*Note from Gin ~ I’ve had this one awhile and I think it is really powerful, so I am glad to finally get it up. It was sent to me handwritten, so it took me a long time to get it typed out, and I must say, part of the time was how sad it made me imagining having to experience this. When I think of friends who have gone through cancer treatment and who are trying to eat organic and make sure they are reducing their stress and all those things and how much they struggle still, I cannot even fathom having to fight that disease with the stress and absolutely abysmal nutrition that is provided in our prison system. Please give this one a read. I know it is long, but it is so important to understand what these people are going through every day. Thank you. *
Cancer is a horrible experience to go through under normal conditions, but when you’re an offender in the Department of Corrections (DOC) it’s even worse.
Chris Tyler wrote a book entitled Go Toward the Light about the journey her family went through as her son Ben was dying of AIDS. A quote from the book with a slight alteration, give the perfect description of what it feels like to be told that you have cancer. “Death has been one of those things that’s foreign to me. And suddenly it’s personal, very personal. When you’re told [you have cancer and it’s possible you could die] it’s as if time skips a beat and once the clock resumes ticking nothing is the same. And in the days and weeks that follow, events that used to approach in some orderly fashion begin shipping at you unexpectedly from the side; constantly keeping you off balance.”
In October of 2018, while housed at River North Correctional Center in Virginia, I decided to have a PSA test for prostate cancer even though I was having no symptoms. I’m just 44 years old and requested the test because my dad had prostate cancer 10 years before. The results aren’t supposed to score higher than a four. however, when I was given my test results a few weeks later, my score was a 14.
The institutional doctor did the traditional prostate exam using his finger and told me that my prostate was enlarged. At the time I figured there was some other explanation other than cancer for the high test score and enlarged prostate, such as an infection. I didn’t think it was cancer. Perhaps I was simply in denial. The institutional doctor scheduled me to see a local cancer specialist outside the institution.
Anytime an offender leaves the institution for a medical appointment, he has to wear an orange jumpsuit that can be seen a mile away along with shackles and handcuffs with a black box that makes hand movement very limited. It’s supposed to prevent getting out of the handcuffs. Believe it or not the black box was invented by an inmate–like another way to torture us is needed. There’s also a chain that goes around the waist and through a hole in the black box making movement even more limited. An offender is lucky to be able to scratch his nose while wearing the black box. The handcuffs and shackles always leave bruises and indented marks that take several days to go away. River North was a security level 4 institution so I had to wear a shock belt that made my stomach and back hot and sweaty. I had a fear that the guard would accidentally or just for laughs push the button on the control he was carrying, giving me the shock of my life.
The vehicle that I was transported in was basically a van with a metal box in the back, like a dog box. It makes you feel like an animal and generally that’s the way offenders are treated. The box is split in half to separate offenders. There are metal benches and no windows. I was the only one being transported so there were no other offenders to talk to and all I could do was stare at the van walls lost in my own thoughts, wondering what would take place next.
The cancer specialist was also concerned about the high PSA and scheduled a biopsy, which was done in November at the local hospital.
At that point I was still in denial that there was any possibility that I had cancer.
All that changed in December 2018 when I went to a followup appointment with the cancer specialist. He told me that I indeed have prostate cancer. The specialist went on to explain how the biopsy was done, but at the time I really didn’t care because I was in shock and doing everything I could to hold myself together emotionally. My thoughts kept going to thinking this was the end. He went on to explain that prostate cancer was rated on a Gleason scale of 1-10 and mine was rated as a 6 which is actually considered low. I was told about the different kinds of treatment and the effects. Again, I find’ really comprehend what I was being told because I was deep in despair. The specialist recommended removing my prostate, but I told him I wanted to explore the other options before making a decision. He recommended me to another specialist who focused on treatment because the first specialist wasn’t equipped to do radiation.
Once the specialist left, I couldn’t hold back my emotions anymore and broke down crying. I had two years left to serve before my release. Now there was the possibility that I wouldn’t see it. I may not experience the joy of being home again. I couldn’t believe this was happening to me. I was just 44 years old and still had so many things I still wanted to do in my life. Now I had cancer. The only people in the room with me were the guards who transported me. They tried to console me, but it just wasn’t the same as having a family member or friend there to comfort me. On the ride back to River North, I was once again in the back of the windowless metal dog box with only my thoughts of death and despair. It was probably the longest 45 minute drive I’ve ever been on.
