Matt and I took a little Sunday drive out to George W. Hill Correctional Facility. I don't know what we were thinking, we didn't do any research ahead of time. I think we thought it would be like visiting a hospital or something. Just driving up to the guard station was intimidating, with razor wire everywhere and gates that seem like they could trap you at any moment. We found out that they have a narrow window of visitation times, so we couldn't go in anyway. I was actually relieved because as I was reading the dress code guidelines posted at the gate, I changed my mind about wanting to go in. I read, "no tight fitting clothes, no see-through clothing, females must wear bra and panties . . ." I don't think I belong here, and I certainly don't want to be checked by a prison guard to see if I have on panties. I know I've been exposed to things that I wouldn't imagine I would have had to go through lately, but this is all a little too ghetto for me.
"I'm sorry, but checking me for panties is a deal-breaker, say hi for me." I said.
Frank's hearing isn't for another month to see if they are going to sentence him or let him go for violating the PFA. Matt called the prison Monday morning to inform them of Frank's Frontotemporal Dementia and that he is taking Abilify to prevent the hallucinations associated with his condition. He spoke to a nurse in the health suite and she said she would make a note. It took them about a week to notice that Frank was a little different. The phone rang, caller ID says it's the prison so I answer immediately. "This is the nurse at George W. Hill. We have, your brother I guess it is, in the health suite here. Is there something wrong with him?" Never mind that Matt had already called the health suite and told them what was wrong and gave them a list of Frank's daily medications. Apparently this information wasn't noted after all and he hadn't received any medications at all. At least they finally figured it out and he will spend the rest of his incarceration in the hospital wing of the prison.
With the narrow visitation hours at the prison, and Matt's work schedule, it was difficult to find a compatible time to visit Frank. After Frank had been in jail for about two weeks, Matt finally got there. He said it was very difficult getting though security. Not only is there a metal detector, but a scanner to detect narcotics, and a dog. There are no wallets, or money, no watches or jewelry, cell phones, no hoods, no double layers of clothing, so if you have on a shirt and sweater, you have to take one off. One time he forgot that he had his watch on and by the time he walked back out of prison and through the mile-long walk back to the parking lot, visiting hours were over.
Matt sat down in the visiting room with Frank. By the way he described it, it sounded like the visitation room on one of my favorite shows, "Arrested Development" when George Bluth was in prison. Like a small cafeteria with short rectangle tables and guards around the room watching for conduct violations. ("no touching!") We had been so worried about how someone like Frank would hold up in prison. He can't follow directions, doesn't communicate well, doesn't comprehend what people are saying to him; how could he keep up with the demands that prison life would hold for him? Our worries were unfounded; Matt said that Frank looked great. He was communicating better than Matt had seem him in months. He had a huge smile, and said the food was great, and had made friends. One of the other prisoners shouted over, "Hey Frank!". Matt asked, "Who's that Frank?"
Frank answered, "Oh he's just one of the actors, they're all actors. You're getting the money, right?"
Matt is slightly confused. "What do you mean Frank?"
"We're making a movie here. All these people here are in the movie with me. They put the money in my account right?" Frank is off his meds and is probably hallucinating right now, but it's a good hallucination, I guess.
"Oh, yeah, I got the money." Matt goes along since it makes Frank happy.
"We'll go see it when it comes out." Frank seems really excited.
"Hey, how's it going." Frank waves at another prisoner walking past.
Matt came home feeling much better than he had in weeks. Frank believed he was the star of an action movie being filmed at the prison and seemed more vocal, thoughtful and happy than he had in weeks. Probably due to the constant interaction he was experiencing with the other inmates and guards. Which suggests to me that symptoms of FTD can be improved by living in a stimulating, group environment.
"I wish I had been there to see him Matt." I said. "Next time you go I'll make sure I put on my prettiest panties."
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