The Coronavirus pandemic has prompted prison officials across the country to suspend visiting privileges for the safety and security of incarcerated individuals, prison staff, volunteers, and the community. Recently, I have heard prisons referred to as petri dishes, where illness and viruses such as this can spread much faster than in the community at-large. All-in-all, the prison system in my state, the state of Nebraska, has done a good job of keeping the virus in check.
They’ve also done an exceptional job of keeping incarcerated individuals and staff informed of ways they would combat the spread of the virus within the institution. Visits were suspended in mid-March 2020 in order to reduce the exposure. They were resumed again the week of July 13th, and then suspended again less than a month later in response to an uptick in cases within the institutions. That suspension was supposed to be temporary with a reevaluation after two weeks. That suspension period ended up lasting until this week.
During that time period, cases surged. In my son’s unit at Lincoln Correctional Center (LCC), that swell occurred the week of Thanksgiving. He tested negative on November 25th, but was treated as if he were positive when he refused a move with others who had tested negative. I did not understand his choice until he explained that transfer would be to the gym, sleeping on cots, where social distancing would be impossible. He said that all of their belongings, (e.g. televisions, etc.) would be locked up until they could be returned to a unit. Because he stayed in his current unit, he was put on lock-down.
Although Carlos was held in his cell for 23-hours per day, only being allowed out to shower, he saw it as preferable to “floating a boat” in the gym. (The term petri dish again came to my mind). I was not surprised when he told me, two days later, that he had a headache and a cough. I figured that those who’d tested negative had already been exposed and there was a potential for an eventual positive test. My son was retested on November 30th, even though he said he felt better, and he did not have a temperature. But on December 1st he told me he’d been up all night with diarrhea, there was more phlegm, and I could hear the difference in his cough. He eventually recovered, and his unit was released from lockdown on Christmas Eve.
I know how helpless we feel as mothers and fathers, sisters and brothers, family members and friends, when our incarcerated loved ones are in such a high-risk environment. As soon as I learned of the uptick in cases at LCC, I began tracking the numbers of cases on the Nebraska Department of Corrections’ website. There were 105 cases at LCC the week my son’s unit was tested. Currently there are zero in his institution and 29 within the whole department. I feel like I can breathe again.
And, now I can visit him again. Visits are not like they used to be pre-Covid. There are no kisses, hello or goodbye. I can’t embrace him to transfer all my feelings of love and protection to him. I can’t sit next to him, and put my hand on his arm, or give him a playful punch when he says something obnoxious or funny. We can’t share a bag of M&Ms, nor can I feed him a big meal of an Italian sub, chips, a cookie, and a pop out of the vending machine. That would be so much better. What mother doesn’t try to fix everything with food? Still, even though we were sitting face-to-face, separated by a distance of six feet at all times, and his big, bright smile was hidden by a face mask, I was able to see him-to evaluate his health, both physical and mental-and know with my own eyes that he’s okay. I’m thankful for that.
I know that having a loved one in prison is a hard thing even under normal circumstances. It is even more difficult now, when we are worried about what’s going on inside the institution and worried about ourselves out here. I know first hand that for those of us who have incarcerated loved ones who have an intellectual/developmental disability (I/DD), our worries are exponentially multiplied. Just know that you are not alone.
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.