Letter 14.

Dear Deputy,

Over the last two years, I have gotten to know several of your colleagues. Each of them different- some friendly and helpful to inmates and a few who flex their power, but what they share in common is their willingness to protect the staff and inmates from each other and themselves.  Over time, I have become unconsciously accustomed to the deputies so that I am somehow able to recognize the difference between the newbies and veterans.  In fact, I noticed during our first interaction that you stood between me and my patient without request.  After you left the room, I turned to a veteran deputy that I work with regularly and asked, “Is he new?!?”  And quickly he responded with a chuckle, “oh yeah, very new! Green!”  I sort of smirked and went about my morning.

Your newness- in your crisp khaki colored shirt and emerald green pants, reminded me of July interns wearing their long white coats with swelling pride for the first time.  Proudly you returned to tell me about a patient in the detox unit that was slated to see me, but because you worked with the man over the last few days and noticed that he had trouble walking, you told me that  were going to bring him in a wheelchair.  As you spoke, my medical ears perked up so I began to look through his chart and within minutes you were wheeling him into my room.  It made sense that he had trouble walking— he was recently stabbed in the leg and someone had charted that the patient said he was withdrawing from alcohol.  I did my usual thing and started asking him questions.  Just like the patient before, you stood at attention right between the two of us while facing me awkwardly.  I continued to talk to him.  When he described his history of alcohol abuse and seizure disorder, things did not seem to add up especially after I completed my physical exam.  But I always give my patients the benefit of the doubt.  Instead of telling him that I didn’t believe him, I explained the progression of alcohol withdrawal, the things I look for to make sure he stays “well”, and I could see in his expression that he knew I knew it was not adding up.  With that silent acknowledgement, I changed the subject and I asked questions about where he lived- “in my car”, where he worked-  “I was fired after COVID-19 lockdowns”, why he got arrested and how long he thought he was staying- “I don’t know… a warrant for not following up with my parole officer during this corona shit”, whether or not he knew about resources to help with housing, employment or substance abuse- “no”.  Nothing I did in that encounter was out of the ordinary for me, but you watched.

About an hour later you returned.  You hunched over my desk with your arms extended on the table and speaking through your mask said, “of all the medical people I have ever seen… I have never seen anyone care like you do… even though these guys are you know… criminals.”  As I tried to smile through my mask, though my heart was filled with the warmth of your novice recognition, I corrected you and said, “well they aren’t all criminals… they are human.”  You nodded in agreement and said, “but you know… you’re just different.”  In that moment, I wasn’t sure how to share my appreciation of your kind gesture; you did not have to share your observations with me.  I wasn’t doing what I did because of you standing between us, but I guess you saw that.  Knowing that you were new to your gig, before you left the room, the only words that I had for you were, “don’t let this place harden your heart.”  I meant that with as much care as you saw me provide to my patient, especially during these times. 

You are the first deputy that I have ever wanted to write a letter to and I now understand why.  To be honest there were many encounters that I had with deputies like yourself that were protecting and serving that deserved a letter, but for completely opposite and sometimes inhumane reasons—experiences that made the jail feel full of demonic spirits.  However, in the midst of heavy conversations that the nation is having about police brutality, structural racism and discrimination (shit that has plagued our society for centuries), what I think people fail to realize is that the system that exists will make you accustomed to seeing black and brown men in the jail. The system even trains you to keep it that way even if you started out with the best intentions.  The way the brain works is funny— the biases that those types of individuals are “criminals” will become ingrained in your mind, clouding your ability to see and treat them as human.  The only way to combat these developing biases and protect the purpose that drives your willingness to serve, is to stay conscious and intentional with every single interaction (at least that’s how I operate).  As a “newbie” I am glad that you admired my actions.  I hope I can always role model behavior that is needed in these systems and even more so I hope that you will do the same for those who come after you. 

Thank you for your service (but please don’t let your work harden your heart),

Dr. A