When I got back to the institution I was offered the opportunity to speak to mental health. At first I declined, but an hour later I asked to speak to them.
Like many offenders in the system, I already suffered from mental health issues that included having a learning disability, bipolar, ADHD, depression, and anxiety. The news of having cancer wasn’t helping any to say the least. It was so depressed and couldn’t even being to process the fact that I had cancer. I couldn’t even tell people in the pod about the cancer without breaking down in tears because I was so distraught.
The one thing that really helped me through the initial shock was when a Christian brother, Pistol Pete, who had faced cancer himself, spoke to me. He was straight forward about it and told me that it wasn’t going to do me any good to have a pitty party over having cancer and continually cry about it. That wasn’t going to change or help the situation. Pistol Pete gave me a bunch of Bible verses about healing. One of those verses came from Jeremiah 17:14 which said, “Heal me, O Lord, and I shall be healed; save me and I shall be saved; for you are all my praise.” I try to say this verse to myself daily and meditate on it. I’ll always be thankful to Pistol Pete for the simple words of encouragement he gave me when I felt my world was ending.
In January another big change came along. I was transferred to State Farm Enterprise Unit so that I could easily be transported to VCU Hospital in Richmond where I would see twist a specialist in Radiology and receive cancer treatment. When I was transferred, it was classified as a temporary transfer so my property wasn’t sent with me because it was assumed that I would return to River North. My money didn’t immediately transfer either so I have to have Mom send me some. I’m blessed to have her support. When I first got to my new location I had to depend on the hygiene items that were given to me by the facility and the only food I received came from the chow hall. When the money from Mom finally arrived I had to buy some hygiene and other needed items although most all of these things were in my property just sitting at River North. I finally received my property 6 months later after having a friend on the street email the Director of the Department of Corrections in order for action to be taken. It was the simple things that I missed and often took for granted, items such as a watch to tell time, a tv in my cell to watch what I wanted to watch, my JP5 player to listen to music. I didn’t even have my address book so I could only write those that Mom sent me an address for or someone who wrote me. Luckily mail was forwarded when I transferred. I learned that it was these simple things that I often took for granted that made doing time in prison much easier.
It’s been 9 months since I had the initial PSA test done. The guard just woke me up and it’s 4:00 am. I’ve got to make another trip to VCU and those will make the 11th time I’ve done so since being transferred here 6 months ago. I always feel a sense of anxiety and dread every time I make this trip because I know it’s going to be a long day. After I get dressed I go to the early breakfast for the diabetics and then go to the room where we wait to be transported.
The guards dress me out in orange pants and shirt. Then I’m put in handcuffs, black box, chain around ht waist and shackles. Luckily, State Farm is a Security Level 3 so there’s no shock belt.
It has got to the point where the transportation officers know me and I know them because I’ve already done this so many times. I’m not the only offender being transported for medical care today–there are 4 other offenders traveling with me. Now that we are ready to go, it’s now a waiting game.
It’s always a hurry up and wait for anything done in the DOC–the amount of time waiting always varies.
Today is a particularly long wait because there’s a mechanical problem with the van and the guards have to go to another institution on the same property to get another van. We end up having to wait two hours while in the security devices they’ve already placed on us. During this time another inmate has to use the bathroom but can’t due to all the restraints. The only ones who have a key to them are the transportation guards who went for a new van. This is typical of what offenders have to go through.
The trip to VCU takes 45 minutes and once we get there we’re placed in a waiting room within a secure area with other offenders from other institutions. The black box is removed and the waist chain is connected to the handcuffs giving us a little more mobility.
The waiting game starts once again.
