Not a good day yesterday.
Reina, my puppy’s mom, dam, has cancer. She looked to be doing well with her chemo but this weekend she took a bad turn. Sunday she seemed better.
Today Reina will get a blood work up. Last time she had too many white cells and too man immature red cells. Hoping for the best for her. She gave my puppy all of her best traits. It would be sad and near devastating to have her leave.
It made me terribly sad and thinking I’ll never see my puppy again.
I had to go to hospital. Two nitro pills and you got to go. They did an EKG. They believe my heart has worsened. With all its been through how could it not.
The arm is getting worse and worse. The pain more biting and the use of it almost nonexistent. Its not going to help n my job hunt, that’s for sure.
I’ve not been able to sleep more than 2 hours at a stretch before it starts to bite me. It is annoying.
I filled out a lot of on-line job apps. It was tedious and repetitive. Much simpler to attach a resume, I think. No job looked golden but I have to try. And now its pouring rain.
June 30, 2009
It was a rough morning.
Late last night I was told I had a visitor. I was stoked thinking my friend had shown up to tell me everything was in place and that the lawyer figured I was going to walk home.
When I got to the visiting room I was not put in one of the little glass walled rooms. I was in a narrow corridor surrounded by three menacing guards.
A woman in an expensive looking peasant blouse and jeans came in waving a sheet of paper. She demanded I sign.
I asked, “What is it?”
She said, “Just sign it or you’ll be sitting here for a year at least.”
“Who are you?”
“I’m from immigration,” she said, “this is an agreement for you to waive your right to a hearing. Just sign it.”
The guards stated to chime in, with a solid jab in my ribs one yelled at me, “Sign the f___ing thing. I got better things to do.”
“I need legal advice here. I want to consult a lawyer,: I said.
A poke in the stomach accompanied, “I got your f___ing lawyer a__hole.”
It was apparent why this meeting was disguised as a “visit” and why it was happening in this tiny area. I figured that they’d finally gotten the police report back and were trying to save face.
“Look, what’s the big deal. I’ve got the Detention Hearing tomorrow. Lets see what happens there. What’s the difference if I sign it now or tomorrow. I mean, why would I waive my rights anyway?”
“Cause you ain’t got no rights motherf___er. Your ass belongs to us,” one of the guards explained.
The woman said, “This is a one time take it or leave it offer. We could fix it so you spend the rest of your life here.”
“Without lawyer to advise me I’ll have to pass. Look what’s to stop you guys from coming in the middle of the night and just dumping me over the border without my money or my property. Where’s my assurances? I’ll wait for the Hearing.”
One of the guards made as if to really wallop me but he backed off. I was lead back to my cell with a lot of barking at my heels. I didn’t listen to it. I was too wrapped up in thinking about why I was constantly denied legal advice, whether I’d made the right decision, and mainly, why hadn’t my friend shown up to tell me what was in place.
I barely slept. The pain in my heart and in my arm kept me awake enough to fret. I listened to the screaming man and wondered if his incomprehensible shouting would ever fall into a lulling rhythm.
The next morning I was wrapped in uncool anxiety. Aside from the tension of my waiting the guards had enough of the screaming man. I watched six of them strap on their loaded gloves (black leather filled with powdered lead to make an invisible black jack-one mistakenly grabbed me by the shoulder once while wearing his. The pressure and weight compensated mightily for any lack of skill.)
There was no news then the guards filed out. Then there came the stretcher and the old guy was finally quiet.
I got to take a shower. I noticed that the hemorrhaging on my leg ha cleared up. It wasn’t gone but it wasn’t violently black any more. For the most part the leg looked normal.
I wasn’t allowed to shave. No razors. I worried about my appearance in front of the hearing.
Then there was just more waiting.
And more waiting.
Finally the guard came and told me my hearing was happening now. I was steeled. I thought , “Hope for the best but expect less.” I think Fritz Perl wrote that or maybe it was Milton Berle.
I hoped to walk into the hearing room/linch room and find my friend and a razor sharp attorney. I braced myself for no lawyer but my friend being there to give evidence and the real scenario I played in my head was me walking in there alone.
It wasn’t a cynical thought process. It was merely reality.
