Meds & Jail

I've been dragging my feet about sharing this part of my story but Every time I start to blog this is the story I want to tell, I need to tell. So buckle-up for this wild ride.

At the time of my sentencing I had been taking my medications for nearly six months. Most of my medications were to manage my mental illnesses, including Lithium for bipolar. And while I did not prepare for much else, I did gather my medications to take with me just in case because I knew how important it was to be without my lithium. * A quick note here about bipolar and lithium. Lithium is a medication that has a very small window between effective treatment and overdose. When using the drug for treatment of bipolar you need to have blood tests done to check lithium levels every 6-8 weeks. Also stopping treatment with lithium all at once can trigger an episode of depression or mania* With all this in mind, I was prepared with lithium in hand. I was not allowed to take my medications with me but my husband was informed by my attorney that he could drop my medications off at the jail later that day, which he did.

Throughout processing and while in Crisis for the first 24 hours, I asked about my medications, specifically my lithium. I was told I would need to talk to this person or that person and that I could do that in a minute. That never happened that first night. So on the second day, when I finally spoke to someone in medical, I was told that my medicine was delivered and would start that night. What I wasn't told was that all of my medications would be crushed and that some of my meds were not approved for the jail therefore I could not have them while there. Not even if they were for mental illness. Ugh! Who decides these things! I tried to stay calm and just hoped my lithium would be on that cart.

The next evening when the medicine cart came, staffed by a CNA, some of my medication was on the cart! Yay! And my lithium was one of them but it was crushed. Yes, I know they said it would be but my lithium was extended release and was not supposed to be crushed(when crushed ER meds release too quickly into the body). I tried to explain this to the CNA but was told that I needed to take it, crushed or go back to crisis. They told me it was safe. So I took the ER Lithium, crushed, everyday twice a day, I trusted them and I had my lithium and I was settling in.

Things were moving along and I was going until day 5 when I got up so sick to my stomach. I suspected I was just nervous and not eating well so I tried to sleep as much as possible. Each day it seemed I felt a bit worse and more tired. I started vomiting along with hanging out on the toliet all day. Still I thought little of it more than just not settling in. All the while I continued taking my meds as directed.

One day towards the end of my second week I was really feeling awful and couldn't do anything and my vision was blurry and I was getting sick more often and I knew I needed help. I called my husband to tell him I was feeling worse and that I needed medical attention. He called my doctor from home and reported my symptoms. My doctor asked what medications I was taking, my husband ran down the list and mentioned that everything was crushed.

From that point forward life went into fast forward, my doctor demanded that my lithium levels be tested immediately and that my medication no longer be crushed. She told my husband that she suspected I was suffering from lithium toxicity and that it was very dangerous, my organs could start shutting down. The crushed lithium had to stopped!

Three days passed before my blood was taken to test my lithium level and in that time the jail did not give me any medication. Finally my blood was drawn but I was never given the results, nor were my husband or doctor. My husband was told by one nurse only that my levels were elevated but nothing else. I was told I could request my records once I was released.

After this disaster, my medications were all switched to liquid so it could not be crushed. But this could only be done because my doctor was willing to continue writing and managing my scripts and my husband was willing to pick up and deliver my liquid medications. The jail was not willing to change anything. When nearing the end of my time, the jail decided I could no longer have my meds brought in and that I would have to go back to crushed. Again my husband and my doctor fought and I was able to have my meds uncrushed while I was there.

Once I got home I did request my medical records. It took three requests and four months and $40 to finally get them. When I finally found my test results from that episode, my lithium level was 3x what it should have been and that was after not having a single dose in over 72 hours, I've been told by my doctors that it was much higher before I stopped the lithium and I should have been tested that first day it was stopped.

That was incredibly scary. It set the stage for my entire stay in jail and the fact that I could not trust that the people in the jail that should have been taking care of me could.

Chow Time

Food, if it can be called that, was beyond awful and meal times were as terrible as the food. Breakfast, lunch and dinner were served daily, breakfast was served between 4am-530am, lunch between 1030am-1230pm & dinner between 330-530pm. There was no rhyme or reason to when trays came and from day to day the times changed.

