Below is just one more example of Corizon's deliberate indifference to the pain and suffering of patients in the AZ Department of Corrections. They are paid handsomely to perpetrate their neglect on state prisoners at great cost to all of us, thanks to legislators like John Kavanagh who insisted that privatizing medical care in the prisons would save taxpayers money - seems to me that so far all they've done has been to steal from us, instead.
As for this kid doing 5 years for possession - shame on all you judges locking addicts away thinking they will
get any treatment or assistance with their addiction whatsoever in
prison. As you can see, they can hardly get the basic medical care they
need - only 4% a year get any kind of substance abuse treatment, period.
Most will just be bringing home Hep C and a new heroin addiction to show for their time away. This kid is lucky to be making it home at all...
Thanks to News 4 Tucson for digging into this. Stay tuned for more exposes in the weeks to come, as more and more of
Corizon employees refuse to participate in their profit-driven machine
at the expense of their patients, like Michael Levy.
AFSC-TUCSON: AZ DOC's DEATH YARDS
Showing posts with label cruel and unusual. Show all posts
Showing posts with label cruel and unusual. Show all posts
Sunday, May 11, 2014
Sunday, November 18, 2012
Veterans Day, Phoenix, 2012: For Marty Atencio.
The following photo is from the Veterans Day parade in Phoenix,
where Maricopa County Sheriff Joe Arpaio rolled out his biggest toy to
honor our dead soldiers. I stopped to leave him a message for one dead
Army veteran he should be especially mindful of: Marty Atencio. That man
should be held criminally liable for the death of his prisoners given
the dehumanizing treatment he encourages and the culture of contempt
he's cultivated among his officers.
The chalk is mine, but I can't take the credit for the shot: Lisa Blank took it, and it's all over Arizona Community Press's Community Free Press Facebook page.
Thanks to Stephen Lemons at the Phoenix New Times for this series about Marty's brutal killing by Phoenix Police and Joe Arpaio's deputies at the 4th Avenue Jail last year...
Published Tue., Oct. 23 2012 at 12:24 PM
The family of U.S. Army veteran Marty Atencio is filing suit today in
Maricopa County Superior Court over his brutal death late last year in
Sheriff Joe Arpaio's Fourth Avenue Jail.
Atencio, who suffered from mental illness, was off his meds and wandering the streets in a daze on December 15, when he was picked up by Phoenix cops, allegedly because he had frightened a woman with his bizarre behavior.
Read the Atencio family's lawsuit.
That woman later stated that she'd hoped Atencio, 44, would receive the help he needed if he was in custody.
Instead, he received a one-way ticket to a military funeral.
See also:
-Joe Arpaio's Victim Marty Atencio: Family Files Notices of Claim Totaling $20 Million in Wrongful Death Case
-Jailhouse Goons Make Fun Of and Kill a Mentally Ill Inmate
-Joe Arpaio's Victim Marty Atencio Killed by "Law Enforcement Subdual," Among Other Factors, Says Medical Examiner (w/Update)
-Joe Arpaio's Victim Ernest "Marty" Atencio Laid To Rest
-Joe Arpaio's Latest Victim Marty Atencio: MCSO Video of His Detention
Though Atencio was processed first without incident at the Phoenix Police Department's southern command station, his experience later in Fourth Avenue would be brief, humiliating and fatal.
There, Atencio was taunted and made fun of by MCSO detention officers, as is recounted in the suit:
After going through the medical screening, Marty was taken to have his mug shot
taken. While Marty was having his mug shot taken, the D.O.s were taunting him, asking him to "clown" for them, telling him to "turn left," "turn right," and making fun of Marty's
inability to follow instructions.
As the guards made fun of Marty, they told him to make funny faces and the photographer, and a female Detention Officer, kept saying "let's make this one the Mug Shot of the week." After they took a particularly humiliating mug shot, the D.O.s had finished their fun with Marty and took him back to the holding tank.
Along the way, Atencio was escorted by Phoenix Police Officer Patrick Hanlon, who, according to the complaint, led Atencio "with his hands and arms bent in a position which caused Marty pain."
The complaint continues, stating that, "While Officer Hanlon was escorting Marty to the Linescan Room, Marty said `you're making Tony angry, you're making Tony angry.' Marty was telling Officer Hanlon that the officer was hurting him."
Shortly thereafter, in the jail's so-called "linescan room," as millions have now witnessed in video released by the MCSO, Atencio essentially did not remove his shoes fast enough for the officers present, with deadly consequences.
Atencio crossed his arms in front of him, in a non-violent stance. And that's when they pounced, piling onto Atencio, wailing on him and Tasing him, in what the suit refers to as a "jailers riot."
The complaint relates how these goons then dragged Atencio to a so-called "safe cell," where, as Atencio was held down, he allegedly was kneed more than once by MCSO detention officer Anthony Hatton.
Atencio was stripped of his clothes, and left to die. The jail's video system captured a naked Atencio breathing what looked like his dying breath on camera.
