The Prison Prof - Chapter One

The protagonist, referred to as the Prison Prof, is in excruciating pain and is desperate for help. His cellmate, Henry, tries to get the attention of a guard by waving a towel, but it seems futile. Eventually, a guard comes and reluctantly takes the Prof to the medical wing, showing no sympathy. The Prof continues to suffer and is then taken to a cell where he is told to wait for help, but the nurse is indifferent and uncaring. The Prof curls up in pain, hoping for relief. The Prison Prof, Saving Henry, based upon true events by Miles McClellan. This is a Phoenix Flicks production, technical and musical direction by Brent Roy. Chapter One, The Wipe Towel, November 2007. Fuck Henry, I'm sorry man, I'm dying, help me. I gasped out. All I can feel is the pain in my gut, the pounding of my heart in my chest so loud that I fear it will burst. I have never felt pain like this in my entire life and I doubt if I ever will again. That is, if I make it through tonight. I leaned over the edge of my top bunk and looked to see if there was movement from below. A wave of nausea hits me and I resist the urge to vomit, swallowing so that I can hold it back. Almost immediately my cellmate Henry was on his feet, standing up in front of me. Don't worry Prof, I've got this, just hang on. You will be okay, I promise you will be. His voice is laced with confidence and I can't tell if he is being serious or putting on a show to calm my worries. Regardless, I appreciate what he's doing. I don't care if his confidence is all a show. It still means the world to me that he's trying to make me feel better and reassured in any way that he possibly can. From the corner of my eye I saw Henry reach for a small white cloth towel sitting beside our open toilet. He went over to one corner of the room, his steps quick, he knew we were on limited time and that the sooner he could get someone's attention the better. He started to wave it behind the four by twenty inch window in the steel door. I sighed appreciative of this care but knowing that it was futile. Thanks Henry, but it's the middle of the damn night. The CEO isn't going to see that towel. Every word hurt to get out but I continued to fight through the burning pain. Fuck, I didn't know how much longer I could last feeling like this. The pain eclipsed all my thoughts and I couldn't really process what was going on. My vision was fuzzy, blurred. I saw red dots everywhere and no matter how hard I tried to focus my gaze, I couldn't. I noticed Henry out of the corner of my eye still swinging that damn towel back and forth. Henry Fischbacher and I were in the far right on the top row of cells and the furthest from the view of the CEO sitting in his console. Back paragraph. Henry Fischbacher and I were in the far right on the top row of cells and the farthest from the view of the CEO sitting in his console. Back paragraph. Henry Fischbacher and I were in the far right on the top row of cells and the farthest from the view of the CEO sitting in his console. It was pointless to try but Henry continued anyway. Hang in there, it's the only movement the boss was going to see out there, he said, presuming the guard took time away from watching porn on the multitude of monitors arrayed before him. The pain was excruciating as I doubled up on the bunk. Again, a wave of nausea overcame me, doubling the pain and discomfort that I was already feeling. I knew that if no one saw Henry waving the towel, I was done, that would be it. Without help, there was no possibility that I would make it out of this alive. I took a few deep breaths, making myself familiar with what seemed to be my fate. To my surprise, a knock came at the door and a subdued voice called into us. What the hell's the matter? Somebody better be dead in there. His voice was deep and gruff, harsh on the ears. I could tell that the man was irritated at the interruption, though he was probably doing nothing beforehand. Guards were resistant to helping inmates, regardless of how dire the situation. Just about, was Henry's reply, so you should get in here quick. He needs help now. His voice was desperate and I could tell how truly worried he was for me. It must have seemed really bad if Henry was losing his confidence. He knew the same thing that I did. Without help, I could very likely die tonight. Whatever was wrong with me was incredibly serious. I could hear the metallic clicking of the lock as a key twisted in it and our door opened slightly so the CEO could gaze in. I hated how weak I felt under his gaze, like the most vulnerable person in the world. He did not want to help me and if he had the choice to ignore me entirely, I knew that he would take it. With a sigh, I moved my attention towards him, trying to keep my gaze as neutral as I could. Whatever, I thought. My pride could wait. Right now, this was more important. What's his problem? The guard said to Henry, pointing to my bunk. There