The Flying Carpet

Wednesday, March 29, 2006

Guns


I like guns. When I was an undergraduate at UVA I joined the Army ROTC for a semester as a civilian. I never had to wear camo except as protection during maneuvers, but I still had to submit my dental records. I had to demonstrate proficiency in setting and detonating a Claymore Mine (no live ordinance) and firing anti-tank artillery. The real stuff included shooting, disassembling, and cleaning an M-16; throwing hand grenades from different levels of cover in a timed assault course; and "combat water survival training." The water training involved being blindfolded, covered with equipment, given a rubber M-16 and being pushed off the high dive. We also had to make flotation devices out of our camo pants and swim across the pool with our rubber M-16 in the air.

Since ROTC I shot skeet once and recently fired a fully automatic AK-47. I was a pretty good shot with the skeet. Feeling all of the bullets pour out of the AK-47 was an amazing sensation.

My first date with Dan was lunch at an Ethiopian place. I suspect in retrospect that the food was really quite good, but I was too nervous to eat. He mentioned that he was going to shoot at the range in Richmond that weekend. My immediate response was "cool, when can you take me too?" He seemed surprised, I guess vegetarian yoginis are not usually to into firearms.

This past Saturday we went to the range. I shot his .40 caliber pistol and semi-automatic MP-5. For me the main challenge of the MP-5 is to have the arm strength to hold it up in the air for any amount of time. I was much more drawn to the pistol. It was light and easy to hold, but much more challenging to fire. I had to get used to the kick and not try to overcompensate by shooting down.

Dan told me that when I fired the pistol I had a look of sheer glee on my face. I don't doubt this. When I nailed the target directly in the head, and I was in fact aiming for the head, I felt like a kid who got just what she wanted from Santa.

Tuesday, March 28, 2006

Dan

One morning a few weeks ago I took my journal out on a field trip to the coffeehouse. My primary task was to process an elaborate nightmare involving being shackled by one of my Watch Commanders and escorted into a supermarket past some of the other officers from my place of work. As I was speculating on the "what the heck can all this mean?" phase I started to overhear an interesting conversation next to me between a graduate student and his advisor. After a few minutes I stopped writing and devoted myself completely to eavesdropping. The graduate student was saying some really brilliant things about Buddhist Philosophy that hung in my mind. When he mentioned that he was going to Delhi soon to study with the Jains I knew I had to speak to him.

The graduate student was there with his computer and books, evidently planning to do work. He had already been distracted by his advisor and I worried that he wanted to get back to work. I figured though that if he wanted to be left alone I would be able to discern that pretty quickly and I could leave immediately. When the advisor left I took a deep breath, turned to him, and said "So, I hear you are going to Delhi, I've been there twice." He looked up at me with surprised but friendly gorgeous blue/green eyes and replied "oh really, do you have any recommendations of things to see or do?"

I was in. "Stay in your hotel," I advised. "Stay in your hotel until the Jains take you to Ranakpur. He laughed. "Any recommendations on where I can get meat?" he asked, "the Jain diet is very strict, I know that I am going to need to go out and cheat."

Thus began a nearly 5 hour conversation on India, Yoga, Buddhism, third world diseases, et cetera. Neither one of us got refills, ate, drank, or hardly moved for the entire time. At the end numbers were exchanged. This is how I met Dan.


Sunday, March 26, 2006

The Meat Wagon


During most of my time practicing yoga I have eaten meat, all meat. The scope of my meat consumption was breathtaking: deer, elk, rabbit, shark, turtle, conch, and I don't even want to know what I was eating in China. I ate my fish raw and my beef rare. I look pride in ordering the lamb Vindaloo when going out to the Indian restaurant with the yoga studio. I looked around at my wispy, pasty dining companions and felt a smug glow of flesh consumption rise in my cheeks.

Then a funny thing started to happen, I started to lose my taste for meat. This process started with bacon, believe it or not. Finally I was down to salmon sushi by the end of 2005. So for New Years I took the leap and decided to go total veg. So far I have kept to the veg plan. I have only had one dream of eating meat, and it was barbecue.