Outside the cell, as I've previously reported, Phoenix cops and MCSO detention officers partied like it was 1999.
"After this event," reads the complaint, "the jail's surveillance video outside `Safe Cell 4' shows D.O. Hatton, with a smile on his face, talking to other Officers, while two MCSO women danced and bumped their buttocks together."
Later, Atencio's brain-dead body was revived by officers and rushed by paramedics to a local hospital, where his family ultimately decided to remove him from life support.
The Atencios lawyer, tort titan Mike Manning, who just won a $3.2 million settlement for the family of diabetic mom and Arpaio jail victim Deborah Braillard, observes in the suit that Atencio's death is the direct result of the "culture of cruelty" in Arpaio's vast incarceration complex.
Also, the complaint makes clear, the MCSO is in direct violation of federal court orders instructing Arpaio and the county to provide proper medical screenings of prisoners for mental and physical illness.
Because the MCSO is not in compliance with these orders, Atencio was not properly screened on arrival at Fourth Avenue, where the health care "professional" who examined him noted signs of psychosis, yet did not provide Atencio with the medical help he needed.
Unfortunately, all the court orders, lawsuits and multi-million dollar payouts seem to do nothing to change the reality of Arpaio's disastrously-run jails.
The only real change will come if the voters wake up, and retire Arpaio on November 6 by voting for his Democratic rival Paul Penzone.
Otherwise there will be more victims, more Marty Atencios, and a lot more lawsuits.
The chalk is mine, but I can't take the credit for the shot: Lisa Blank took it, and it's all over Arizona Community Press's Community Free Press Facebook page.
Remember Veterans like Marty, Sheriff Joe.
Veterans Day 2012: Phoenix
Thanks to Stephen Lemons at the Phoenix New Times for this series about Marty's brutal killing by Phoenix Police and Joe Arpaio's deputies at the 4th Avenue Jail last year...
------from the Phoenix New Times----
Joe Arpaio's U.S. Veteran Victim Marty Atencio: Family Files Suit in Superior Court
By Stephen LemonsPublished Tue., Oct. 23 2012 at 12:24 PM
Atencio, who suffered from mental illness, was off his meds and wandering the streets in a daze on December 15, when he was picked up by Phoenix cops, allegedly because he had frightened a woman with his bizarre behavior.
Read the Atencio family's lawsuit.
That woman later stated that she'd hoped Atencio, 44, would receive the help he needed if he was in custody.
Instead, he received a one-way ticket to a military funeral.
See also:
-Joe Arpaio's Victim Marty Atencio: Family Files Notices of Claim Totaling $20 Million in Wrongful Death Case
-Jailhouse Goons Make Fun Of and Kill a Mentally Ill Inmate
-Joe Arpaio's Victim Marty Atencio Killed by "Law Enforcement Subdual," Among Other Factors, Says Medical Examiner (w/Update)
-Joe Arpaio's Victim Ernest "Marty" Atencio Laid To Rest
-Joe Arpaio's Latest Victim Marty Atencio: MCSO Video of His Detention
Though Atencio was processed first without incident at the Phoenix Police Department's southern command station, his experience later in Fourth Avenue would be brief, humiliating and fatal.
There, Atencio was taunted and made fun of by MCSO detention officers, as is recounted in the suit:
After going through the medical screening, Marty was taken to have his mug shot
taken. While Marty was having his mug shot taken, the D.O.s were taunting him, asking him to "clown" for them, telling him to "turn left," "turn right," and making fun of Marty's
inability to follow instructions.
As the guards made fun of Marty, they told him to make funny faces and the photographer, and a female Detention Officer, kept saying "let's make this one the Mug Shot of the week." After they took a particularly humiliating mug shot, the D.O.s had finished their fun with Marty and took him back to the holding tank.
Along the way, Atencio was escorted by Phoenix Police Officer Patrick Hanlon, who, according to the complaint, led Atencio "with his hands and arms bent in a position which caused Marty pain."
The complaint continues, stating that, "While Officer Hanlon was escorting Marty to the Linescan Room, Marty said `you're making Tony angry, you're making Tony angry.' Marty was telling Officer Hanlon that the officer was hurting him."
Shortly thereafter, in the jail's so-called "linescan room," as millions have now witnessed in video released by the MCSO, Atencio essentially did not remove his shoes fast enough for the officers present, with deadly consequences.
Atencio crossed his arms in front of him, in a non-violent stance. And that's when they pounced, piling onto Atencio, wailing on him and Tasing him, in what the suit refers to as a "jailers riot."
The complaint relates how these goons then dragged Atencio to a so-called "safe cell," where, as Atencio was held down, he allegedly was kneed more than once by MCSO detention officer Anthony Hatton.
Atencio was stripped of his clothes, and left to die. The jail's video system captured a naked Atencio breathing what looked like his dying breath on camera.
Outside the cell, as I've previously reported, Phoenix cops and MCSO detention officers partied like it was 1999.
