’t find it again, and wound up making my breast a little sore, which further solidified my cancer fear)

Had uterine/cervical cancer (had a shorter than usual period.)

Had a brain tumor (headache from staring at a computer monitor for too long while working on my new book)

 

Thankfully, my mother is a nurse, and God love her, she puts up with so much shit from me. I call her in a panic like, “Mom, I think I’m having a stroke!!”

She will go, “You’re not having a stroke, J. Theberge! (I’m not putting my real name here. Unless I did already and forgot but I’m not doing it now XD)” Then she will proceed to go into a list of reasons WHY I am not having some medical crisis.

My whole point of this blog post is to point out that anxiety issues aren’t cute. They aren’t quirky. Stop romanticizing mental issues (looking at you tumblr)! They can be severely debilitating and crippling. They aren’t funny. They aren’t sexy. They aren’t NORMAL. Yeah, I said it. I don’t care if you get mad at that. Take it from the severe hypochondriac with severe anxiety issues (I can’t even smoke marijuana, you know that? PARANOIA.). It’s not cute. If you sound anything like I do, please for the love of God, go to the doctor and get some help. They’ll do their best to help you, but sometimes the initial treatment does nothing (see you soon, doc!) as I can attest, but they will keep it up until you can get to the day, and breeze through it without an issue.

Or in my case, without thinking you’re having a heart attack. Seriously, I know it’s silly, but in my head I think, “Wait, what if this is the STARTS of a heart attack, and I ignore it, thinking it’s all related to muscles, and my constant leaning, but I am wrong, and it really IS a heart attack!?!?!?! Omg, I should go to the hospital.” Then I’ll pace around the room for thirty minutes, call my mom in a panic, get yelled at by my mom who is now annoyed at me because it’s the tenth time this week I’ve called her upset, thinking I have something major wrong with me.

Help is out there. You don’t have to live like this. The upside is that once you have almost convinced yourself that you’re having a heart attack (nine times), you start trying to be a little healther. I have cut down on the caffeine, cut down on smoking, and started watching my sodium intake. That’s the ONLY upside to hypochondria.