Each offender has an appointment time and the times vary, not particularly scheduled back to back. The sooner everyone in the group I came with gets finished with their appointment the sooner we can return to the institution. It can easily turn into an all day affair and I can easily be in these security restraints for 12 hours or more. The waiting room is small, about the size of the living room and dining room at home put together, with a tiled area behind a 3-foot wall petition. There’s absolutely no privacy. There’s no room in the waiting area to move around really because we are packed in there like sardines. Theres’s hard plastic chairs to sit in but it’s impossible to get comfortable. I get sick of sitting all day. There’s a tv and the only way to get the channel changed is for a guard to come in and do it. Even watching tv becomes boring, especially for someone like me who has ADHD. It would be nice to bring a book to read, but that isn’t allowed.
Lunch time comes around 11:00 AM. It’s always a bag lunch brought from the institution. Normally we get two peanut butter sandwiches on dried out stale bread. The peanut butter lacks the normal amount of oil and is so thick I can hardly swallow it. The bag lunch also includes a sandwich bag of dried carrots, pack of 4 small cookies, piece of small fruit that’s often on the verge of or already rotten, and water that comes in a plastic bag that tastes like the plastic. Sometimes there’s a little variation in the bag lunch that’s given to us, but not by much. It’s a shame that homeless people who go to soup kitchen are fed better than offenders in prison, especially offenders who are being transported for medical care. Despite the poor quality of the bag lunch, I eat it because at this point I’m starving since I haven’t had any food since 4:30 AM, but lunch doesn’t fill me up. Like our trays at the institution, there’s just not enough quantity for a grown adult; we’re given enough just to get by.
During my first appointment at VCU, I had another PSA test done which was a 20. It had gone up 6 points in about 3 months which greatly concerned me. I began to think that this could be a lot more serious than I initially thought. My doctor in Radiation ordered and MRI to be performed and then he asked for another biopsy because there was an area of concern that wasn’t biopsied the first time. Now my concern was at an all time high as well as my anxiety. Luckily in this case it wasn’t particularly bad news even tough the area was onerous because it scored a 7 on the Gleason scale which is still low. In addition a bone scan and CT scan were ordered to insure that the cancer hadn’t spread.
My radiation doctor recommended removing my prostate since I’m fairly young, which would guarantee that I’m cured of prostate cancer and that I would not get prostate cancer again in the future. However, cancer could appear in other parts of my body. Also, removing the prostate had some serious side effects such as incontenince and erectile dysfunction. I told my doctor that i wasn’t interested in having my prostate removed, but was interested in having the radiation seed implant procedure as treatment, which was the same as what my dad had 10 years before and was successfully cured. My doctor insisted that I meet with the surgeon and discuss the option of removing my prostate before making a final decision on my treatment which I reluctantly did. Even after that meeting I wasn’t interested in the surgical procedure to remove my prostate. We came up with an alternative treatment plan that will hopefully lead me to being cured. I’m happy with the plan we came up with.
Today as 1:00 PM comes around it’s time for my appointment. Each offender must be escorted by 2 guards to the appointment if it’s outside the secure area and once again the black box is put on. My appointment is to have another MRI. The guards have to take off all the metal restraints because they would interfere with the test. The guards do put plastic restraints on my ankles but my hands are left because I’ve got to put them down by my side during the test. The guards aren’t allowed in the MRI room because of the metal on them, but can observe me through a glass window. The technician tells me that the MRI is a followup to the CT scan and the focus of this MRI is going to be on my abdomen. My first thought is that the CT scan showed even more cancer or something else is wrong with me. The MRI takes 45 minutes and once it’s over the technician doesn’t give me any idea of the results because he’s not allowed. The doctor has to do that. Once again the metal restraints are placed on me and I return to the offender waiting room.
Luckily today all the appointments in my group are done by 2:30 PM so we’re able to return to the institution early. There are days where the appointments aren’t done until close to 6:00 PM. Any trip to VCU is tiring, but the days that we return late totally wipe me out. Each time we return to the institution we often have to wait in the van for approximately 45 minutes until a sergeant or higher ranking officer comes to open the sally port, which is the fenced area where offenders are loaded in and out of a transpiration vehicle. There are times when the AC in the van doesn’t work and we about roast while waiting. Again, it’s a hurry up and wait situation. Once we finally get back into the institution each offender is run through a metal detector and strip searched. I’ve been strip searched so many times since I’ve been incarcerated that I know what the guards are going to tell me to do before its even said. The process of being strip searched never really loses the element of humiliation for offenders. After this I dress in my regular prison clothes which consists of a blue button down shirt and blue jeans. Then each of us has to go to medical to have our vitals checked before being given our evening meal. By the point I’m ready for bed because I’m so tired that I’m struggling to keep my eyes open and can hardly move because I have little energy left. However, we have bible study tonight and I don’t like to miss it. I also have laundry that I need to do so I doubt I will get to bed until 11:30 PM. Then I’m lucky if I even fall asleep because State Farm isn’t air conditioned and the cell is hot even when running the eight inch fan I bought off property that’s running on high.