"After this event," reads the complaint, "the jail's surveillance video outside `Safe Cell 4' shows D.O. Hatton, with a smile on his face, talking to other Officers, while two MCSO women danced and bumped their buttocks together."
Later, Atencio's brain-dead body was revived by officers and rushed by paramedics to a local hospital, where his family ultimately decided to remove him from life support.
The Atencios lawyer, tort titan Mike Manning, who just won a $3.2 million settlement for the family of diabetic mom and Arpaio jail victim Deborah Braillard, observes in the suit that Atencio's death is the direct result of the "culture of cruelty" in Arpaio's vast incarceration complex.
Also, the complaint makes clear, the MCSO is in direct violation of federal court orders instructing Arpaio and the county to provide proper medical screenings of prisoners for mental and physical illness.
Because the MCSO is not in compliance with these orders, Atencio was not properly screened on arrival at Fourth Avenue, where the health care "professional" who examined him noted signs of psychosis, yet did not provide Atencio with the medical help he needed.
Unfortunately, all the court orders, lawsuits and multi-million dollar payouts seem to do nothing to change the reality of Arpaio's disastrously-run jails.
The only real change will come if the voters wake up, and retire Arpaio on November 6 by voting for his Democratic rival Paul Penzone.
Otherwise there will be more victims, more Marty Atencios, and a lot more lawsuits.
Sunday, September 16, 2012
SOS: ASPC-Perryville Conditions of Confinement.
September 20, 2012
PERRYVILLE UPDATE:
My friend Christy, a prisoner out at Perryville / Santa Cruz, dropped me a letter late last week that just came in yesterday. It was dated 9/14/12. Here's the update:
"I was called up to the Deputy Warden's office to talk about my kites. Here is what has been done:
Water was turned down (hot water off)
Coolers were purchased but they ran out of money to install them so that is still a problem
I was given tape to tape my vent for roaches
the exterminator is supposed to come out & spray inside and out
the back window is still broken does not close (we have a bag with tape covering it)
they power-washed the showers
we still only have 2 showers working - the lady who was fixing them was out here on 9/11...
the doors are still having to be keyed for a total of 48 rooms - that is a fire hazard!"
All that happened in response to earlier complaints filed by her and a few of the other women prisoners, and while I brought some things to the DOC's attention a couple of weeks ago, this happened before I made the following post which had new information, so I can't really claim the credit for getting them to clean things up there. Christy and these women who protested their conditions of confinement have my respect for their courage and persistence.
I plan to organize a prison watching group for Perryville, soon, so stay tuned.
Peggy Plews
----------Original post (9/16/12)----------
In addition to the letter below from Santa Cruz last week, I received another one the week before from the same yard stating that there's a huge roach infestation problem that wasn't mentioned below, as creatures can easily enter through the cracks in the walls and window sills.
Furthermore, I've been told by several sources that many women haven't been getting their medications for most of the time that Wexford has been in charge of medical services - that's been since the beginning of July. Hopefully, Wexford's brilliant administrators have finally figured out how to get their drugs to Arizona from Pennsylvania (or Columbia, or China, or wherever they're really importing their prescriptions from).
Also not articulated in the letter below is my concern about the high rate of suicide and deaths from sheer neglect at ASPC-Perryville. Most of those have occurred on Lumley yard, though, not Santa Cruz. Lumley is the maximum security yard where female prisoners who are seriously mentally ill, defiant, assaultive, or on death row are typically held in isolation cells. The ACLU's lawsuit Parsons v Ryan enumerates many of the additional concerns I have about the conditions of confinement and medical/mental health care for the women across the prison complex. Lumley is where Marcia Powell was killed by the desert sun after being left in an outdoor cage for four hours - theoretically while on a suicide watch.
I'm planning to set up a "Perryville Prison Watch 101" meeting this fall for community members who are interested in bettering the chances these women have of surviving prison and coming out able to lead lives as "responsible citizens" again; we aren't going to change any of this without help from more of the ordinary People out here who believe this kind of abuse and neglect - in our names, with our money - is unacceptable. And for Women's History Month in March 2013 we'll be celebrating the history of women's resistance in prison. Stay tuned for more on all that.
Remembering some of the women who have died out at Perryville, the following photos were taken from a mural laid out by community members in front of the Phoenix Art Museum for Prisoners' Justice Day in August of this year. Some things at Perryville can be fixed with caulk and elbow grease that the women would put into it themselves, given the right resources, but the culture of contempt for prisoners that fosters this kind of neglect is going to take a lot more to change.
Brenda Todd, 44.
Victim of institutional indifference.
(January 21, 2011)
Susan Lopez, 35.
Victim of suicide and psychiatric neglect.
(March 25, 2011)
Marcia Powell, 48
Victim of a 10-minute suicide watch, bad policy,
unconstitutional practices, and cruel and abusive guards.