For breakfast at 4 something everyone was woken up to eat. Breakfast was usually the most identifiable meal of the day, oatmeal, fake sausage(soy or chicken), maybe some applesauce, some days cold pancakes, breakfast potatoes and sometimes a little piece of cake. As I said, breakfast was the best meal and if you could get up at 4am (lights out was 11pm) you could find something there to eat. Most days only about a third of the ladies got up to eat.

By the time lunch rolled around everyone was pretty hungry and wondering if the lunch trays would hold any thing edible. And most days I could not bare to eat it. Lots of really thick nasty bologna or speckled bologna, there was also mushy noodles with meat, remember the "meat" was either soy or chicken protein powder, no actual meat. It really all tasted the same and it wasn't good.

Dinner was often the same dishes they served for lunch on different days. Oh and another staple was beans but they weren't cooked usually and again everything was cold by the time we got it. People loved living with me because I was always happy to share my tray.

What made this food situation worse was that we always heard how good the food was in the jails/prisions around us. Real meat, milk, warm pancakes, fresh fruit all things we never saw.  For me this was one heck of a diet! 70 lbs lost in the 10.5 months I was there. Which seemed not to bother anyone responsible for my health, no one mentioned it until I had lost almost all of the weight. But then, healthcare was as questionable as the food, I'll share that in another post.

Waiting and Waiting and Waiting

On an ideal day at Rappahannock Regional Jail in Bravo One, I spent from 5- 7 hours out of my cell. That time was spent in a day room with the other 25 ladies on my floor or out on  a very small cement slab where just a bit of fresh air could be found.

The day room consisted of a few cafeteria tables, 2 televisions with a few awful plastic chairs, a microwave, 4 showers and most importantly, 8 payphones.

There was alot that needed to get done when one was out of the cell; especially since you could be sure when the next time you'd be out of your cage. Rotations could be skipped for any number of reasons and you never knew before hand that a "lockdown" was going to happen. A lockdown meant no shower, no microwave, no interaction with others and hardest of all, no phone.

You see, the payphone became my only regular connection with my family, with my monsters. Visits were only once a week via video and only one monster could come at a time so I only saw them(if you can call it that)once every 3 weeks. So, daily phone calls were all I had to stay connected to them and to my husband. It was also the only way my husband could know that I was Okay and that was important for him because of all the health issues I was
having. I'm sure you can imagine how difficult this inconsistency was.

Lockdowns usually happened for a rotation(one (1.5hr)). Or maybe one shift but usually we got to the phones at least once a day, to check in, reassure yourself and your family that you were hanging on. But every so often they went on longer.

The worst and longest lockdown I ever went through was 54 hours. For 54 hours there was no shower, no microwave and NO PHONES. For 54 hours straight I sat in a 10 x 6 cement and cinder block cell with no window to see out of and a steel door with the smallest window out to the day room. A 10 x 6 cell with a second person, bunk beds, a toliet and a sink for 54 hours straight. During this lockdown even meals were served through our doors so we really didn't come out.

As you can imagine, this was not a good time. The first day was doable but as the second day started and ended and we were stilled locked down, it got really tough. By day two my mind was all over the place, worry, fear, concern, and that was just about the monsters. I knew my husband was going insane and had probably called the jail by day 2. I wasn't sleeping, not eating and just crying. I tried as many different things as I could think of to pass the time. I read, I exercised, I wrote letters, I cleaned, I read my scriptures but by the time day 2 came to an end I was done, I had nothing left, I was physically sick with worry and tired on top of it. It seemed like this would never end.

On the morning of the 3rd day of lockdown there was finally a break, we finally got out of our cells. Twenty-five women that needed to share 4 showers and 8 phones! There were lots of quick showers and fast phone calls to ensure everyone got a turn. Once I got my turn on the phone I called my husband and upon hearing his voice I started to cry. I cannot remember ever being that happy to hear his voice. I asked about my monsters and him, I'm not sure I really heard any thing he told me because the sound of his voice was like heaven. I didn't want to hang up but I did to give the next person a turn.

