The Trouble with angels pt.1

The trouble with Angels


“Angels light the way. Angels do not begrudge anyone anything, angels do not tear down, angels do not compete, angels do not constrict their hearts, angels do not fear. That’s why they sing and that’s how they fly. We, of course, are only angels in disguise.” Marianne Williamson
Doc Harrison had been executing criminals by lethal injection for over twenty years until her blood pressure issues forced an early retirement, and tied a blue ribbon on an excellent nursing career. Her replacement, Jake Bankside, spent his last seven years working the local nursing homes, but then a rash of excessive absences and tardiness ultimately got him sacked.
Truth be told, Jake was ready for a change of scenery way before his little occupational faux pas got him into a jam. A fresh start was long overdue, and he welcomed all the challenges that this new position required. As far as Jake was concerned, no Correctional facility could be half as bad as the medieval place where he’d been emancipated from, and no work load nearly as backbreaking!
0728 hrs. 1st day of orientation. Jake walked into the infirmary and thought that he’d died and gone to heaven! Each desk on either end of the mini command center was equipped with state of art computer monitors, medical literature, and rolling leather office chairs. All the tools of the trade were in dress right dress order, and the aroma of freshly brewed coffee made him feel right at home.
The two nurses greeted each other cordially before Doc clicked the radio on and tuned it to her favorite station. She checked the daily schedule, and then offered him a cup of coffee. “Take a load off and check out our protocol books.” She said. “Sneak a quick look in the medications section, and if you come across any questions, I’ll come across with some answers!”
Jake took a seat in front of a row of notebooks and picked out the SOP binder. Flipping the book open, he thumbed the pages over to the subject matter and stopped at the caption, ‘The trouble with angels and inmates!’ Its brief narrative plainly spelled out the contingency measures for hyper tolerance to the trio of narcotics used for executions, but also included an issue that irked Jake like a bad toothache! “Pardon me Doc,” he said. “Ma’am, if you’d let me take just half a minute to tell you how it means so much that I have this chance to work with you; one of the unsung sheroes of our community!”
“Thank youuu!” she exclaimed from behind her computer monitor.
“No, thank you! And also, I’m having trouble. . .could you clarify the choice of calling these guys, of all things, angels? I mean, what’s up with that?”
Doc stopped typing mid sentence and pondered the question. “If memory serves,” she retorted, “that’s because of one low life perpetrator named Angel Diaz! Had a baby face. Was a brutal serial killer who wound up getting the needle back in May of 06’. Diaz is the first inmate ever to survive the lethal injection. That little spawn of Satan took an extra half dose to be put down, and even then, another thirty minutes for him to expire!”
“But, just between us two, the biggest problem that I have with angels is, there’s still way too many young ones out in the general population needing some mental hygiene in the worst way!”
Doc logged out and refilled her cup before giving Jake the grand tour. Walking down the corridor at a brisk pace, she explained that within those five stories of thick reinforced cement walls, steel bars, and razor wired fences is a world that exists within a world where the worst dregs of society are housed. “But, down here beneath the surface,” she continued. “we have the high max security chambers. You work the north chamber a couple weeks, and then you’ll know why we get paid the big bucks!”
Partly because, obviously, there is no natural light two stories down, which always throws your body clock out of whack. And definitely because 3days a week and 12 hours a day, nurses have the dubious honor of mixing company with a group of hapless reprobates who are considered to be ‘the worst of the worst’ (aka) Dead Men Walking. But, mainly because of the high rate of job related stress; a health hazard which Doc had firsthand knowledge.
At the south chamber’s inner sanctum, she led him through to the death bed set-up. Doc described how the execution team follows the same meticulous set of guidelines on each DMW who enters the chamber. Every detail is recorded and hand written beginning when the inmate is strapped down on the gurney. The nurse sticks an O2 monitor on his index finger and three electrodes on his chest to monitor his vital signs. Subsequently, a hep-lock I.V. catheter is inserted into his arm, and then at the prescribed time, the in-house physician will give the order. The chief nurse slowly administers the lethal injection, and within a matter of minutes, the inmate's vital signs decline and slow all the way down until, finally, the monitor displays a flatline. The state coroner steps in to make it all official, and the nurses tag’n bag him before notifying the N.O.K, and done deal!
0725 hrs. Morning rounds. Besides giving medications, the two nurses assessed each of the thirty two inmates for any bumps, bruises, ailments, irritability or complaints. After their return, Doc plopped down in front of the computer, and with a few clicks of the mouse, she pulled up the necessary forms required on each condemned man.
“More paperwork for our candid camera star!” she said, pointing to the a/v monitor sitting atop the counter. All DMW’s facing imminent execution is placed on suicide watch, and the screen showed Frank Lennox sitting in his cage completely immersed in writing on a yellow legal pad. He paused after her voice came through the speaker. “Breakfast call,” she chimed, and then inquired if he wanted anything special for his last meal. A thoughtful expression appeared on his face before he ordered a short stack w/maple syrup, three eggs over easy, a serving of grits with butter, six strips of bacon, two slices of wheat toast, and a tall glass of O.J.
Doc commended the inmate on his hearty appetite, and then gave him the 411. “Inmate Lennox,” she said, “your situation tomorrow begins shortly after mealtime. At 0845 hours, a squad of 4 CO's will be coming to escort you out for your ‘you-know-what.” Finally, she introduced him to Jake who couldn’t resist the urge to ask how a DMW was able to sit there writing all day just as calm as a fish?
“Tranquility”, he retorted, and further explained that keeping a journal had always been a surefire technique to help get him through tough situations. A deep sense of quietness comes whenever he puts his feelings down on paper. “Besides Doc Jake, when you know that your check-out time is due in only a few hours, serenity comes in abundance, and writing becomes like, therapeutic. I only wish that my level of focus had been this intense in the past!”
1050 hrs. Visiting hours. A stunning ray of sunshine by the name of Shalisa Dixon came to brighten up his day. The two had made plans to commit matrimony before his incarceration, but now, they’d see each other for the last time.
His next caller came to beg forgiveness for the damning testimony she gave which assured him the death penalty. Angie Pennington sat poised in the opposite booth and tearfully expressed her saddest regrets, but Frank only glared at her in wooden silence. Listening as her raspy voice say that some newly discovered evidence has emerged when a single tear rolled slowly down to the corner of her mouth. He examined her curvaceous body up one side, and then down the other until their eyes finally met, and then Frank turned his head and he spit!