I lay there in my cell, trying in vain to sleep, thoughts of the administrations mistakes running through my mind like a bull in a China shop. It was as bright as day from all of the mast lighting, but as silent as death itself. It didn't last long. Moments later the night's silence was broken by the beeping of an ambulance backing up. I looked out and seen it backing closer to the building. A few minutes later, they were wheeling their patient out, moving quickly. They needn't have bothered. Regardless of the urgency, they wouldn't be going anywhere until custody was ready, and they were never.in a hurry. Tonight was no different.
I couldn't help but wonder who he was. I didn't recognize him, but I recognized the sounds of a man struggling to breathe, and he was giving it all he had. My heart went out to him. Strapped to a gurney, getting ready to knock on death's door, and he's wearing leg irons, his hands are cuffed and chained to his waist. Between his gasping for breath, I could hear the guards, "relax, inmate, you'll be all right." Medical was far more sympathetic, but then, they didn't work for CDCR. They were with a private ambulance company, so they hadn't had their compassion chased out of them by the system, but the night was still young and the guards persistent.
There was never any doubt that we'd see COVID 19 infiltrate the prison. The guards routinely wear their masks, continue to pat us down and search our living areas, but the risks could have been reduced. All they needed to do was reduce the number of people in here, but doing that means they might have to lay people off, too, and the CCPOA wasn't going for that, but when the public hears the full story, my new neighbors will be former employees. Of that, I have no doubt. I only hope I live long enough to see it...
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