What I remember most about this lockdown was how much tougher things can get even when you think you've hit the toughest point it can get tougher. I remember the ache in my chest and the unsettledness stomach because I missed my monsters so much. I also remember that I made it through. I made it through and I am stronger.

Finding the positive, a silver lining in my experience and time at RRJ is not easy but to heal and move on I need a positive. I need to know that my time there did something for me or someone else. So many days the negative trumps the positive and I have nightmares or I'm angry I was there but I'm trying, I'm trying to find positives.

Moving On

Part of being me includes my bipolar, PTSD(new from jail) and anxiety. There is probably more but that's enough to share for now. Bipolar, mental illness in general, can make jail a real challenge. There is not adequate medical care, whether it's because of money or an unwillingness to see the mentally ill in front of them struggling.

About six months before I went to jail I had a psychotic episode and was sent to a psychiatric hospital for about a week. At the time of my episode I was off all of my bipolar meds, because I was feeling fine and didn't need them anymore, as nearly all people diagnosed bipolar will tell you at some point in their lives. By the way, it's not true. You cannot stop bipolar meds without the very high risk of having an episode and usually they get bigger and better every time. Anyway, I thankfully got to the hospital before I hurt myself or anyone else. Once under the care of the right doctors and nurses I got my meds restarted and made a short term plan. My plan was to go to an outpatient program from 9-3, 5 days a week for 4-6 weeks. I was NOT looking forward to this plan at all but in order to come home and get better my team and my husband said I had to do it.

I left the hospital on a Friday and was starting IOP on Monday. I had the whole weekend to settle. Only I didn't, I went to my mother's, took the scissors from her kitchen, hid in her bathroom and cut off all my hair. They found me sitting in the shower with my clothes on and water running with scissors in my hands, my hair cut off, just crying. It was not a good day.

Monday came and I had made it, so had my family, and off I went to IOP. My mother drove me and picked me up so that it wasn't easy for me to leave early. We did this M-F for a month and a half. After being there 6 weeks and being medicated and having therapy, I was ready to move on, or so the team said. I had a psychiatrist for my meds and two therapist that I saw 3 times a week.

Slowly I began to function and feel safe in my life, in my home and in myself. I continued therapy every week, eventually dropping to only one therapist. And I saw my psychiatrist every few weeks. My meds were working! My therapy was working!

During this time of course I was going to court for my case which stressful but again I wasn't going to jail, said everyone!

The week before my sentencing I saw both my psychiatrist and my therapist. Both of them scheduled me to come in the day after sentencing because they were sure I would be free. You all know how that ended. But did you know that I never saw another therapist for 10.5 months? Did you know that I saw a psychiatrist on a video chat twice in 10.5 months? Do you know that I didn't get half the meds I was prescribed for 10.5 months?

In jail, mental illness is not seen as serious or something that needs to be treat. If it's not a physical almeint no one cares. I had three anxiety attacks so bad in there that I had to go to the clinic, you know what they said...Drink Water and Lay Down. Yeah, helpfully to someone mentally ill who is being denied meds.

What I'd like to see is people understanding mental illness. Accepting mental illness in their friends and family and letting your voices be heard so people can be treated fairly and humanely. I don't want people with mental illness stripped and thrown into a cement cell. They should be treat with the same respect and dignity as someone with cancer or a heart condition.

That was not where I intended this to go today but it did. Please take a minute or two to think about the mentally ill people in your life and how you treat them and make sure they are respected and treated fairly always.

A little Good

Thus far, my posts have been all about the bad and trust me I have a lot more bad to share, tonight however I'd like to share my sliver of good.