I believe the majority of people who see me on a daily basis would say that I’m a happy person, and for the most part I am, considering the adverse conditions that I’m currently living in. I make a great effort to not focus on this plight, but to focus and stay positive. However, there are those occasions when negative thoughts slip into my mind that makes me anxious and depressed. It doesn’t help that my dad ended up passing away 9 years ago from a brain tumor that was unrelated to his previous prostate cancer. I often wonder if that will be next for me and that at the end I won’t even know what’s going on around me like dad did. It also doesn’t help that my aunt (mom’s sister) has cancer and is currently fighting for her life. I admit that cancer scares me because there’s so many unknowns. It’s really hard not to focus on the negative aspects of the disease. I’m blessed to have the support of my family and friends on the outside. However, some of my biggest supporters right now are fellow offenders, especially my Christian brothers and volunteers who come to conduct the church service.
In May I started my first part of treatment which is hormone therapy. It blocks my body from producing testosterone which feeds the prostate cancer. This comes of course with some temporary side effects as long as I’m on the homes therapy such as hot flashes, low sex drive and low energy. Sometimes I’ve got to force myself to do things and I get tired easily. I’ve noticed I have to nap a lot more. I make jokes that I hope they don’t give me estrogen and accidentally try to give me a sex change. What can I say? I believe in keeping a sense of humor about the situation even tough at times it may look grim. At times I admit that my sense of humor can be wrapped. Humor is also probably a defense mechanism to deflect my fears and uncertainty.
In late July or early August I’ll have the radiation seed implant done. After that I have to go to VCU Monday through Friday for 5 weeks for radiation treatment. I’m not looking forward in the least to all those trips because of what I have to go through mentally and physically each time. I hate the idea of having to wake up each morning at 4:00 AM and have to force myself. I loathe the idea of being in handcuffs and shackles all day causing great discomfort. There’s also the discomfort of the waiting area and the boredom that Ill have to face each day. My stomach turns overtime I think about the bag lunch I will be given that is barely edible and very little variation. I’m not looking forward to the emotional strain ghat these trips will put on me and being worn out physically every day. I will have to face 12 hours or more of torture every day in order to receive 15 minutes of radiation treatment.
Despite all the strife that I will have to endure, I’m determined to face the challenge and to overcome it so that I will be cured of cancer. I have 17 months left to serve before I’m released from prison. I want to be cured and fully healthy by that point. I consider myself blessed because VCU is supposed to be one of the top research hospitals when it comes to treating cancer and the state covers the expense since I’m an offender in the DOC. I don’t know how I would pay for it all if I was on the outside. I will do whatever it takes to be cured of cancer and be considered a survivor. Then I can tell my story to others in an similar situation in order to encourage them and give them hope. I will especially use me not get a prostate exam and PSA test because early detection like mine can save their lives.
The Journey Continues
It’s August 6, 2019 and it’s 8:00 AM. I am told that I’m needed for transportation because I have to go to VCU Hospital in Richmond. This is a total shock and unexpected. I’ve never went to VCU this late before and wonder why I’m going. Once gain I’m put in an orange shirt and pants, handcuffs with the dreaded black box, chain around my waist, and shackles. This has become very routine for me. Today I have there other offenders traveling with me, all from State Farm Correctional Center which is part of the State Farm Complex. I figure that since we’re leaving the institution later than normal that we won’t get back until after the 6:00 PM count tonight and will have to wait tin the van until count ears because there’s no movement during count time.
