“Be kindly affectioned one to another with brotherly love.” – Romans 12:10, KJV
Old Mr. H- is not long for this world. In fact, by the time you read this, he will probably be dead. But he’s demonstrated a nine-lives resilience over the last few years in a hard-fought battle with cancer and other serious health problems, not to mention his ability to survive the “quality” medical care he receives here.
Mr. H- is in a wheelchair because of weakness, and he has an inmate assigned to be his pusher. Two pushers, in fact: M- for the weekdays and N- for the weekends. They wheel Mr. H- up the walkway to chow or to medical or commissary. And M- and N- really look out for him.
One day a couple of months ago M- noticed that Mr. H- was extra weak, and he was slurring his speech. He had trouble lifting his arms, and his face appeared to be slightly distorted. So M- wheeled him from the chow hall to medical right away and told them that he suspected Mr. H- was having a stroke. The fine nurse and physician’s assistant duo that checked him out overruled M-‘s diagnosis (after all, he’s just an inmate), and said that it was simply weakness caused by shortness of breath. Solution? They treated Mr. H- with an inhaler. M- continued to insist that something wasn’t right, that Mr. H- was having a stroke. Eight hours later, when Mr. H- still had failed to improve, they transported him to the hospital where the real medical professionals decided — you guessed it — that he had experienced a stroke.
When Mr. H- returned from the hospital a few days later, he was doing remarkably better – better color, more strength, no shortness of breath. Soon he was back in his cell on our block. M- and N- discovered that he could even stand again, though shakily. With one of them to steady him, he could even walk a lap around the block. The hospital had detected significant fluid buildup – ankles twice their normal size, missed by the DOC’s crack medical crew – and treated him accordingly.
So M- or N- held out an arm as a groomsman does to seat guests at a wedding, and took Mr. H- for a slow stroll after every meal. This was not part of their job. They only had to push the wheelchair. But they cared about Mr. H-, and they wanted to see him as healthy and happy as he could be.
But as much as he had improved, one look told you that Mr. H- was in his last years, possibly months. If you’ve seen the movie “Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade” then you’re familiar with the ancient crusader Indy finds guarding the Holy Grail. If you’re not, then Google it. Mr. H- looks so much like this centuries-old knight – stretched translucent skin, long scraggly beard hanging from his skeleton-thin face – that I sometimes expect him to say, “You must choose, but choose wisely.”
To help keep him in healthy condition, Mr. H- is wheeled to medical every morning to receive his medications and a vanilla Boost. According to the rules, he’s supposed to chug the whole bottle right there in front of the nurse dispensing the medications. The concern is that an inmate will take the Boost and sell it for tobacco or coffee. But Mr. H-‘s chugging days are long since passed. With his small sips, it would take half an hour to down his morning nutritional supplement. So his pusher M- negotiated with the nurse, “Look, keep the cap and watch him take a sip. Nobody would want this without a cap and after he’s been drinking out of it.” The nurse agreed, and Mr. H- gets to take his Boost on the road.
But wheeling around with a container of Boost creates a new challenge – getting past the gauntlet of CO’s who patrol the walkways, looking for people who are trying to take food from the chow hall. One morning I saw Mr. H- pulled over to the side of the walk like a traffic stop, apparently in violation of an open container law. Or, in here, an any container law. The CO’s were hassling him over the Boost and wanted him to throw it in the trash. M- jumped to his defense, explaining that he needed extra time to drink it. But the CO’s weren’t buying any of that bullshit, and tried to pry the Boost from Mr. H-‘s thin but strong fingers. Thankfully, a more seasoned, level-headed CO told these young zealots to leave Mr. H- the hell alone.
I did not expect to see inmates looking out for other inmates the way it happens in here. M- and N- are caring and compassionate, making sure that Mr. H- is being taken care of in the best way possible. Like a son caring for an aging father, or a grandson for his grandfather. After we got our tablets with the downloadable ($1.91 highway robbery per song) music, N- asked Mr. H- what kind of music he liked. And N- spent his own money (after earning less than 42¢ per hour) to download some songs for Mr. H- to listen to. He’s somewhere in his mid-80’s or so, and there he sat in his wheelchair with N-‘s tablet and a pair of headphones over his ears, smiling, as he listened to some Johnny Cash and Patsy Cline and Hank Williams, Sr.
Romans 12:10 says, “Be kindly affectioned one to another with brotherly love,” in the KJV, which I much prefer to the NRSV’s, “Love one another with mutual affection.” Kindness and affectionate concern shine brightly in this world, especially in a place of darkness. And brotherly love in action reminds all of us that there is a goodness that can permeate everything and everywhere.
As I said at the start, Mr. H- is not long for this world. They cleared out his cell and moved him to medical, telling him he had two weeks to live. M- asks daily to go up to medical to see Mr. H-, and he’s been allowed to have a few short visits with him. But the hard part is that he’s away from his brothers who looked out for him, spending his last days alone. So please pray for him, and for all who are in need of some kindly affection.
Update: Since I first drafted this, Mr. H- has died. He didn’t live for two weeks; he lived for over two more months, battling against a cancer that was spreading through his frail body. M- continued to visit with Mr. H- as he was allowed. But there are still many others who need your prayers for kindly affection.