For the first month I  was in jail I lived in a terrible pod. It was loud, there were women that were going to be there a VERY long time. There were 3 inmates stuffed into cells barely big enough for 2. There were fights everyday both inside the cells and out in the day room, this meant that I spent all but an hour or two in my cell, it was just terrible. It was hard to breathe inside the cell and you couldn't move without stepping on someone. I cried almost all day every day, certain I would never make it 10.5 months.

Things changed though, and after being at RRJ for about a month they opened a new, much smaller, minimum security pod and I was lucky enough to be reclassified and moved over there. Bravo One, that was my new pod. And compared to where I'd been this seemed like paradise. Everyone in there had a good, clean behaviour record and there were about half the number of inmates living in this pod.

Because of the size of the pod and the minimum security level, we were given more time out of our cells...six hours on a good day! Compared to 1 or 2 that was nice. Being out with about 25 people allowed you the opportunity to talk and get to know the people living around you. And what I learned is that there are alot of great people who end up in jail. Sometimes they end up there because they're addicted to drugs and no one will help them. Others end up there because they've made bad choices and stolen money or goods, often to help their families and make a bad choice to help them. Others sold themselves to make ends meet. At the end of the day, these women unlike the ones in my first stop, knew they'd done wrong and knew they had to pay for their crimes. Most of us had children and husband's and ached to be back with them.

During my time with these women, I found liked some more than others and was able to really get to know them. They helped make the worst days of my life just a little brighter. They helped me laugh, comforted me when I cried and always made sure I had something to eat(because they knew I never ate the meal trays). I am so thankful that I met these ladies, you know who you are, and thank you <3.

After leaving RRJ, I've been able to keep up with a small handful of ladies I spent those days with. I love watching them in there daily lives with their families that they missed so much while we were together. I am very proud of those I was in there with that were addicted to drugs and have been able to stay clean on the outside, seeing them defeat their demons daily is amazing. They're so strong and I truly love you guys.

Through all of the dark there was a little light. I am happy that I can share this part of my story. Next time I think I'll share all about my jail house diet.

One Step Forward Two Steps Back

Re-entering society after incarceration is tough. It's tough because you've missed your loved ones like crazy. Missed hugging them and kissing them. You've not had a cell phone or social media or television. You have not been coming and going as you wish or when you want to. Food, drink, clothes, a shower, all those things have been controlled while you were incarcerated. And as crazy as it sounds, it takes a minute to jump back into all of that. As difficult as transitioning back to home life, it's even more difficult to transition back into the community.

When your case has made the headlines of the local paper for a little over a year and a press release was issued every time you had a court date, there are very few folks in the community that don't know who you are. And there are even fewer that don't have an opinion on you and your case. This makes transitioning even more difficult. Everywhere you go, everyone you see you wonder what they're thinking about you, wonder if they're going to talk to you or talk about you. It makes going out, to the food store, school with the kids, the doctor's appointment, to dinner very stressful. It's almost not worth leaving the house because it's so uncomfortable.

And while you can quickly remember how to work the television and love on your kids and husband, what doesn't correct itself as quickly is going out in public.

As of today, I've been home just under 5 months. You'd think after 5 months going out to run errands or to a restaurant or a church activity would be unmanageable. By now, the news of your homecoming is old and folks have moved on...or not! This evening I went to a church activity where I ran into another member that made sure anyone that was unaware of my time in jail or why quickly knew. Whispering and staring increased throughout the room. My heart began to beat harder and faster than I could handle. I felt the lump in my throat and the tears in my eyes but that was the last thing I needed in front of 200 people. What to Do? Run! Yes, I would just leave. Not really an option, I had a pretty important job at this event. Ugh! Stuck! And all I could think was "how much longer will this go on? Will I ever go out in public again without fear of this happening? Without it happening?".

Stuck at this event wondering what to do, I found a friendly face so I walked over towards him, he looked at me, saw my face and jumped up with the biggest squeeze. He asked me what was wrong and I told him(after a bit of prodding) And he squeezed a little harder and said "Well now everyone here knows where I stand and that's with you". This was wonderful. It made me feel calmer instantly and it was especially awesome because this man is very well respected and known in this group and he picked me! In that moment, I was reminded of the support I have. Sure there are plenty of people that are going to keep making my life difficult but there are so many more that love and support me.