It takes 45 minutes to get to VCU. Once I’m there I’m placed in the same waiting room and the black box removed as before along with the other offenders that I’m traveling with. Luckily two of these offenders are called almost immediately so there’s hope we’ll return to the institution at a decent time.
When I’m called for my appointment, which is early as well, the black box is placed back on me and I’m taken to radiology. I find out that they plan to do the radiation seed implant and I’m excited because my treatment is moving forward. Then I’m asked when was the last time I ate and I told them this morning I ate two packs of oatmeal. At this point I find out that I wasn’t supposed to eat or drink anything after 12:00 AM the night before. The Medical Department at State Farm Enterprise failed to inform me of this. They also forgot to take me through the process that would clean me out so that the procedure could be performed. Since both of these things haven’t been done, the nurse tells me that she’s going to have to talk to the doctor to see if we can still move forward. I waited for an hour while the nurse talks to the doctor and to contact the medical depart at State Farm Enterprise to find out why proper preparation hasn’t been made for the procedure. I’m afraid that I’m going to have to wait for five hours or more until enough time that I haven’t had food or drink passes by. Finally the nurse returns and tells method the procedure won’t be able to be done today because they can’t put me to sleep as long as there’ food in my stomach. Now I’ll have to wait to be rescheduled for the procedure. It could be as late as November before it’s done. This new is very disappointing.
I’m glad to say that this trip won’t be a total waste of time. I’m given the shot for the hormone therapy that I receive every three months. As Forrest Gump says, “I got shot in the buttocks.” The needle that’s used is so big that it looks like something out of a cartoon. The nurse also draws blood for another PSA test that’s used to gage prostate cancer. This hasn’t been done since January so I’m glad it’s being done because I’m curious to know if the hormone treatment is making a difference.
After I am done a very sweet lady, Ms. Rose, who works the front desk in radiology asks me if I’d like a snack. This included cheddar popcorn and candy. It means a lot to me that she’s so thoughtful. The doctors and staff at VCU have never treated me like an offender from a prison but rather a human being. I honestly believe that they are trying to give me the best care possible.
Once the appointment is over, I’m returned to the offender waiting room and the black box is removed. I’m given my lunch which has the normal assortment of food including the dry peanut butter sandwich on stale bread. Today I’m not that hungry so I give my two sandwiches to another offender. It’s possible because of the snack I just ate.
Luckily everyone in my group is done with their appointment. However we’re going to have to wait for the guards who brought us to take their lunch break before we can leave. This will be thirty minutes to an hour. we depart from VCU around 2:45 PM. On the return trip I notice that one of the offenders in the vane with me is eating a piece of candy and know that he’s seen Ms. Rose in Radiology. I find out that he’s in his 20’s and comes to Virginia to visit his grandmother, got incarcerated and then found out he has brain cancer that has no cure. He comes to VCU for radiation and chemotherapy. He tells me that he has to stay in the infirmary at State Farm Correctional Center until his chemotherapy is over in April. During that time he’s limited to what he can purchase on canteen because an offender isn’t allowed to order food items while in the infirmary. Basically he’s being punished because he needs medical care. My heart is filled with compassion for this young man. His story reminded me of how lucky I am to have the type of cancer that has a high cure rate. I can’t image being told that my cancer is terminal and that there’s little hope. I plan to keep this young man in my thoughts and prayers. I’m sure that I’ll think of him often for many years to come.
I arrived back at the institution around 3:30 PM and don’t have to wait that long for the Sally Port gate to be open for the transport van to enter. Today’s trip to VCU has been the shortest I’ve had. I wish all the trips will be like this, but I don that won’t happen. And I really didn’t even get to do what was planned. No matter what, the main focus is to be cured of cancer and never lose hope. This won’t be a problem because I’m a fighter. I will survive to help others in the same situation. If anyone is facing an illness or some type of problem the best advice I can give them is to stay possible and never lose hope.
I’ve received some good new since I’ve returned from VCU. I had blood work done her at the prison a few weeks before today’s trip and it included the prostate. The normal range is 0-3 and mine came back as 1.3. This means that my prayers have been answered and that I’m cured. I’m waiting on the official word from my doctor at VCU before I being to celebrate. However, I’m very excited about this news. It just shows that prayers are answered so never lose faith and hope.