Sci-tific Conversational in Adventures From Prison

SCI-TIFIC CONVERSATIONAL The other day my best friend went to Medical to meet with his PA about his chronic nerve pain. The poor guy used to play high school and college football down in Alabama and ended up with seven concussions, two messed up knees, a screwed up elbow and nearly every vertebrae in his neck and back bulging or damaged. He is nearly 38 and can barely get out of bed in the morning, yet until now Medical has told him he’s fine, even though he often loses all feeling in his hands. There is even documentation stating he needs double knee replacements, but Medical refuses to even provide him with knee braces or a bottom bunk pass. Twice now he’s nearly fallen off his ladder and ended up limping for days. The sad thing is if he were a black man he’d have one in a heartbeat because the BOP is terrified of being accused of racism. As a result you find most of the lower bunks occupied by men who really don’t need one, they just know how to manipulate the system. It’s sad how prevalent reverse racism is in prison. Anyway, my friend got a new PA recently who is right out of school and willing to help him, so we are all very happy for him. As is the way of things, he was kept waiting in the waiting room for nearly an hour – something I gather isn’t exclusive to prison – so he got to listen in on some really unique conversations which he then related back to me. To his left was an older black man who leaned over and asked, “You know much about this Medical thing?” My friend, having not much else to do, admitted he did know a decent amount about medicine, so the man plunges into his story. “Good. Maybe you can answer a question for me. I was in the unit the other day and I’d drunk a bunch of water. So I go in to take a piss and nothing comes out. After a while I finally got a little out. Five minutes later, I’m back in there and same thing happens. So I tell my cellie, and he tells me I need to go to Medical and tell them to check my prosthetic gland. How they do that?” My friend looks at the old guy, “Your prosthetic gland?” “Yeah, I know you’re supposed to get it checked when you’re older, but I don’t even know where the dang thing is. Does your doctor have to do it or can I check it myself?” “Umm…it would be pretty hard to do alone,” my friend said trying very hard not to laugh. “Maybe my cellie could help? He seems pretty smart.” “No. No, I’m sure your cellie doesn’t want to do that.” “Hmm, maybe if I offered him a few soups,” The old guy suggests. “Trust me; it’s something you’ll want a doctor to do and no one else.” “Why?” At that moment the door opens and the old guy is taken in for his exam. My friend started laughing. He sat alone on the bench for a few minutes then started paying attention to the conversation happening across from him: “…yeah it’s all over on the streets. Everybody’s getting it.” “What does it do?” “You know, the usual, coughing, fever, puking and pooping. I’m serious, man, you gots to wash your hands anytime you touch anything. You can’t mess around with that R2D2 stuff.” “I saw you can get it from eating Swine, too. So don’t eat none of the swine they try and feed us at Chow.” “Oh that’s right! That’s why they call it the swine flu. R2D2 is just a sci-tific name for it.”