Hotep,
It was my 18th day of recovery when Dr. Truth
entered cell 5315 holding a pair of scissors in her right hand and a nurse that
referred to himself as, “Gus No Fuss,” by her side. She cut the soft cast from my toes to the
bottom of my knee. She then removed my
ashy leg from the cast and instructed me to roll over on my stomach.
Gus No Fuss then removed 25 staples – ranging from my left
hamstring, down to the base of my ankle.
The first staple was the only one I felt. The other 24 were detached from my swollen
flesh while I was engaged in an uplifting conversation with Dr. Truth. She informed me that she would start the
paperwork for me to be discharged at the conclusion of Gus’ handiwork. That was Tuesday, November 27th. I wasn’t officially released until Thursday,
November 29th. Why it took
two days for me to be moved down the tunnel is beyond me. SMH.
Three weeks in the prison hospital was long enough, in fact,
too long. My neighbor in 5317 was
becoming a conversational lush. I mean,
don’t get me wrong; I enjoy good sports talk just as much as the next sports
fan, but when the sports talk leads to a discussion about your alleged glory
days – running the Teamsters as Jimmy Hoffa’s right hand man – its time to pull
the plug and bury my face into an E. L. James novel. Real talk.
My neighbor in 5317, Mr. B, also revealed to me that he was
awaiting a liver transplant. He was more
than anxious about the possibility of a liver becoming available while he was
serving his current sentence for writing bad checks. He could be released from prison as early as
this coming spring. His main concern was
an available liver going to a law abiding citizen – bypassing his urgent needs
because of his current lockdown status.
This gave me every reason to believe that the mysterious Mr. B. has
everything to gain if an unsuspecting death row prisoner falls into the trap of
openly discussing the particulars of his/her case. Na mean?
I don’t discuss the particulars of my case with anyone –
other than my attorneys. When cats like
Mr. B. start sharing war stories, I generally walk away. In this case, I couldn’t walk away. So, I facilitated my discharging process by
filing a grievance. It’s only
right. I mean, the hospital staff
treated me as though I was a detriment to my hospital surroundings. So why slow walk my discharge
proceedings? SMH.
My return to the row would be an unbelievable event in most
societal circles. I was received by my
comrades like a long, lost relative.
Stepping onto the rec yard was like a pregame introduction before the
home crowd. I heard my name repeatedly,
as my peoples gathered around me to express their concerns about my 20-day
hiatus. Word is bond!
I gotta shout out my barber, “The Carpenter,” for arranging
an emergency grooming session (I elected to go without a shave for the duration
of my time behind door 5316. I had no
idea I was capable of growing a beard.
Lol.). Good look Dunn!! Your MannofStat has never looked better. Ya heard?
My follow up with Dr. C. took place four days after I
returned to the row. So far; so
good. My boot is on order, so I’ll be
stomping through the halls of unit 3 with “Philly” on my leg; a more productive
new year on my mind; and the holiday spirit in my heart. Until next time, Blogosphere, make every day
count.
Happy Kwanzaa,
MannofStat
Copyright © 2013 by Leroy Elwood Mann
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