was no sympathy to be found in his gaze. I replied, my gut feels like it's on fire. I can't breathe. You've got to get me to medical, please. Every word that came out of my mouth only made the pain more excruciating and I gasped in breaths in fear that one would be my last. The guard scoffed, I'm not getting you anywhere. Get your ass off the bunk and start walking. Either you walk or crawl to the med wing or you stay here. It's up to you. He turned away with that, indifferent to my suffering and to whether I lived or died. I carefully and slowly dropped off the bunk and turned to Henry. Thanks man, I owe you. He smiled. Not as much as I feel I'm going to owe you, he replied. He gave me a reassuring nod, trying to communicate to me that everything would be okay. I did my best to believe him, giving a small nod in return. Henry was a good guy and I felt beyond lucky to have him as my cellmate. I wondered what would have happened tonight if I were paired with anyone else. They probably wouldn't have cared as much. They might have even let me die. Very few would rush to help me in the way that Henry had. With as deep a breath as I could take, I moved. I liked shaking the whole time and threatening to buckle beneath me. I then started the excruciating walk slash crawl to a wing in the super jail that was as far from my range as possible. Every step ricocheted to my body, every breath I took agonizing. I waited and waited for one of these breaths to be my last, but it never came. My whole body was trembling and I couldn't make it stop. Every single inhale felt more laborious than the last one and with every step I took, I felt weaker and weaker. The walk felt like it took forever, but I eventually made it to my destination. My legs finally began to straighten beneath me and I was glad that I've been able to make it here in the first place. Once I arrived, I slid up on a cement bench waiting for medical assistance, finally letting myself rest. I could feel that my eyes wanted to close, but I resisted the urge to let it happen. I didn't know if I would wake up if I gave in and more than anything, I was determined to get through this. I looked up at a clock on the wall. It was 5 a.m. I figured it had taken less than an hour to get me here from the time I abruptly interrupted Henry's sleep, an hour that felt like days instead. I watched the clock tick by, second by second, and the quiet sound of each tick seemed louder than the one before. All of my senses were amplified in this condition and everything was overwhelming me. How long had this pain lasted? It felt like an eternity. I couldn't remember a time when I was in this much agony. In about 10 minutes, which felt much longer, a young woman came into the room and identified herself as a student nurse. What's wrong? She asked me. I cringed in pain, gasping for air and clutching at my stomach. I squeezed my eyes shut, red dots clouding my vision once again. My gut, I replied, it's hard to breathe. I need help. Please help me. My voice sounded weak and pathetic. And I pushed my dignity to the side for now. What level of pain are you feeling on a scale of one to 10 with 10 being the highest? What a stupid question I thought to myself. I gasped back. 12. I can't I can barely move. It hurts to breathe. It really fucking hurts. I need help now. I cannot remember exactly what she said after that. The pain in my body eclipsing anything going on in my brain. I know that I continue to emphasize the discomfort that I was in trying to get her to understand the agony I was feeling. I know that I uttered those two words help me over and over again. It was the only way to get her to understand how urgent this was. So I would beg if I had to. She asked questions, and I answered them like a machine, not fully aware of what I was saying or who I was saying it to. The words came out of my mouth unfiltered. As I answered them, I began to doubt that she would be able to help me. After a cursory look over me, and with no further questions or probing, she walked with me as I stumbled down a hallway to a guard station outside the main entrance to the facility. She didn't offer to help just let me drag myself behind her. She led me to a cell adjacent to the hall and open the door monitoring for me to get in. Stumbling in my step, I made my way in and immediately collapsed. Back paragraph. After a cursory look over me and with no further questions or probing, she walked with me as I stumbled down a hallway to a guard station outside the main entrance to the facility. She didn't offer to help just let me drag myself behind her. She led me to a cell adjacent to the hall and open the door motioning for me to enter. Stumbling in my step, I made my way in and immediately collapsed onto the floor falling over. Sit down here, someone will come for you. When? When are they coming? She could not tell that I desperately needed help now. Why did she think that was okay for me to wait? She