I walked into the room and was surprised that there were two women there I’d never seen before. I assumed I’d keep the same prosecutor and judge. There was no one else there.
I was glad I’d played all three scenarios through in my head. The judge started the proceedings by turning on the tape recorder.
I said that I wasn’t quite prepared. I’d been expecting a lawyer as well as a witness who would give evidence proving that the core evidence presented by the prosecutor was in fact false.
The judge looked flustered. The prosecutor said that there was no lawyer present for me. She said that my friend had appeared (she laboriously looked for her name in a sheaf of papers and still mispronounced her pretty simple name.)
I asked why my friend wasn’t here to give her evidence and to offer bail to the court. Yeah, I was being very eloquent, using up my many hours of watching Jack McCoy.
“I spoke to your friend for nearly 30 minutes. She confirmed all that we have presented. Including her original call to the police and the fact she has had several conversations with Officer McVicar since that incident. She did offer to post a nominal bail,” the prosecutor said rapidly.
“How was my friend? Did she look alright? You didn’t leave her upset did you?”
Flustered the prosecutor said, “no. She was perfectly fine!”
“Well, I maintain that my friends evidence is being either misinterpreted or being incorrectly presented. It seems shocking that she would not be allowed to be here to present the evidence herself.”
“She confirmed everything!” the prosecutor interrupted.
“If she confirms all the facts of your case it seems you’d want her here to do the confirmation,”
I got thrown for a little bit of a loop when the prosecutor delineated the charges for deportation. It was no longer as being an unfit character. It was for being “Allowed to leave”.
I didn’t quite grasp this and no one was going to explain it to me. Quickly I was able to figure out that the first time I entered Canada my Drivers License picture was smeared. They sent me back to get other ID. That was it.
I pointed out that I’d been back in Canada several times. At least twice for Immigration demands to visit Canadian doctors and the ilk.
I have to admit it was clever of them, if more than a bit nasty to change horses in mid-stream like that. How could anyone prepare for charges that they didn’t know existed.
Then there was a strange gaff. She claimed that I had signed the waiver. When I insisted I had not in the face of much pressure from physical intimidation she backed off slightly.
I then went into my argument about my health. I quoted Bob Moriarity, the recentness of my heart attack, the improper dispensation of my life giving medicines and the total inappropriateness of this local for “Allowed to leave” transgressions. I then pointed out the questionable actions of the prosecutor to send away a witness and offering up only here say evidence. I said my witness could also address the “Allowed to leave” charges as well as the original charges.
I ended by saying that due to my health and its continuing degradation due to the insufficient care available at a MAXSEC prison I should be granted bail. That I had never been shown to have violated any bail conditions and that it was my fervent hope to be able to return to the USA.
Before the judge could give her decision we were told we had to break for lunch . . .
I was lead back to my cell. There was a fight or something going on in block 8. All the UCF wannabee guards were chuffed and shouting they weren’t going to miss this one as they ran off to get into the fracas.
In my cell I evaluated.
I was glad my friend showed up. Chagrined by the “evidence” the prosecutor had presented as being from her. I decided the prosecutor was likely lying. I tried to read the judge. I decided that even though I’d presented a strong case she was going to search for reasons to disallow the bail. She never looked at me when I spoke but always looked at the prosecutor. She also had the freakiest ass I’d ever seen on a human being. It was like someone stuck a pillow in her pants. Her rear end extended four inches beyond her hips on each side.
After a tedious two hour wait we went back to the lunch room. As I figured the judge decided I should remain in jail. Some of her statements were alarming. She concluded that the health care in Maplehurst was the finest available!! Then she concluded that, and I will never understand this, that a cash bail was insufficient for me. That my friend did not have enough influence over me to insure I would show up for hearings. And that she believed that to avoid deportation I would flee into Canada . . . RAH!
After the prosecutor allowed me to sign my one chance only waiver. She insured me that I would get a minimum of 48 hours notice before they would remove me and that my friend, as my common law wife would receive the same notice so she could bring me clothing and money.
Never trust the government. Any government. They are all liars. I’ve always believed that but I never imagined how right I could be.
I waited for my friend to show up that evening so I could tell her what happened. She never did.