Dateline: Tuesday, August 12, 2025, 11:58 am.
My vision blurs as my eyes quickly tire. The email text is small, forcing me to stop and rest. I want to try to tell you about as much of the past day as I can.
Monday, 5:00 am -- Marion C. I.., Lowell/Ocala, Florida
"Norman, get dressed. You have a med trip."
Six of us lined up in the dark to be shackled, handcuffed, leg irons and waist chained. Each man struggled to climb into the side door of the transport van, the dog box vans used at previous prisons unknown at this incentivized prison.
"What's a dog box van?" one guard asked.
I explained. Instead of dogs in a pitch black van, humans were stuffed into a windowless steel box.
Today, each inmate sat in a comfortable upholstered seat. Air conditioning cooled the van. 6:02 a.m., we were out the gates and on the road. We could see the free world passing by through the window grilles.
Highway 441 bisected Gainesville. I couldn't compare the North Florida scenery with the Okeechobee scenery of the same 441, 200 miles to the south: Circle K's every five miles, Taco Bells, every fast food joint in America feeding well-fed University of Florida students driving fancy cars; "The Swamp," Home of the Gators.
In an hour the van rolled into the gates of the Reception and Medical Center (RMC) at Lake Butler. Seven a.m. At this rate, we'd be done and on our way back to Marion in record time.
It was not to be. At least a hundred sickly men crowded hard benches lining long hallways. Wheel chairs, crutches, canes, prosthetics: men worse off than I, nearer death's door, sobered me. Orderlies pushing a gurney carrying a white-haired, emaciated, unconscious patient in his eighties forced their way through.
Bad news. I was scheduled for an echo-cardiogram to check my heart. Ten minutes max. A nurse informed our guard escorts that the outside contract cardiotech would be late-- six hours late. One p.m. By the time he finally got there my body was numb from the waist down. At least he called me first.
The other men had been done for hours. We still couldn't leave. The noon count dragged on. RMC is notorious for its long counts and recounts.
Finally we got to see Gainesville in the daylight. Being in serious pain from the hours on benches distracted me from the passing modern city. Maybe next time.
Finally we made it back to Marion, both my wrists bruised and bleeding from the tight handcuffs.
More RMC trips are upcoming. The neurologist, oncologist, and repeat visits with the cardiologist wait on the horizon.
Wednesday, August 13, 2025 -- next case. Kidney stones hurt like a bayonet plunged into the lower back. I spent over two hours with Dr. Christopher Salas last week, and he scheduled X-rays of my kidneys. Ten years or so ago, the last time my kidneys developed stones, they sent me to Jacksonville Memorial Hospital for treatment. Today the X-ray tech took a picture of my kidneys to check the status. I expect the doctor will schedule another road trip soon.
Meanwhile, I've gotten more medical treatment here in two weeks than in the past year at Okeechobee.
More later... Charlie
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