(May 19, 2009)
-----------------received 9/13/2012--------------
"In the winter months, the heat is turned on by date rather than temperature. The heat runs full blast and the rooms get to be unbearably hot. The officers do not have the authority to turn the heat off, even if it is an unseasonably warm day. On a "warm" winter day, the room temperatures can reach the 90+ degree mark. The window cranks in most of the rooms are broken and do not open so there is no way to get any relief. This is absolutely cruel and unusual punishment.
In the summer months, the evaporative coolers or air conditioners are turned on by date rather than temperature. Some rooms have coolers, others have AC. In the early spring, the rooms are very cold. In the heat of the summer, when the humidity rises, the coolers do not work well. Once again the temperatures inside the rooms can reach the 90+ degree mark, with no way to get any relief. When the AC works, the rooms that have it are comfortable in the summer. The challenge is that they are often broken. As of this writing, the temperature outside is 113. The AC In my room and the 7 other attached rooms is not functioning at all. It has been out of service for the past 2 weeks. Unfortunately, or fortunately, I do not perspire very much. Extreme heat causes my muscles to cramp. I get very light headed and dizzy and ultimately vomit. I do not know if there is a medication of any kind of solution since I cannot seem to get to medical. Often we live in exceedingly hot, or exceedingly cold rooms with windows that do not open. Just another example of cruel and unusual punishment.
The Arizona sun can be punishing,. especially for those of us that have little or no tolerance for heat exposure. Lines for medical appointments, property pick up, state issue, and the store are often long. In the medical waiting area, shade and water are provided. Not much can be done to reduce the heat since the waiting area is outside. The wait can be several hours. The lines for property, state issue, and store are not in shaded areas. The wait is usually a couple of hours at best.
The mattresses in most of the cells are worn out. They are leaking black material of some kind. The coverings are cracked. The mattresses are thin and do not provide any kind of support or much protection from the metal bunks.
Many of the cells have cracks in the walls that leak rain water. In my cell, water seeps in only one corner so I am lucky that mine is not one of those that floods. However, in that corner mold is growing. In one of the rooms next to a shower, the mold is so bad that it is growing down the outside walls as well as the inside.
The showers leak gallons of water daily. Some of them have been leaking for years. The erosion of both the concrete and the metal support beams is clearly visible. I am not a building inspector, but I can clearly see that the iron railings and support beams are rusted clear through.
Hot water for showers is not always available. Sometimes we have no hot water for days at a time. When this happens, there is no hot water for washing the trays or kitchen utensils either. This has been an on-going challenge since I have been here (1997). Budgets were not restricted for the majority of those years so I find it difficult to understand the situation. The trays, sporks, and cups in the kitchen are frequently dirty. Dirt is actually embedded in the trays and sporks where the plastic coating has been worn away.
On 16 yard, dinner "sacks" are passed out at 5pm Monday-Friday. Breakfast starts being served at 8 or 8:30 on Saturday mornings. 15+ hours between meals. ON weekends, we are provided with breakfast and hot dinner, just two meals. The ladies from 14 yard walk to our kitchen and eat breakfast around 7am. The kitchen on 14 yard has been closed and the building has been condemned. At 5pm the ladies from 14 yard come to our kitchen once again for dinner. Our yard has dinner after all of them have left the yard. That is usually around 6:30 or so. For those that do not have money to purchase food from the store, it is a very long time between breakfast and dinner.
Adequate clothing is no longer provided. I waited over 6 months to have 2 pairs of panties that were lost in the laundry replaced. per policy, we are allowed to exchange clothing or linens once every 90 days. The challenge is that most of the time, state issue does not have the size or the items that are needed. On this unit we have been out of medium panties, small pants and medium t-shirts for months. When I tried to exchange clothing I was told sizes 3x were the only one available. I weigh 120 pounds! Incoming inmates are not provided with the policy-stated issue.
Each inmate is provided with 1 roll of toilet paper for the week and 12 sanitary napkins for the month. Further discussion of this is probably unnecessary."
Wednesday, September 5, 2012
The Other Death Row: Remembering Gina Panetta.
Central Phoenix Neighborhood
(November 2011)
chalk art and post-production rendering: Peggy Plews
photography: PJ Starr
So, if you want news about other stuff going on in the state's criminal justice system this month - news that's likely to be out there already - Google it, and email me the link if it's something you think urgently needs to be here. I'm otherwise going to be occupied trying to keep up with what has become a flood of prisoner correspondence, most of which are desperate men pleading for help just surviving sentences for drug and property offenses. Others are working more with the women - they haven't been forgotten. The day to day struggle of these prisoners and their families are my first priority, not my blogs. My blogs are just tools to get the prisoners what they need, anyway.
That said, this reprint of Sue Ellen Allen's 2009 prize-winning essay "Fear", seems an appropriate way to kick off the month. Find her and support the work she does with GINA's Team.
------------Fear----------
Someone told me there are 365 references in the Bible to fear. Basically, all of them say, “Fear not, for I, the Lord thy God, am with you.” So, with my faith that I treasure, why am I afraid, always afraid?