This weekend I tried to throw myself off the meat wagon at Red lobster. I originally agreed to go to the Red Lobster thinking that they must offer something, anything, without some form of meat. Wrong. Then I thought, well, a shrimp is practically a bug. I would kill a bug, therefore I can eat a shrimp.

The scampi arrived. I was starving and it looked tasty. I put the shrimp in my mouth and chewed. Everything was fine at that point, seeing it on my plate, placing it in my mouth, chewing. No problem. Then I swallowed. A sickening feeling washed over me. I tried one more shrimp, the same.

Becoming a vegetarian was not a conscious moral choice. I don't think that's wrong for other people to eat meat; I believe that some people even need meat. All I know is when I try to swallow it I feel queasy. When I then go to practice yoga I feel heavy.

Wednesday, March 15, 2006

The Path to Yoga

When I joined by 8th grade track team at age 14 I was unable to run a mile. I will never forget the physical hell of those first few long runs, but they did something positive to my mind and I was hooked. I ran the hurdles indoor and outdoor track all through high school. I threw in cross country even though I was terrible, literally last each practice, nearly last each race. I ran before school, I ran during the summers, I rarely missed a practice.

Once I hit college I started to play soccer on Intramural and city leagues. I had played a little soccer as a child, but the real appeal to me at this point was the running after the ball aspect. "Running shifts all the gears in my mind,"I told someone once to explain why I always ran even though it sometimes it felt horrible.

After college I got back into solitary road training, even training for a marathon. I completed all of the training and was set to race and my race was cancelled two days in advance. I was devastated and didn't run for about a year. During this time I turned to the gym for comfort.

In addition to running, I have at various times been a lap swimmer, gym rat, aerobics junkie, and even Muay Thai kick boxer. My first experience with yoga came in 1997 when I signed up with a roommate for some sort of Hatha short course. I remember being on weird mats on the floor, dim lights, and hanging out too long in strange postures. "I'll save this yoga stuff for my days in the nursing home," I thought.

When I was in nursing school in 2002 I went with a friend to a Vinyasa flow class. In my first down dog I experienced a moment of mental clarity that reminded me of the epiphany of my first runs. I started to take more Vinyasa flow classes with the same teacher and I asked her for DVD recommendations to get a home practice going. As I started to do some reading about yoga I came across the word "Ashtanga" yoga. I learned that it was a very powerful, very strong form of yoga. As luck would have it an Ashtanga rec course was being offered at UVA for the next semester.

I had to walk both ways in the dark in the winter over a mile to get to the class once a week. It was well worth it though; in the physical challenges of Ashtanga partnered with the precise breath work I felt that I had finally come home. Each movement had a breath assigned. The style of breath was very difficult and required full attention. If running shifted the gears in my mind, yoga changed the oil, topped off the fluids, and rotated the tires.

For me the Ashtanga breathing system supplies a framework that makes home practice easy. All you need is your mat and your breath. At first I got a DVD to have someone to call the poses for me just for backup. After the rec class at the UVA gym, and with my home practice developing, I was ready make the leap to a real live yoga studio and enter the fold.

Monday, March 13, 2006

Yoga Workshop


This weekend I did a yoga workshop with Nina and Olaf, two American teachers from Oregon. Olaf is certified by the supreme Ashtanga guru, Sri K. Pattabhi Jois, to teach Ashtanga. The couple just returned from a 4 year stint in Mysore, India with the master.

On Friday they did a joint demo and talk. All I had to do was watch. On Saturday we did Primary Series traditional class style. Olaf called the poses and they both went around giving adjustments. I swear nobody touched me, which was disappointing. The reason to do workshops is to get new adjustments and hopefully take new poses, or take the old poses better. My breath was very strong though, so I was happy with that. On Saturday afternoon Olaf called another 2 hours of mixed Primary and Intermediate Series poses. Once again minimal adjustments.