shrugged completely indifferent. There was no sympathy in her gaze. It was the same as everyone in here. There was no point in caring about someone like me. Soon enough, I don't know when, in the meantime, just wait here for now. Her tone was careless, and it was like she was talking to a child beyond patronizing. I immediately curled up into a ball on the floor, pressing my forehead against the cool cement, praying that it would help me. Back paragraph. I immediately curled up into a ball on the floor, pressing my forehead against the cool cement, praying that it would help take my fever away. It was a welcome relief. And I took as many deep breaths as I could steadying myself against the pain. I had to put on a brave face. I kept telling myself that it wasn't that bad that I would be okay. Of course, I knew that was unlikely. But I thought if I kept telling myself that didn't hurt as bad as it did, the pain was subside, at least partially. The nurse walked over to the CEO taking your time, there was no rush. I watched her through my fuzzy vision. It was getting harder and harder to keep my back paragraph. The nurse walked over to the CEO taking your time. There was no rush. I watched her through my fuzzy vision. It was getting harder and harder to keep my eyes open. But I was determined not to give in to keep fighting until it was completely impossible to do so. Even now her expression was neutral and indifferent. And the lack of care she thought was evident. I wasn't worth much. Ship them to the local hospital the next shift change, she told the CEO. She walked away. The sound of her footsteps reverberating off the walls. Shift change. I couldn't wait that long. I needed help right away. As I arrived on the cement floor, audibly groaning, the guard came over to me. He nudged me lightly with his foot, reminding me of my place. Below him, always below him. My body shook from the pain that the light probing caused pain that radiated through my entire body. How are you feeling? I could tell by the way that he looked at me that he knew something was seriously wrong. But he still didn't really care. I scoffed. If you plan on waiting for the shift change to get me to the hospital, you'll be moving a dead man. I said. I saw his expression change at that. He didn't want to deal with the dead body. That's not what he signed up for. The CA back paragraph. I saw his expression change at that. He didn't want to deal with the dead body. That's not what he signed up for. The CEO went back to his cubicle. I didn't have the strength or the ability to pay attention to what he did next. After what I thought was an eternity, but was in reality a couple of minutes or so, the entrance to the Central North Correctional Center opened and a police cruiser pulled in. The door to my cell swung clear and the next thing I knew I was being handcuffed, shackled, and put into the back seat of a cop car. Rough hand shoved me around, careless to my pain. With every movement I winced. I guessed that I was being taken to the nearest public hospital, but I didn't know how far away that would be or how arduous the journey. In a short while, however, the cruiser stopped outside the emergency entrance to the Hironi District Hospital. The corridor opened and someone reached down to assist me into a wheelchair. Come on, the rough voice said, his hands far from gentle as they moved me into the chair. He began to push the wheelchair. Every bump on the ground that went. That paragraph. In a short while, the cruiser stopped outside the emergency entrance to the Hironi District Hospital. The corridor opened and someone reached down to assist me into a wheelchair. Come on, the rough voice said, his hands far from gentle as they moved me into the chair. He began to push the wheelchair. Every bump on the ground that went over resulted in excruciating agony coursing through my body. From there I went into and out of consciousness. Mr. McFellon, can you give me your full name please? Myles McFellon. Sorry, Dr. Myles Frederick McFellon. It's on my health card. My voice was weak. My throat scratchy and hoarse. Sorry, Dr. McFellon, we don't have any records for you and the jail didn't send any over before your arrival. I could have laughed. Of course they didn't send anything over. The next thing I remember, I was lying down on what I presume was a gurney. I was being moved along a corridor. All I could see were white lights streaming by me on the ceiling, blending together like a cacophony of noise in my head. At some point I was given a shot, though I don't know exactly what was in it. I heard a faint distant voice somewhere in the void. It's for the pain, just relax. It'll be over before you know it. I couldn't get myself to nod in understanding. I was rolled into a machine for how long I have no idea. It felt as though hours passed by, but at the same time it felt as though it had only taken seconds. I lost my grip on reality by this point. A