It started in Estrella Jail where the incessant noise, violence, hostility, and indifference overwhelmed me. It is a hellish place for a healthy person. Everyone is in black and white stripes and the conditions breed anxiety and stress. There are rules you don’t even know about, and one hostile officer who is having a bad day can make yours miserable. I was brought up to respect authority and obey the rules, but these girls have no respect for anyone and will “go off” on anybody . . . inmate or guard. There are lock-downs. There is pepper spray. There are brutal searches by the terrifying ‘men in black.’ Why? Fights, drugs, who knows? I try to stay in my corner bed and read, read, read so that my mind can escape. The noise continues nightly until well past 3:00 a.m. and I long for silence. There is no silence. Instead, they yell at each other to be quiet. “Shut up.” “No, you shut up.” “Shut the f—k up.” “No, you shut the f—k up, bitch.” And so it went, night after endless night.
I guess it could be funny, but I left my sense of humor at the Horse Shoe, at the Madison Street Jail where I was processed. Thirty-six women were squeezed into a 10’ x 12’ cell with literally no room to sit down. Using the open toilet in the corner meant climbing over tangled bodies while you tried not to kick someone accidentally. Privacy was non-existent. I was there for 12 hours. Then, because I was sick, they moved me to a 6’ x 6’ cell with a blessed, filthy mattress. Oh, bliss. I didn’t sleep, but I was able to lie down. I had been up for 36 hours and had only baloney sandwiches to eat. I felt exhausted, unbalanced, and terrified of this weird netherworld where I’d landed. In the hall, there were two men with mesh hoods on their head, strapped to strange looking chairs, screaming and swearing at the top of their lungs. Doors clanged all night and I lay on the floor on the filthy mattress and shook and prayed. Where was God? I knew he was there, but I couldn’t hold his hand or feel his arms around me. I have never felt so alone.
About 10 hours later after processing, I was handcuffed and shackled for the ride to Estrella. There I was fingerprinted all over again and had my first strip search before donning the famous stripes of Joe Arpaio’s infamous jail. Then we were led down the hall, dropping off women at various dorms. Mine was last. It was July and I could feel the heat conquer the air conditioner as we walked towards the last door. A blast of hot air and noise took my breath away as I walk into “the slumber party from hell.” But, even here in hell, there is kindness. A very young girl helped me find my bunk and made it for me the “prison way.” (You have to tie the sheets at both ends so they won’t slip off the skinny, plastic mattress.) She showed me the ropes and made sure I was okay.
Okay. How could I be okay? I had no idea what to expect and no one to ask. I alternated, first shaking and then breaking out in a cold sweat, my heart racing. I later learned that these are panic attacks. I’d never had one before. I’d never seen people treated like this before. Many say they deserve it. Maybe so, but it seems to me if you take a dog and put it in a cage in the back yard, give it really bad food, yell at it all the time and kick it a lot, and then in a year or ten, let it into the house to play with the children, you’re going to have a very angry, very confused, very frightened and hostile dog. That may not be a proper psychological analogy, but that was what I saw around me.
After living in this nightmare for two and a half months, on September 26, at midnight, I was handcuffed and shackled and taken in a bus with 49 other women to the old jail where we sat from 2:00 a.m. until 4:30 a.m. in the old morgue, a big windowless, dirty concrete room with an open toilet on one wall. There are no chairs, just the floor that is so cold it feels like an ice rink. There are little roaches everywhere, despite the cold, which you think would discourage them. Some women sit, some lie down, some pace despite the shackles that cut into your ankles, all waiting for the door to open at 4:30. Then we are given a sack lunch and moved upstairs to the old condemned cells, 8’ x 16’, four metal bunks, and one open toilet. There are 10 women to a cell. Here we wait some more and try to eat the horrid, nutritionless meal. Two pieces of baloney, six slices of bread, one orange and one small box of blue Kool-Aid. This is the only food we will get for 12 hours or more. It is still freezing. We shiver, we pray, we talk, we shiver some more while we wait for the dawn.
All of these women are going to court. Not me. I am going to Maricopa Medical Center for a mastectomy. I’m not supposed to eat. I just wait and pray. I think my surgery is scheduled for 9:00 a.m., but instead, that’s when they come for me. At the hospital, no one tells me anything. I am locked in a room alone, freezing. I ask for a blanket. No, they snarl. Why is everyone so nasty? Finally, about 3:00 p.m., a female guard comes to tell me they had an emergency but I’m going soon. I haven’t eaten in 20 hours, I haven’t slept, I’m freezing and facing surgery alone. I am afraid.
There is no one to hold my hand or comfort me or pray with me. There is no kindness. When I change into the surgical gown, I see myself in the mirror for the first time in more than two months and I don’t recognize me. I’m 15 pounds thinner, nearly bald and very pale. Who are you? Maybe it’s not really me. Maybe it’s a nightmare.
