Prison Journal: Day 8,228
February 18, 2010
Prison isn’t a good place to feel sick. I suppose that a “good place” to feel sick doesn’t exist, but prison rules aggravate illness because access to potential remedies is severely limited.
I’ve been blessed with good health throughout my term. Yet, like all prisoners, I’m surrounded by hundreds of others in close quarters, and we all share bathrooms, eating spaces, and common areas. Viruses and germs spread. On occasion, I become sick.
I’m alone most of the time. Even though other people are always around, I’m as solitary in here as a prisoner can be. When I’m sick I’m even more alone. I don’t enjoy or want to participate in small talk, such as responding to questions about whether I’m feeling okay. I’m sick. I know it will pass. I simply must wait it through.
I felt a cold coming on yesterday morning, around 3:15 a.m., while I was writing. It began with a sore throat and a cough. I stuck with my work because I have responsibilities, and writing makes me feel as if I’m contributing to my family. At 6:00 I went outside to run and I could tell my body was moving slower, but I finished 10 miles.
At 10:00 I had to travel with the TOAD group to speak at a local high school. When I returned in the late afternoon, I was ill. I went to bed at 5:00 p.m. with shivers, a throbbing headache, and a sore throat. I coughed all night. In my locker I had two bottles of cough syrup, some vapor rub, and nasal spray. I didn’t have any pills—the commissary doesn’t allow us to make medication purchases, even over-the-counter medication. Health Services doesn’t provide prescription medication, and I couldn’t see a nurse without going through sick call procedures. By the time I’d get an appointment, I expected my illness would pass. I just toughed it out and waited for the virus to work its way through my system.
I still felt some symptoms of illness this morning. But I wasn’t going to break my long record of exercise. I went outside to run, but after a single mile I returned to the dorm. I slept. I read. I wondered what it would feel like to be sick at home, with my loving wife caring for me. I didn’t tell her I was sick, just that allergies were bothering me when she asked why my voice was raspy. I didn’t want her to worry, and I didn’t want her to tell me not to exercise.
[consecutive running log: 3,841 miles over the past 433 days]
Thursday, 18 February 2010
Related posts:
- Prison Journal: Day 8,229
- Prison Journal: Day 7,982
- Prison Journal: Day 7,983
- Prison Journal: Day 7,898
- Prison Journal: Day 7,919
Comments
Got something to say?
Follow Michael on Facebook and Twitter
Michael G. Santos
Promote Your Page Too
Books by
Michael G. Santos
Inside: Life Behind Bars in America
About Prison
Profiles From Prison
Subscribe