Yes, that was 4 hours total of active yoga. I crawled to my car, into the shower, and directly to bed at 6 PM. I was bummed because I didn't really have any breakthroughs, but I didn't get hurt either. Injuries can be common at workshops also.

Sunday morning it was back on the mat for the full Intermediate Series. See http://ashtangayoga.info/asana-vinyasa/intermediate-series/index.html for pictures of the poses. I have not done full intermediate in awhile, so I knew it would be interesting. Right away after warm-up Sun Salutations and the usual standing sequence I was able to take a pose I had never taken before: the gateway to the Intermediate Series, Pasasana, the Noose. I am not doing this pose perfectly because my heels aren't on the ground, but I am binding it, I am working it.

That was pretty cool. Then the Intermediate Series is backbend backbend backbend, which is fine with me. Back flexibility is my specialty. This was all smooth sailing. Eventually we came to Karandavasana, the Duck. So picture this: you are balanced on your forearms with your legs in the air. You take full lotus, then you bring your lotus down to rest just above your elbows, then back up, undo the lotus, and drop down to the four-legged staff pose, Chaturanga Dandasana. I can do none of this and have never attempted with assistance. For someone with so many personal space issues, I will put an amazing amount of trust in a good yoga teacher.

I need a little steadying just to balance on my forearms with my legs in the air, the peacock feather pose. I can put my feet in lotus without touching them from shoulderstand, but there I have a visual. From this position I couldn't see my feet and was trying to cross them the wrong way. Olaf quickly helped me into lotus, them guided me down, back up, and out into the staff pose on the floor. He made it feel like it was easy for me and like I was doing most of the work. I was exhilarated but incredibly shaken at the same time. I had to curl up in child's pose on the floor and shake for a second. Literally.

I fumbled my way through the rest of the Intermediate Series till the queen of backbends at the end. With assistance I am able to drop back and then grab the backs of my own heels while still standing. I have not done this for awhile, so I was psyched to get back into that pose. Olaf just had to steady my hips a little bit. When I take this pose first I drop back, then I start walking my hands back, and then I see feet. As it turns out they are my feet and then I grab them. It is a very weird feeling because the feet never really seem like they are mine till I touch them. Olaf said he could feel my spine popping off everywhere, but I was not aware of this. To take this pose all I think about are the feet.

So that was the yoga workshop. Now I can barely move. I did yoga in class this morning, but tomorrow is the full moon so I get a day off. No Ashtanga on new or full moons.

Friday, March 10, 2006

Thank You Thank You

To the Toodler: Thank you so much for all of your insightful comments on my postings. I don't know how you found me, but you and your page are my link to the larger blogging community. I am putting this information out there for everyone; I am honored to have the interest of a stranger.

Saturday, March 04, 2006

Cancer

When I tell people that I am a prison nurse they seemed suprised. The bad people go to prison and live happily ever after right? It never occurs to most people that inmates get sick and sometimes need very serious and expensive medical attention.

Quite a few inmates at my facility are being treated for cancer. Most go out for their chemo and radiation as a day trip and immediatly return to their wings. After they have a major surgery they might be in the infirmary briefly for recovery, but most will return to their wings quickly. Their dressings will be handled on treatment line, their meds on the pill line, and their follow-ups will be scheduled in the clinic. Most want to get back to their commissary, their school, their jobs, and their boo as fast as possible.

When things get bad though, they come to live in the infirmary. All of a sudden a three year stretch can become a life sentence. Clemency is a lengthy process and rarely granted. I have two terminal cancer patients living in the infirmary at present. One gets out in May, one is down for murder.

For most of the late fall I honestly didn't think that my colon cancer/out in May patient was going to make it to her release. She rarely left the bed, she seemed to be going fast. Then mental health started her on Wellbutrin. After a few weeks on the Wellbutrin, May didn't seem that far away anymore. She was getting up and walking to get her tray, return her tray, get hot water, and get ice. These minor activities were a major turn-around. She has also regained her appetite. She always has a drink going and ice in her pitcher. Now May really seems in reach and I think she is going to make it out.

