Mr. Skinhead Sociopath Packs His Property

I have come to enjoy doing meds in the pods. Most nurses prefer the other side of the jail because there are fewer inmates and they don't have to deal with the women in the bottom pod, but I like the pods. I was getting to know my inmates in the pods and taking care of their extra needs like topical cream refills, band-aids, antibiotic ointment, and inhaler refills. Mr. J was back from the geriatric state mental hospital and happily playing cards in one pod and Haldol boy was flourishing as a floor worker in another. When I came on the pod Haldol boy was usually mopping the floor or wiping down a windowsill. Filling the role of floor worker probably afforded him some extra protection from the officers and the opportunity to run some contraband which would help him maintain on the pod without the need for other favors. The only thorn in my side was Mr. Skinhead Sociopath in my very favorite pod with a bunch of very polite diabetics I knew well from diabetic stickline. A few of these diabetics were the first inmates I got to know and helped me feel comfortable in the environment early on so I looked forward to seeing them.

Every med pass Mr. Skinhead Sociopath was at my throat about something like a Jack Russell Terrier trying to corner a rat. But I was a big, nasty rat. One night he took his meds and quickly turned around. "Call him back," the officer told me. "Mr. _____, come back here and show me your mouth," I commanded, sticking my own tongue out as a demonstration. he turned around quickly and stuck out his tongue. "No, lift it up," the officer commanded. He quickly lifted his tongue and I could see the white of two large tabs of the pain medication Neurontin pocketed one on each side. "Open your mouth again," I said, and he refused, working his jaw. "You all are singling me out!" he shouted, stepping toward the med cart. The other inmates backed away out of the pill line. "Get in your cell," the officer told him quietly. Mr. Skinhead Sociopath backed into his cell shouting about how he wasn't cheeking his meds. I knew my moment had come to get him out of my pod.

I wrote an incident report for him cheeking his meds and took the chart to the nurse practitioner the next day to get an order to crush the meds. "Why don't we just D/C them then?" she suggested. "He obviously doesn't need them."
"Excellent," I replied. The officer on the floor wrote a charge for disobeying a direct order. Mr. Skinhead Sociopath got pulled out of the nice clean pod with a polished linoleum floor maintained by Haldol Boy and put into the east side of the old jail in a dormitory style block.

The next time I worked I had to pass meds on the east side and didn't get to go back to the pods. When I arrived at Mr. Skinhead Sociopath's block I put the little medicine cups of water on the crossbeam of the worn old bars and took a deep breath in through my nose. The stink of human funk on the block brought a smile to my face. The block was so loud and smelled so vile you could pass gas without anyone noticing. Five inmates on the block got meds and he approached me last. "Was it you or the officer who got my meds D/C'd and got me moved over here?" he asked. "Sir, I think we both know that I am just a nurse here, I don't have the power to start or stop a med, nor do I have the power to change your housing assigment," I replied with a smile. I thought hatred would gleam in his eyes, but instead I saw a sort of amused affection. "OK, but I'll be calling my lawyer," he returned my smile and backed into the block. I had met his lawyer one evening in the pod. The poor public defender had been left in a room alone with Mr. Skinhead Sociopath without a panic button. When I came by on med pass the poor man had been forgotten in the little legal consultation room next to the pod. I got the officer to let him out, pale with fear and helped him get back to front entry.