Tomorrow will come and I'll have to again talk myself into leaving the house but every time I remember the love and support I do have, leaving gets easier. I am hopeful that soon enough it won't be a thought I have anymore when I am out in public. Maybe, just maybe, I will someday enjoy my community again.

The First 24

Yesterday I shared my last day of incarceration so today I thought I'd share the first 24 hours I spent incarcerated.

October 11, 2016. That was the day I went to court for sentencing. I had been assured that I was not going to jail by everyone from my husband to my lawyer to my therapist. There were fines and maybe community service coming but no jail time. There was no president in Virginia for jail time to be given in cases such as mine. My restitution had been paid, my record was completely clean, I was not the kind of person who was put in jail; I'm Caucasian, a female, college educated, upper middle class, stay at home mom with a clean record. So, I got up, got dressed and ran out the door without stopping to kiss my monsters because I was going to be back by lunch time.

So...that didn't happen. What did happen was that the judge sentenced me to 30, yes 30 years in prison of which I was to serve 12 months and the other 29 would be suspended. That means that if I were to get anything more than a parking ticket, I could get all 29 years enforced. In addition to the 30 years in prision, I was told I would be put on probation indefinitely, to start immediately after my 12 active months in jail.

As you can imagine, I was hysterical, inconsolable and my family sitting in the courtroom could do nothing but watch. Not a hug or a kiss, not a single good bye, just off I went.

I was whisked away and put in a holding cell where I sad for a couple hours before being transferred to the jail. Where I sat for nearly 5 hours waiting to be processed. I sat in that cell crying and crying, shaking. I was in complete disbelief, it was surreal. The longer processing took the more distraught I became. I didn't get to say good bye to my monsters, I've ruined their lives, I will never make it through.

Booking time finally came and I was finger printed, had DNA collected, pictures taken and intake interview. Every time they did something else I cried more. During my interview, I said things that led the correction officers to believe that I was going to possible harm myself. So off to "crisis" I went. This is where they but the folks that are mentally ill and suicidal to keep them safe. It is important for the next part of my story to remember that "crisis" was to protect and keep people safe.

I was escorted to "crisis" by 2 female officers who once there opened a steel door that behind it had cement everywhere. The walls, the floor, the ground and even the bed(I use this term lightly). My head was spinning, and  I was still crying.

Next, it's time to change. They make me strip down. Everything off! This was a problem for me because with everything else going on, my period had just begun that morning. I explained this to the officers and they told me I still needed to give them all of my clothes and my glasses. Here I stand naked, bleeding and crying. This is when the handed me a green Velcro wrap to put on. I would compare this to a cape at the dentist's office for all of you not luckily enough to experience the real thing. But guess What, the Velcro on my suit is old and worn out so it won't stay on at all! That was all the had though so I needed to make it work.

As the officers were leaving I asked who I talk to when I need to use the bathroom. They looked at each other, smiled and pointed to a sewer grate on the floor and told me that was the toilet. Oh and if you need toilet paper you had to ask the guard when they did checks and they would give you 3 squares or so.

They left; I was alone in a cement room, sitting on a cement bed, bleeding all over myself, holding my Velcro suit up. I sat up most of the night and at 4am they served me breakfast( I would come to find out that 4am really was breakfast time here, every day!) Sometime the next morning an officer came to my cell and opened my door so that I could have my hands and feet shackled so I could be assessed by the therapist there. I explained that my " turtle suit" would not stay up so I needed to hold it and I could not handcuffed. Yeah, they didn't much care and walked me through the clinic, full of inmates, mixed sexes as I exposed myself to all of them.

When I got to the therapist he did find me a blanketto cover myself with and then he told me to enjoy my time in jail a d think of it as a vacation from my monsters and husband. Hummm...probably not going to happen. He did offer me a marble composition book for journaling and off I went.

That was first 24 hours.