Five days later, I am back at Estrella. No one has touched me except for the surgeons with their knives and the nurses with their needles. The surgeon finally comes to tell me my margins weren’t clean. I’m due for chemotherapy and maybe more surgery. Three months later, I am sentenced and the judge expedites my move to Perryville Prison because I still have not had any chemo. It was supposed to begin in mid-October, but the jail has delayed it, hoping to get rid of me and save the money. At Perryville, I tell this to the check-in nurse. She frowns and says, “Well, the judge can expedite all he wants, but you’re in prison now and you can get in line.”
Finally, my chemo does start and I am very sick. The kitchen sends me trays of regular food and I vomit. I go to the kitchen to beg for just broth or plain potatoes. Nope. Nothing they can do. On my way back to my yard, I collapse, vomiting. A guard comes and asks if I can walk the three blocks to medical. There are no wheelchairs. I’ll try. One third of the way across the soccer field, I collapse and vomit some more. As I lie there, a sergeant comes toward me, asking disgustedly, “What’s the issue, Allen?” How do you answer that? Cancer. Chemo. I’m sick. And I vomit some more. His shoes are eye level. Shiny. Not boots like everyone else. I notice he keeps them well away from me.
At last, I weakly pull myself up and continue across the field. No one helps me. By now, there are several more officers and a nurse. They walk behind me. I make it to the picnic tables in Visitation where I stop and vomit some more. I hear the sergeant bark, “Get somebody to clean this up.” No vomiting on the rocks.
I make it to Medical where the nurse put me in a room on a hard, cold leather table. She hands me a wastebasket and I continue to vomit. How can I vomit so much? This never happened when I had chemo outside. My oncologist was so determined that my nausea would be minimal. In here, there is complete indifference. The nurse comes with the news that the doctor says he is too busy to administer the shot to stop the vomiting. Even the nurse is frustrated. She says there is no other emergency. He’s doing paperwork. I vomit until there is nothing left and then I dry heave until I cannot lift my head. At last, an hour later, the doctor comes in, obviously irritated to deal with me. He acts like I’m faking and reluctantly administers the shot. Eventually, I am sent back to my room alone. I am dismissed.
I have three more treatments of chemo. Despite the rigid schedule, never is the medication ready on time nor is the newly discovered chemo diet ready. I have to spend my sickest days walking to Medical, begging for what I’m missing. When I’m supposed to be healing, I’m worn out battling for proper treatment. I do not understand the indifference. These are supposed to be health care professionals. I know I’m an inmate but does that mean I’m to be mistreated? I am so sick.
I lose all my hair. I ask for a turban like Christine has. Medical looks at me blankly and sends me to Security. It’s not their responsibility. Security shakes their collective heads and says that’s a medical issue. Back to Medical who refuses to see me. It’s not them, it’s Security. I’m sick and finally in tears as I face yet another sergeant. She must feel some pity for my futile efforts and says she’ll talk to Ms. Bailey, the Assistant Deputy Warden. I trudge back to my room, exhausted. A few hours later, there is a knock at my cell door. The sergeant appears with a blond lady in regular clothes whom I have never seen before. They have a beanie for me and look very proud of themselves. They’ve had the Garment Factory make it. I am very grateful but wondered why there is no policy to deal with this situation. Why was it necessary to bat me around like a ping pong ball, wearing me out, diminishing me, emphasizing my helplessness here?
That’s the real fear . . . my helplessness in the face of a medical department that is incompetent and apathetic. My life is literally in their hands and I’ve come to feel they don’t give a damn. I am not a patient with cancer. I am an inmate with cancer and that is full of hidden meaning.
Chemotherapy is finally over. Radiation starts. No more nausea. Burning instead. Meanwhile, my roommate Gina is getting sicker. She’s been to Medical and the nurse told her to come back in two weeks. If she’s still sick, they’ll know she’s not faking! They are treating her with the same hostile indifference that I experience. I know that sounds strange but it describes it perfectly. Gina had previously given me a little pep talk when I cried over my situation at Medical. “Come on, Sue Ellen. It can’t be that bad.” Now she is abjectly sorry. “I was wrong. It’s worse.” She agrees that when you’re sick, it’s awful to be neglected and feel so helpless.
Gina is a thin girl and can’t afford to lose the 15 pounds she’s lost. Her coloring has turned gray. She says her throat feels like she is swallowing ground glass and she can’t eat. Her head throbs constantly. Her gums are bleeding. We don’t know what’s wrong. They have refused to do a blood test, even though her parents called and asked for one. They said she was getting appropriate treatment. They gave her some antibiotics, but for what? They said she had a sore throat, or maybe allergies. Antibiotics, but no blood test.
On June 19, Gina dies.