nurse loomed over me, her face blocking my vision. Dr. McFellon, you need to be operated on immediately. There was a little worry in her voice, which is more than I could say for the rest of the people here. I wondered how bad it must be for her to sound so concerned. I opened my eyes. I could see my arm handcuffed to a rail in the bed and a little further into the room there stood two police officers, both dressed in hospital blues. It took me a minute to adjust. My brain was foggy and I could not remember why exactly I was here. The pain was mostly gone at this point. What are you guys doing here? Where the fuck do you think I'm going? They didn't reply, didn't even look at me. It was like I was talking to a wall. And then I awoke in a recovery room. God knows how long I had been there. There were tubes coming into and going out of me. There was a bag by my side with brown liquid in it. I drifted off again. When I awoke, I was in a hospital room. Same tubes in and out and the bag. The handcuffs were attached to a rail on this bed as well and I could feel shackles around my ankles. They were too tight but I was powerless to say anything. I let them cut into my skin and kept my mouth shut like I was meant to. Anytime I tried to move, I could feel the shackles digging deeper into my flesh. A couple of feet to my right, there appeared to be a nurse sitting beside me. Excuse me nurse, what happened? What was wrong with me? Where am I now? My voice was so hoarse that it came out as barely a whisper. You had a ruptured gallbladder. You needed emergency surgery to remove it and to get the toxic fluids out of your abdomen. We are trying to avoid sepsis and other complications. Imagine you'll be here a week or so before we can discharge you. Just stay put. Try not to move around too much. Her words were factual. Every syllable enunciated. There was no sympathy in her tone. There are several reasons a gallbladder can rupture. One being blunt force trauma. Apparently the most common way to remove it is by laparoscopic surgery, a minimally invasive procedure in which small and shit... Back paragraph. There are several reasons a gallbladder can rupture. One being blunt force trauma. Apparently the most common way to remove it is by laparoscopic surgery, a minimally invasive procedure in which small incisions with specialized instruments are made. This technique is a low risk of complications and usually the patient would be in and out of the hospital in no time. Since my gallbladder had burst, the niceties of any minimalist approach went out the window. The real prospect of catastrophic harm, as in death, required urgent measure... Back paragraph. There are several reasons a gallbladder can rupture. One being blunt force trauma. Apparently the most common way to remove it is by laparoscopic surgery, a minimally invasive procedure in which small incisions with specialized instruments are made. This technique has a low risk of complications and usually the patient would be in and out of hospital in no time. Since my gallbladder had burst, the niceties of any minimalist approach went out the window. The real prospect of catastrophic harm, as in death, required urgent measures. Since I was tethered to my bed, the decision was made that it was easier for me to have a catheter and bedpan than to have someone take the time and trouble to unlock my cuffs and have me shuffle off to the bathroom when needed. I did have a hospital room to myself, however, and so there was that. I could almost laugh, thinking of how pathetic I must look. The door to my room was always open. Out in the hall sat two officers of the Ontario Provincial Police. As close as I could tell, they were there around the clock. What a waste of resources that was. Apart from the chains on my arms and legs and the tubes tying me to machines, I was weak as a baby. Any escape from my circumstances went from zero to zilch. I was stuck here, whether I liked it or not. They would make sure that there was no way for me to leave. Clearly, a decision had been made that my recovery...back paragraph... Clearly, a decision had been made that my recovery was better spent in a public hospital rather than the medical wing of the prison, but the no-expense-spared approach amazed me. I knew first-class constables in the OPP made around 100 grand per year. That equated to about 500 bucks per shift. I had constant surveillance, meaning three shifts per day times two cops. This equaled roughly $3,000 every 24 hours I was in restraint. A week came to over $20,000. No one said the cost of corrections in this country was cheap, including me and one of my many publications. The next seven days passed by uneventfully. Nurses from time to time would bring me reading materials from the lobby of the hospital, which pretty much meant incredibly outdated issues of Reader's Digest. The meals weren't bad, and by comparison to what were served at CNCC, they were down...back