The past year has been terribly difficult for those of us who have friends and loved ones in prison. It has been more lonely for those who are in prison--and perhaps worst of all for those incarcerated individuals who are intellectually/developmentally disabled. The culprit was not the prison administration or the legislature. It wasn’t our own finances or transportation difficulties that kept us from seeing our loved ones. Instead, it was an invisible foe--one that we had no way to fight--the Coronavirus pandemic of 2020. And, now that 2021 is upon us, there is no end in sight for when it might be safe, once again, for prisons to open their doors to visitors.
To combat the mental and physical effects of isolation, prisons have extended phone time for inmates. In the state prison system where my son Carlos resides, they have doubled the phone time limit from 60 to 120 minutes per day. The downside is that phone time costs money. Not everyone is as privileged as others. Down a paycheck because their loved one is in prison, and many with children to still care for, they cannot afford the cost of daily phone conversations, which at my son’s institution is just under a nickel per minute. I am fortunate, and I know it. Carlos’ institution’s service provider, Connect-Network, is also providing a free one-minute call per week at this time. It’s not much, but for those with no other option, it’s something.
However, as the mother of an individual who is I/DD, I know that one minute per week is not enough time to ascertain how my loved one is doing. From my experience, I know that sometimes it takes several minutes--or a whole phone call--to find out if there is something troubling Carlos. Other times, he will be agitated from the git go--when some unknown factor has set him off before our call--and one minute is not nearly enough time to get to the bottom of things, much less get him calmed down. I am able to keep my phone account funded, and so I know, that when Carlos and I have disagreed about something, or something has bothered him, he will eventually call me back, and we can have a calmer conversation. Not so, if all we had was one minute per week.
It was so much better when I could also physically visit with him once a week or every two weeks. I know that he had fewer episodes of agitation, depression, or even physical complaints when we were able to have in-person visits on a regular basis. As it stands, we’ve seen each other only twice since February 2020, the last time being mid-August.
Now, not only are there no visits, but Carlos’ situation has changed drastically. Coronavirus has hit the institution. Several individuals within his unit tested positive. However, because of the delay between testing and results, the administration probably was too late to manage it. Although Carlos originally tested negative, he chose to stay in the locked-down unit. Eventually, he too tested positive, extending the lockdown.
Lockdown meant that he and his cellmate would stay in their cell for approximately 23 hours per day. They would only be allowed out for showers. At first, this was every other day. It was finally relaxed to daily. This has been his existence for over a month. Luckily, his unit was cleared of the virus yesterday, the last day of 2020, and now they will go back to somewhat normal.
Again, I’ve been very fortunate to be able to speak with Carlos on a daily basis--through the headache, the Covid-coughing, the digestive symptoms, and the isolation. I was able to assess whether he was getting worse or, thank goodness, in his instance, better. I know that many others are not as fortunate.
If you have a story, I want to hear it. Please send your stories through the Send Stories link above, or contact me through the Contact link. And check back as I continue to investigate and write about issues that impact our incarcerated loved ones with I/DD. Here’s hoping for a happier new year. Let’s put 2020 behind us.