Since my incarceration, I have been in remarkably good health. I’ve had one cold on Memorial Day weekend and one bout of diarrhea that only last 24 hours, along with one week-long staph infection that resolved without a problem. Not bad for a 5-month period. I’ve had a physical feeling of well-being at a time I most needed it to support a mental feeling of well-being. That has been an enormous gift that I must be thankful for and conscious of. Prison is simply not a place you want to be sick, especially of anything that would require frequent visits to the bathroom, because in case you were wondering there is no privacy and in some places with no urinals, you have to wait for the appropriate toilet to be free. Prisoners, surprisingly to the outside, perhaps, are very picky about hygiene-- there are designated toilets, designated sinks (one must never spit into a sink, except when brushing one’s teeth. And one must piss in the commode dedicated for that purpose and shit in the commode dedicated to that purpose (there is usually a back-up “shitter” for urgent situations, but there is an attempt to give a modicum of privacy to the person taking care of #2.)
At Delano, behind the toilet was also the preferred place to stash the bag of “pruno” that was currently being fermented. Although it’s hard to imagine this was an adequate hiding place, as it was never uncovered during a search for even after a major toss of our bunks (while we were in the yard). For some reason, (or perhaps for a very real reason) the cops didn’t look there,
The making is of “pruno” (prison wine) is a devotional art here and this is how it works. Once a week, we get “real” pineapple or orange juice at breakfast and that is collected in trade for coffee or cookies. In addition, oranges or apples that come frequently enough in lunch bags are collected, peeled and their juice is squeezed. A “kicker,” which consists of something to provoke the fermentation process is added, and the bag goes below a bunk on in a locker and over the next few days the maker blows into it periodically, because CO2 is necessary to the process. I think it takes about 3 or 4 days (I have observed this but not engaged in it myself.)
I find it an odd sensation to be tipsy here, which I only indulged in once. There was nothing to do with the buzz and I found myself wanting to be sober again ASAP. There was nothing I felt I could do better high and this (miraculously) was a new sensation for me.
I was glad, frankly, that I “tested” myself. I was actually able to refuse the next time it was offered and this is where my Rational Recovery helped. I recognized my Addictive Voice telling me this would be a pleasurable experience when my rational self recognized that it would make it harder to concentrate on the book I wanted to read, and there was certainly no socializing I wanted to do in which a social lubricant may have been pleasurable, like cocktails at sunset on the porch with a date. I have to admit, I have no intention of permanently swearing off the possibility of such an indulgence- but I think I can wait till after parole is over, which I imagine would be a good idea.
The only mood altering substance I have succumbed to is a quarter dose of seraquil- The xanax of prison. ( To the tune of an old jingle “Everybody doesn’t like some thing, but nobody doesn’t like Sera-quil.”) It suppresses that endless brainthrob of thoughts, that combined with the sounds of 66 men sleeping, the low buzz of the TV, and the incessant whirring of the fan, can keep a man awake at night.
Then after a sweet, dream-filled sleep, I plod through breakfast, go back to sleep, wake up again for morning pill call, then dose till noon (sometimes not, sometimes I start my day post-pill call at 9 or so) Catnaps are my sole concession for making time inside go faster. Many inmates here simply sleep through their entire sentence. They have been problematic enough in the past that the doctors are more than happy to dose them into oblivion. I have noticed however that they literally forget how to be awake. When they aren’t sleeping they are more often than not anxiety-ridden and extremely depressed. In the past, they might have been steered into adult education or other rehabilitative uses of their time. But those programs have all been unplugged. Make no mistake about it, there is a direct correlation between overcrowding and doping of the prison population. Of course, I realize I must add a giant qualifier to everything I write- I have spent 2 months at county, 2 months in Delano Reception and 1 month at Chino Reception. A total of 6 months behind bars and I really haven’t been to prison yet! Which referred to as mainline or the general population. Once I get there, I will no doubt garner a more complete picture.
Note: the Seraquil was a Birch Hall habit. There is no such sleep aid where I am now, in Redwood.
MCO 2004
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