The last week of her life was spent in horrific pain, crying, terrified, neglected. Medical was hostile. No one listened. She lay on her bunk, literally beating her head against the concrete wall, wailing, “Why won’t the pain stop? Make it stop, make it stop.” Finally, she couldn’t even walk. Unable to climb to her top bunk, she lay on mine, crying as I held her and prayed the 23rd Psalm over and over aloud. On June 16 , they finally took her to the hospital while I was at radiation. When I returned from treatment, she was gone. I went to Medical to get my burn cream and pain meds. My chest is a mass of blisters and feels like a tiny fairy is dancing on it with razor blades on the soles of her shoes. The nurse says they don’t have my meds and I can buy IBU’s at the store. Well, I could if it was Walgreens. We shop once a week and I have no money anyway. This is cancer. The meds are ordered. Why can’t I get them? Why is everything such a battle?
I am exhausted and worried sick about Gina. I’ve cared for her for weeks, but now I’m not allowed to know anything or talk to her parents. “Confidentiality,” they say. B.S. That is just the smoke screen they hide behind. The silence is deafening. Gradually, I hear surreptitiously, from the guards, that Gina has leukemia and it’s serious. But leukemia is very treatable. I do not understand. But suddenly, two days after they took her to the hospital, she is dead. How in the hell does a healthy 25-year-old die so fast? DOC says she had myeloid leukemia, fast acting and a death sentence. I wonder. If that’s true, does it mean you die in misery and pain, isolated and afraid, unable to say goodbye to your children?
The shock of Gina’s death is overwhelming. There is no counseling for inmates, but they do offer it to the officers. They continue to treat me with ignorance and apathy. Soon after this, Christina is released, has a second mastectomy and dies three months later. If her cancer had been diagnosed and treated when she discovered her lump, maybe she’d still be alive too.
Finally, my treatment is over. The radiologist says the protocol is a visit to the oncologist or radiologist alternating every three months for two years, then every six months for two years and then annually. But this protocol is not followed and nine months later, I start the laborious grievance process. Finally nearly one year after my last visit to the radiologist and 16 months after my last visit to the oncologist, I am allowed a teleconference with an oncologist who is completely unfamiliar with my case. He answers my questions, but there is no way for him to examine me and he’s never seen my file. He recommends a tumor marker test. Six months later, it still hasn’t happened. My cancer was stage 3B. My tumor was six cm. My margins weren’t clean following surgery. At the time, the oncologist said I had a 60% chance to live five years. Gina and Christine are dead. There are fourteen members of our cancer support group and all of them have terrifying and heartbreaking stories of neglect.
Before I was indicted, I had normal fears, but I always subscribed to Dr. Susan Jeffer’s book, Feel the Fear and Do It Anyway. Whatever it was, I could handle it. If it was a problem, I tackled it. A person, I faced them. An event, I met it head on. Sometimes I succeeded. Sometimes I didn’t, but always I tried, no matter what.
Then on February 14, 2002, I was diagnosed with cancer and I even tackled that. I researched my condition. I found the best oncology team (after I learned what an oncologist was).Together we faced the fear. We managed the pain. I was in good hands and I trusted their knowledge, their experience and their compassion. Cancer is a condition to fear, but you can face it. The justice system and prison are another story. Prison with cancer takes fear to a new level. I can control my mind. I can be optimistic. I can pray and believe and have faith, but I cannot change the horrible conditions, apathetic nurses, indifferent, incompetent doctors and mean-spirited officers. When they make decisions that affect my health, I am helpless. Gina wrote and her family called to no avail. They were all helpless.
That is why I am afraid. No amount of platitudes and cute sayings, no mind control, no positive imagery can change the situation. My life and my health are in the hands of the State and I am helpless against its inadequate, mismanaged, incompetent, uncaring power. This isn’t irrational fear about some hostile guard or stupid rule. I can deal with that. This is about the State, an enormous multi-tentacle octopus whose head cannot control all the thousands of tentacles who unite to form an impenetrable wall of incompetence. How do I deal with that?
Do you remember the story of Pollyanna? Her father taught her to play the Glad Game. No matter what the circumstances, always look for a reason to be glad. That’s really hard in here, but I’ll try. I’m glad I came to prison with cancer because I’ve experienced something firsthand that most people outside couldn’t believe. I’m glad Gina was my roommate and we were able to share her last days together. I’m glad my hair loss is visible and makes me vulnerable. As a result, many women come talk to me about the lump they’ve found or how it felt to lose their mother to cancer. Their stories touch me on so many levels. I’m glad Gina’s family is advocating for changes in the system so that Gina’s death will mean something positive.
There, you see. There are reasons to be glad. All of this reminds me that there are so many that suffer regardless of where they are. No one’s pain is unique . . . certainly not mine. I will use my fear to strengthen my resolve and use the Glad Game to strengthen my joy and maintain my balance in the midst of chaos. I will use this experience, cancer in prison, to help others survive their pain wherever I am . . . inside or out.
