Hotep,
On the door of cell 5316, there’s a sign that reads: “Leroy E. Mann #0255136, Death Row. No one is permitted without at least one officer.” It’s been three days since I underwent my second Achilles heel surgery (11/9/12). This journey is much different from the first. The prison hospital is my temporary place of residence and let me tell you; it ain’t no picnic. Word is bond!
Last year, I spent a great deal of my post-surgery recovery downstairs, on Pod 4. If you’ve read my “On the Move” series, you’d know that my number one qualm about living downstairs is the fact that it isn’t a sports conducive environment. Well, that time behind the Plexiglas, on Pod 4 doesn’t seem so bad – compared to this.
I haven’t had a disciplinary infraction in more than six years, yet I feel as though I’m being punished for my current medical condition. I’m on a 24-hour lockdown status. I’ve encountered a staff member who refuses to deliver or pick up my food trays. Another staff member who has been reluctant about issuing my pain medication – as if my condition is some type of scam. The doctor has prescribed that I stay off my left foot for six weeks. Where’s the scam in that? SMH.
The sign on door 5316 doesn’t indicate that I’m basically bed-ridden for six weeks. It doesn’t indicate that this is my second Achilles heel surgery in less than a year’s time. This sign merely instructs them to fear the inhabitant of cell 5316. “Proceed with caution” would probably be more fitting. Na mean?
I’m not the type of person who envelops being feared. I will embrace any form of adversity, but being feared works for me like this year’s presidential election did for Governor Mitt Romney; you can’t win. Ya heard?
It’s been said that people fear what they can’t understand. In my case, I’m learning that people aren’t even trying to understand, for fear of learning the truth behind the sign. As they choose to do no more than their state job requires them, the fear of learning they may be looking into the face of injustice will do far more to their psyche than I could ever do to them physically.
Crutches aren’t allowed in the hospital. Ironically, a therapeutic walker is simply unavailable, at this time. I’ve been hopping around on my right foot just to handle the smallest of tasks. I bypassed four doses of my pain medication just to avoid potential verbal confrontations with the staff. The pain in my leg isn’t overwhelming, but I can definitely feel the damage of that sign. Feel me?
The sign on door 5316 makes it difficult for me to receive any type of medical assistance if any available officers decide to become unavailable. The medical staff will simply move on to the next phase of their job, without the least bit of concern about the inhabitant of cell 5316. That small piece of paper outside the door of 5316 carries a lot of weight, but it doesn’t bear all of the facts. Real talk.
So here I am, wounded and scarred as I read and write to the cadence of my next door neighbor’s heart monitor. Right now, six weeks in these living quarters would appear to be unbearable. The weight of my cast – along with the sutures accessorizing my left inner thigh and ankle – isn’t the only hurdle I must overcome.
1997 is the last time I’ve had to endure a 24-hour lockdown status. It wasn’t due to a disciplinary infraction either. My trial was on the docket and the county jail feared my reputation as a murderer. For 7 months, I went without television, newspapers or any social interaction with inmates. Six weeks behind door 5316 is just another accomplishment waiting to happen. Ya heard.?
Keep it 100,
MannofStat
Copyright © 2012 by Leroy Elwood Mann
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