Renee – Only a teenager, she received a 60-year sentence. Now 16 years in, Renee is writing from Perryville prison in Goodyear, Arizona, providing a rare and unique insight into a women's prison.
Three weeks later, Ms. G came to my cell door. “You have provider line tomorrow at noon. Can you sign here?”
I jumped up off my bunk, my mouth instantly dry, stomach in knots. I signed. “Thanks, Ms. G.”
I got up the following morning with questions running through my mind. I made a mental list of everything. 4am to noon was painfully long as if I were sleep walking through the day. Having not worked in a week, I spent my day on the yard, vaguely listening to all of the bitching and moaning about how bad prison life sucks.
“Lock down!” an officer yelled, stopping the bitching.
I walked to my cell. Hearing the door click behind me, alone in my cell, I once again stared at the four walls and paced the concrete floor.
When headcount cleared at noon for recreation, I shot out the door and the yard gate. I made a mad dash for Medical, wanting to be first in line. I did not even get to knock on the door because the Medical Porter opened it.
“What yard are you from?” she asked.
“24,” I replied.
“They are seeing 26 yard right now. They’ll call for 24 when they’re done.”
“But my appointment is at noon,” I said, trying to contain my frustration.
“They split the yards because of the custody levels, so the provider has to finish 26 yard.”
Disappointed, I walked back to the yard, and waited. 1pm, 2pm, 2:30pm…
My roommate arrived. “What did Medical say?”
“Haven’t been there yet. Don’t think I’m going to. Who knows? I don’t,” I replied, continuing to stare at the TV.
Frustrated, I went outside. Thank goodness no one wants to talk. Perhaps they can feel the waves of frustration coming off me.
3pm, 3:30pm…
“OK. It is almost headcount. I think it’s safe to say, I’m not going to Medical.”
“Doesn’t look that way,” my roommate replied with a sympathetic expression.
A few seconds later, my door opened, meaning Medical was ready to see me.
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