paragraph... The next seven days passed by uneventfully. Nurses from time to time would bring me reading materials from the lobby of the hospital, which pretty much meant incredibly outdated issues of Reader's Digest. The meals weren't bad, and by comparison to what we were served at CNCC, they were downright delicious. But that wasn't a particularly high bar to jump over. I ate them without really tasting anything and didn't question what was being fed. It could have been anything, and as far as I was aware, I really didn't care. Eventually it came time to move me back to the jail. The tubes and machines were removed, the cuffs undone, and I was put in a wheelchair and wheeled to the front lobby of the hospital to be picked up for transport. This time the pain was not as bad, and I could tell that the problem had been more or less resolved. I sat there in the chair, dressed fully in my orange jumpsuit, with shackles and again handcuffs waiting for my ride. It wasn't hard to miss the stares from the public as they came in and went through the lobby. I wondered what they must be thinking, the distaste they must feel when they laid their eyes upon me. Even though I had still left of my pride, I was still embarrassed to be on display out in the open. At least back in jail, I looked just like every other inmate. It was never an orange is a new black kind of thing, it was just accepted as part of the prison gig. It was funny to me how prison felt more welcoming than the real world, and how I almost was eager to get back, back to a place where I wouldn't have to face the judging glares of people around me. At least in prison, everyone else was just like me. Upon my return to the facility, I was taken to the hospital wing. You'll be spending the next 10 or so days here, the nurse informed me. I was still weak and had trouble breathing, so it was difficult for me to reply. I simply nodded. It didn't help that I already suffered from chronic asthma, it also didn't help that prison hospitals are the last place you would ever want to be if you needed real health care. If you were ill before you went in, God help you if you expect to be better before you got out. These facilities were used as housing options for those with mental health issues, as in, there was nowhere else in a provincial jail to put individuals who would have been unmercifully banged up if they spent any time in Alba. Back paragraph. These facilities were used as housing options to those with mental health issues, as in, there was nowhere else in a provincial jail to put individuals who would have been unmercifully banged up if they spent any time at all in Gen Pop. Granted, mental health is serious and deserves attention. Back paragraph. These facilities were used as housing options for those with mental health issues, as in, there was nowhere else in a provincial jail to put individuals who would have been unmercifully banged up if they had spent any time at all in Gen Pop. Granted, mental health is serious and deserves attention and destigmatization, and as much as that may ring true, my next 10 days were the epitome of living life with Looney Tunes. I eventually was told to get up on my feet and make my way back to my range. It was a slow walk, but my pace wasn't a problem for the CEO who accompanied me. Back paragraph. I eventually was told to get up on my feet and make my way back to my range. It was a slow walk, but my pace wasn't a problem for the CEO who accompanied me. He was just as glad to be taking his time doing something other than a totally mundane job of opening and closing doors all day long. I paused shortly after each step, preparing myself for the next, each movement feeling laborious. When I got to the plexiglass front door, I could see Henry sitting at one of the eight steel tables bolted to the floor where we ate. Whenever any movement is seen at the door, everyone turns to watch. It was always a highlight for the inmates to see if fresh meat was joining them. My returning was also kind of a big deal. I later heard that at one point the rumor was that I either died on the way to the hospital or on the operating table. My standing there was evidence to the contrary. Henry immediately stood up and came over to me. He could tell I still needed help moving, so he put his arm around me and we both tottered toward our cell. Since we were in remand custody, our doors were locked during the day. When we made it back to our cell, I instantly laid down on a cement floor in front of the door. I turned my face back to Henry. Thank you, I told him with gratitude in my voice. I was grateful to him. I could have died without his help, without that towel behind the window that I initially assumed was pointless. I smiled gently, trying to reassure him that I was okay. Soon, exhaustion hit me and I was unable to speak any further. I let my eyes flutter shut and dreamed about a life outside, freedom, a life where I was anywhere but here.