After experiencing constant pain, nausea and dizziness, an end to my suffering was in sight. The doctor had just uttered the seven best words I’d ever heard: “I’m sending you to the emergency room.”
A month earlier I began getting uncontrollably dizzy, which led to vomiting. Then during the night I started to wake to pain in my head. It felt like being stung by 100 bees at once.
There was no respite from these symptoms, so being sent to an emergency room for treatment brought me hope and joy.
When I began serving my sentence, in 2014, I was under the impression that I would not see the outside of a prison until I left prison — unless it was during a transfer to a different prison or on TV. But I quickly learned I was wrong. Three months into my sentence, my neighbor went to the hospital to have knee surgery on what is commonly referred to in prison as a “medical out trip.”
During my sentence, I have been on several medical out trips, mostly for my ears and hearing problems. But this trip would be my first to the ER in over a decade — and the first since I came to prison. While I was hopeful for the relief of my pain, that realization also filled me with anxiety and fear.
In the Missouri state prison system, each facility has their own medical department staffed with physicians from a for-profit medical company called Centurion. That’s where we go for general medical care such as colds, flu shots and other typical maladies.
Each institution is also equipped with a kind-of emergency room that can attempt to keep a heart attack or stroke victim alive until outside paramedics arrive. But when the emergency is beyond the scope of what the prison can handle, we are sent to an outside emergency room. The same is true for complex medical issues such as cancer care, kidney dialysis and hearing tests.
Being ill while being incarcerated is probably one of the most unpleasant things I have ever experienced. There is a serious lack of compassion from prison staff. The majority of the time, the medical staff tells us that we are faking sickness.
Luckily, on the day I went to the medical department for my dizziness and nausea, there was a nurse who genuinely wanted to help. She immediately made sure a doctor examined me. The doctor then decided I needed to go to an outside ER.
Prison staff prepared me for the trip. I was handed a neon orange jumpsuit to put on. Next a guard came and put handcuffs on me that were connected to a belly chain. The belly chain was connected to shackles placed around my lower legs. This is the required attire for any out trip.
I was then escorted to a white minivan that would take me to the hospital. I wondered if the hospital would actually help me. I could only guess how I would be treated. Would they give me worse care because I was in prison?
Upon arrival at the hospital I was taken to a waiting room designated for incarcerated people. It had none of the normal waiting room amenities such as coffee or vending machines. There were just a few chairs and a phone for guards to use. When I was left alone with the prison guards, they sat quietly, eyes glued to their phones.
After a brief waiting period, a nurse came to take me to my room. As I was escorted, a mixture of hospital staff and people seeking treatment stared at me. I had never felt so on display. Is this what animals in the zoo feel like?
Once in my room, and laying on a bed, a prison guard handcuffed one of my arms to the bed. This left my other arm free for an IV or blood draw.
A nurse arrived to take my vitals. She treated me like I was a regular patient, showing genuine concern for my health. The simple act of the nurse asking me if I wanted a warm blanket put me at ease.
When the doctor evaluated me, they also showed concern and kindness. During my trip, the hospital staff showed me there are people who can see beyond my orange jumpsuit and handcuffs.
Due to my past history of surgeries on my ears from infections and complications, as well as my current symptoms, the doctor ordered a CT scan of my head.
While I waited anxiously for the results, my mind was flooded with worst-case scenarios: cancer, a tumor or some unknown disease. Three hours later, there was a knock at the door. My heart nearly skipped a beat as I watched the doctor walk into my room in what seemed like slow motion.
They told me that I had cholesteatoma, a cyst that develops from repeated ear infections. They said I would need surgery to remove the cyst. I was anxious about the prospect of receiving surgery; but even more, I was filled with relief to finally have an answer to my medical problems.