My breast and ovarian CA/lifer patient is newer to the infirmary. She has been sick for awhile. At an earlier stage when she was still in population she was in the infirmary after her mastectomy. She was actually my very first patient as a professional nurse. She was an LPN herself on the outside, so that was a bit intimidating.

I am still trying to get a feel for how things are going to go with her. I asked her recently if she was trying for clemency, she told me no. I usually initiate a dialogue about end-of-life issues starting with clemency and working toward advanced directives. So far she is very closed.

My cancer patients with shorter sentences have been more open. One I recently saw released back to her family just in time used to asked me "nurse, how do you know when you are dying?" "You stop eating and drinking," I told her. "So eat your breakfast and go get some ice," I followed. My out-in-May patient and I have talked very openly about advanced directives, what she wants and doesn't want if something happens. I have her all ready to sign a DNR if things start to look worse.

Does the Punishment Fit the Crime?



Here is the front of the kimono from the last blog post.

When I tell people that an inmate got 15 days in seg for slapping my hand people on the street think such a punishment is extreme. "Why did you even write her if you weren't hurt?" I sometimes get asked. Others seem confused as the why my inmate/patient should not hug me. Such a gesture would be pretty normal on the outside.

It has been brought to my attention that prison, with all of it's rules and restrictions about contact, is the perfect place for me to be a nurse. All physical contact is kept to a minimum, which works pretty well for someone who walks around wearing a cuff bracelet stating "touch me not" in Latin. If I worked in an outside hospital I would probably have to endure being hugged and touched by patients as well as families.

In the penitentiary the no hugging rule is about safety. Even though that inmate is a woman, she is still a convinced felon in a maximum security penitentiary. Hugging can look a lot like shanking. If she wanted to shank me she would have been smarter to wait until I took my coat off.

In the case of the hand-slapping the reason to punish the inmate is to teach her about the enforcement of rules and boundaries. Many of the inmates grew up in very chaotic environments with few rules and little structure. As prison employees our role is to teach them lessons that their parents failed to impart. Just like you have to teach a little kid not to hit others with a time out, seg is like big-girl time out in my mind. I hope that if we model good behavior for them and teach them self control and respect for rules they will be more successful on the outside.

In the case of this particular inmate, my run-in with her was her third or fourth assault on staff. She was already doing a stretch in seg for aggravated assault involving serious injury to one of the Watch commanders wrists. She had been good in seg for quite some time after that episode. Evidently though she had not totally learned her lesson. After she was charged for slapping me she was disappointed in herself for messing up again. I think that this level of self reflection was significant progress for her.

Granted I am here writing about modeling good behavior and learning self-control when I recently assaulted one of my own staff. See the blog entitled "Reaction" from 3/4/06. The irony is not lost on me.

Institutionalized

Working on the inside changes the way you see the outside. When I did "Phase One," the security training you need to work in a prison, one of the sergeant's warned us about getting institutionalized. I thought this meant always having to sit with your back to the wall in a restaurant. What institutionalization has come to mean to me is having the outside world remind me of the inside world. This can come in the form of seeing someone in public who looks like one of my inmates, or behaves like one of my inmates. Sometimes when I see women in public exhibiting certain behavior I say to myself: "future inmate of America over there." I only have this response to women, men can act ghetto, sleazy, or out of control and I don't start to see them as inmates.

I had a strange experience with the movie "Breakfast a Tiffany's" recently. Many women are charmed by the Holly Golightly character. I remember being charmed by her when I watched the movie as a teenager. I recently re-watched the movie and had a whole different institutionalized reaction.

