About two and a half years ago, I started working as a health care assistant in the local women’s prison.

All in all, it was an okay job. I got on with most of the women, especially those who would stop me to ask about my day or just tell me about the new photo their friends or family sent. The officers were nice, if a little dismissive of genuine health problems at times.

I left the job after almost two years, but I still work there sporadically to keep my hand in, so to speak. I am working today.

The day starts as normal: handover and then medication rounds.

My registered practitioner is late in, due to a prior agreement we were not made aware of, so we go to the prison wing and find out that the lone officer won’t have a second for an hour. We need two officers for meds: one to supervise the girls taking the meds and one to unlock and lock up.

No problem. We get some admin done.

Meds start, and all is going well until two girls end up in a verbal altercation and are restrained back to their cells.

We then change sides to do the other section of the wing on the other side of the building. It’s slow, but everyone gets medicated. Then, it’s just clean up and breakfast. It’s about 11:30.

Now, to clarify, as a member of healthcare, I am required to carry a radio. We take a call sign and respond to location updates and alarms. Most notable alarms are our emergency codes. Code Red is heavy bleeding. Think a bloodbath, sprayed on the walls type. Code Blue is unresponsive or not breathing.

For either of these, it’s not uncommon to see five staff members sprinting the length of the prison with a 15-kg bag in tow.

We get set up to go back to our office in the centre of the prison, when an alarm is sent across the radios, signalled by a near-deafening klaxon.

Control: “Code Blue, [MY WING]. Acknowledge [OFFICER AND GOVERNOR IN CHARGE]. Acknowledge [NURSE IN CHARGE].”

Safe to say I’m hauling this 15-kg bag down two flights of stairs whilst trying to locate the cell.

As I arrive, the officer in charge of that wing tells me the patient is fine.

Officer: “There’s nothing wrong with her.”

Either way, I entered and tried to rouse the woman, a known epileptic. 

In the next thirty minutes, this woman suffered twenty-four witnessed seizures, each lasting between twenty and sixty seconds. She did not regain consciousness between, and she left for the hospital with the paramedics.

She returned later, self-discharged due to a fear of hospitals, but understandably tired and sore.

So much for “nothing wrong with her!”

I have struggled with drug addiction for most of my life. About five years ago, my wife filed for divorce and was awarded full custody of our son. This is all right and proper, as I was in no condition to be a father at that time.

The road to recovery has been long, but I have been working the program and have now been clean for several years. I have had no formal custody of my son, though I get visitation at my ex-wife’s discretion. I have tried to be a good and stable father to my son in the last few years.

However, my ex has not wanted to allow for the possibility that I have become well. In fact, she has begun jerking me around with visitation, even planning on removing my son from me for a period of several months so she can take a long vacation with her new family.

Not willing to let this slide, I immediately file for joint custody. The court case goes as expected, my ex badmouthing my former drug abuse and attempting to paint me as still an addict and a threat to our son. Again, I am totally not. I have been clean for years, I’m employed, and I own my own home now.

My ex is so self-deluded and confident that I backslid that she loudly demands, in front of the judge:

Ex: “I demand that he provide a letter from the local president of [drug counseling program] stating that he has attended every meeting for the last several years.”

I smile at the judge.

Me: “Not only is that not a problem, your honor, but I can provide that document today.”

Judge: “How this is possible? Did you already think to bring that with you?”

Me: “No, your honor, but, you see, I am the president of our local chapter.”

I wish you could see the look on my ex’s face. I got joint custody.

This story is part of our Best Of January 2021 roundup!

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This happens when I’m in the second grade back in the 1990s. We have a substitute teacher for the day. Normally, we have two classroom bathroom breaks, but if we are having an emergency our teacher lets us go. I’ve been starting to feel nauseous and go ask the sub to go to the bathroom.

Sub Teacher: “No, you can wait until the whole class goes.”

Me: “But Miss [Sub Teacher], I really don’t feel good.”

Sub Teacher: “I said wait. Now go sit down!”

I went back to my desk defeated and progressively feeling worse, laying my head on my desk. Eventually, we were called to get in line, but due to how bad I felt, I ended up at the end with only four stalls for a class of ten girls. As we waited, I felt it coming and started heaving in line. The sub quickly grabbed me, pushing me into one of the stalls, but it was too late. I puked all over the floor and on her shoes. I found that to be wonderful Karma.

We are about eight months into the global health crisis and everyone is still on edge. I’m a teacher who recently returned to work and my fiancé works retail.

One morning, I wake up feeling a little off so I go to the doctor. Everything checks out, so they send me home. 

A few hours later, I start shaking uncontrollably and know I have a fever. 

My fiancé is at work, so I tell him to come home because I have a fever and his job has protocols when symptoms of the health crisis are present. 

He comes home four hours later. I am in bed sweating and shaking. He picks up a thermometer and we find out that my temperature is 104°F.

Fiancé: “We need to be tested. One of my coworkers lives with his mom who just tested positive. And he continued to come to work after the results came back.”

I am scared and upset and it is already 10:00 pm. We go to an urgent care clinic and get tested for the flu and the other issue. The flu comes back positive and the other test comes back negative. 

A few days later, I still have a bad fever, and I’m sleeping when my fiancé gets a call from work. After some time, he comes into the room angry.

Fiancé: “My coworker lied about his mom. She died a few years ago!”

I went into a rage and started yelling about how inconsiderate this is and threatened to call his corporate office. 

I didn’t need to call corporate. Thankfully, he got fired. 

Moral of the story: don’t lie, especially about the current health crisis.

Lockdown has not been kind to my roomie. She has always been a bit lazy, but now, given the excuse not to exercise or go outside, she spends every hour she’s not working sat in one spot on the sofa, normally snacking.

She tells us she is not happy and wants to lose weight and that we “need” to help her. We are happy to help. 

So far, by her request:

We’ve removed all of our snacks from the communal kitchen and then the alcohol; this doesn’t work. We’ve started to make an extra portion of any healthy food we made for ourselves; she won’t eat it. We’ve invited her to join in our running and workout apps and DVDs; she can’t be bothered. We’ve discouraged her when she wanted takeaway, etc.; she just gets angry.

After a few months, we are all fed up with her and ready to give up on her. I go to talk to her one more time and find her sulking into a tub of ice cream. 

Roommate: “Why is it so hard to lose weight? I’ve tried everything!”

You can’t help people who don’t want to be helped. She keeps complaining and sulking but we tune her out.