Monday, March 12, 2012
Fathi: Solitary Confinement in Arizona's state prisons
----------From the ACLU Blog of Rights---------
Solitary Confinement in Arizona: Cruel and Unusual
A class action lawsuit filed today
by the ACLU, along with the Prison Law Office, the Arizona Center for
Disability Law, and the law firms Jones Day and Perkins Coie, alleges
that the Arizona Department of Corrections (ADC) houses thousands of
prisoners in solitary confinement conditions so harsh they violate the
Eighth Amendment ban on cruel and unusual punishment. While other states
also use solitary confinement, Arizona has added features that seem
designed to gratuitously increase suffering. The cells in that state's
supermax Special Management Units (SMUs) were deliberately constructed
with no windows to the outside, so prisoners — many of whom have no
means of telling the time — become disoriented and confused, not knowing
the whether it is day or night. The cells are often illuminated 24
hours a day, making sleep difficult and further contributing to
prisoners' disorientation and mental deterioration.
Some prisoners in solitary spend all but six hours a week alone in their cells. Their only respite occurs when they are taken to a slightly larger windowless cell, with no equipment, for "exercise." Many prisoners refuse to go, because the cell is so small that it doesn't allow meaningful exercise, and because prisoners are placed in restraints and strip-searched when going to and returning from the cell. And in a final cruelty, ADC reasons that because prisoners in solitary don't get much exercise, they don't need much food — some receive only two meals a day.
It's long been known that solitary confinement is extraordinarily damaging to mental health, often inducing mental illness in previously healthy prisoners. But it's particularly damaging to those with pre-existing mental illness. For these prisoners, solitary poses a grave risk of psychiatric injury, self-harm, and even suicide. Deprived of the social interaction that is essential to keep them grounded in reality, many prisoners with mental illness experience catastrophic and often irreversible psychiatric deterioration.
Courts have ruled that prisoners with mental illness suffer such grievous harm in solitary confinement that it violates the Eighth Amendment to house them there. One court compared putting a person with mental illness in solitary to "putting an asthmatic in a place with little air to breathe." As a result, many states that use solitary confinement exclude the mentally ill. But not Arizona — even prisoners whom ADC itself has classified as "seriously mentally ill" are held in solitary.
In recent years, states as diverse as Mississippi, Colorado, and Maine have reduced their use of solitary confinement, generating substantial cost savings and experiencing no adverse effects on public safety. But Arizona remains an enthusiastic practitioner, with four large prisons devoted chiefly or exclusively to holding prisoners in solitary.
Last month Illinois Gov. Pat Quinn announced plans to close Tamms Correctional Center, that state's supermax prison. Tamms has long been criticized for its harsh conditions of solitary confinement — a federal judge found that it inflicts "lasting psychological and emotional harm" on prisoners — and the per-prisoner cost of Tamms is three times the state average. Arizona should follow Illinois' example. It would be a victory for fiscal prudence as well as human rights.
Take action today: go here to sign our pledge against solitary.
Learn more about solitary confinement: Sign up for breaking news alerts, follow us on Twitter, and like us on Facebook.
Some prisoners in solitary spend all but six hours a week alone in their cells. Their only respite occurs when they are taken to a slightly larger windowless cell, with no equipment, for "exercise." Many prisoners refuse to go, because the cell is so small that it doesn't allow meaningful exercise, and because prisoners are placed in restraints and strip-searched when going to and returning from the cell. And in a final cruelty, ADC reasons that because prisoners in solitary don't get much exercise, they don't need much food — some receive only two meals a day.
It's long been known that solitary confinement is extraordinarily damaging to mental health, often inducing mental illness in previously healthy prisoners. But it's particularly damaging to those with pre-existing mental illness. For these prisoners, solitary poses a grave risk of psychiatric injury, self-harm, and even suicide. Deprived of the social interaction that is essential to keep them grounded in reality, many prisoners with mental illness experience catastrophic and often irreversible psychiatric deterioration.
Courts have ruled that prisoners with mental illness suffer such grievous harm in solitary confinement that it violates the Eighth Amendment to house them there. One court compared putting a person with mental illness in solitary to "putting an asthmatic in a place with little air to breathe." As a result, many states that use solitary confinement exclude the mentally ill. But not Arizona — even prisoners whom ADC itself has classified as "seriously mentally ill" are held in solitary.
In recent years, states as diverse as Mississippi, Colorado, and Maine have reduced their use of solitary confinement, generating substantial cost savings and experiencing no adverse effects on public safety. But Arizona remains an enthusiastic practitioner, with four large prisons devoted chiefly or exclusively to holding prisoners in solitary.
Last month Illinois Gov. Pat Quinn announced plans to close Tamms Correctional Center, that state's supermax prison. Tamms has long been criticized for its harsh conditions of solitary confinement — a federal judge found that it inflicts "lasting psychological and emotional harm" on prisoners — and the per-prisoner cost of Tamms is three times the state average. Arizona should follow Illinois' example. It would be a victory for fiscal prudence as well as human rights.
Take action today: go here to sign our pledge against solitary.
Learn more about solitary confinement: Sign up for breaking news alerts, follow us on Twitter, and like us on Facebook.
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