The Holly Golightly character now resonates for me as exhibiting a strong Histrionic personality disorder and some serious inmate behavior. Histrionic Personality Disorder is defined in the DSM IV as a pattern of excessive emotionality and attention seeking, as indicated by at least five of the following:

Uncomfortable if not the center of attention.
Interaction with others in a inappropriate provocative or seductive manner.
Shallow and rapid changing of emotion.
Uses appearance to draw attention.
Speech that lacks in detail and excessively impressionistic.
Theatrical, self dramatization, or out of proportion expression of emotion.
Easily influenced, suggestible.
Feels even a sociable relationship is intimate.

Forget booze and 50 dollars to go to the powder room. In today's society Golightly would get hooked on extacy and prescription pills. Eventually she'd get caught selling some of her Xanax to buy E. She's the one that will get really pissed when we yank her off of all the psych meds that she was allowed to keep taking at the jail.

Histrionics are pretty common in the prison. One of the best cases was an inmate who went out for an emergency removal of her gallbladder, or cholycystectomy. When she was convalescing in the infirmary before returning to population she would inadequately cover herself in the bed, look at dirty magazines, and dramatically run on and on when I was rounding on her. On the day she left I was just coming to work as they were taking her back to her building. She grabbed me and hugged me. There was nothing I could do to stop it short of pushing her to the ground. In retrospect I probably should have stroked her for that, or at least said something. Security did nothing, I'm not sure if they noticed.

Addendum: that's my back dressed in kimono on today's random blog photo. When we were in Japan we had lunch with a woman who teaches kimono dressing for a living. She strapped, wrapped, and bound me into that thing. It was a complicated, many-layered process.

Reaction

One of my least favorite things about myself has always been my delayed reaction to negative situations. Most people look back and thinks "I wish I did X,Y, or Z." I look back and think "I wish I had done something, anything." I go on autopilot or freeze until a threatening or upsetting situation is over. If things get bad enough I start to cry. I tend to disassociate and sort of go somewhere else until I feel safe again.

Disassociation can be good in nursing because it allows me to jump in and do whatever needs to be done without getting emotional. My first really solid code red was a perfect example. An inmate had cut herself all up and down her arms with a razor blade, they can buy razors for shaving off of commissary. She was covered in blood, the bed was soaked in blood and clots, the white floor was red. When I walked into the cell I felt weak in the knees for about 10 seconds and then I just started in. I am the charge nurse, so people look to me for leadership. I just started telling people what to do, what to write, what to get as it came to me. Security was video taping the whole thing. The whole thing went off very well and I have received positive feedback from my managers and security command staff.

Disassociation can be bad in the work place because I have a really hard time being confrontational. If someone gets confrontational with me I just want them to go away. I can't even really get into the issue at hand. I have been criticized in the workplace for not standing up for myself. This applies to my personal life as well.

A few weeks ago I was slapped on the hand by an inmate. This is simple assault in the prison system. If there had been any sort of lasting damage it would have been aggravated assault. Rather than just be quiet, which is my natural impulse, I said something to her right away. I told her that her action was not appropriate, "you just can't do that in here," where my exact words. This may seem simple and obvious, but for me it was a breakthrough. I wrote a charge on this inmate and she got 15 days in Seg.

Last night at work I was confronted with another situation, this time with staff. I was in my nurse's station in the security bubble with a male nurse who started making very unflattering comments about one of our colleagues. I asked him very simply to stop being an asshole. He responded with a jockish punch to my shoulder. I went into shut-down mode, turned my back to him, and sat down. He kept on with the comments and said "oh come on..." and punched me again, at least once. Maybe twice. I could feel my face turning red. All of a sudden I reacted. He was standing behind me, I swiveled around in my chair and whacked him across the small of his back with my forearm. Not lightly, not jokingly. I then said "leave my bubble right now, I'm not even kidding, leave." He got up an left. He had an hour left in the shift and I could barely even speak to the officer with me in the bubble until I knew he was gone.

I wish that I would have stood up and just did the verbal piece. I don't think that anything will come of this situation, but I definitely whacked him pretty well, and you really shouldn't do that in the workplace. I am pleased with myself that I did have a reaction, even if it needs to be fine-tuned.