Nugget leap fail

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My Juvie and Prison life.

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Little known fact. I've been in more prisons than anybody I know. Never to jail though... to speak of. And it's true... unless some of you folks haven't been entirely honest. Now that I'm thinking about it, it's not just prisons. "State Hospitals" too! Made my Mama proud. I wrote part of this story on a web site called Quora. Quora is a social media site where people pose questions to an expectant group of other people who chime in with thoughtful replies. Usually, the folks doing the replying have some degree of credibility. You can't just make shit up. Well, you can. But you don't last long. Off with your head. Anyhow, The site has gone through big changes over the past couple years. Not good changes in my opinion. Now Quora pays people to ask dumb questions. And then troll other people for thoughtful replies. It's brilliant. All this to say... Here's what I wrote. And after, what I didn't write. What’s it like to visit a prison? Bill
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What a cop-out.

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I wrote this a few months before I decided to publish it. Like most everything I've ever written, I didn't write it for anybody else to read. Writing, for me, is usually just a way for me to organize thoughts and get things off my mind.  The co-founder of my sister Laura's company, Nancy Dorrier (Dorrier-Underwood) had volunteered to take me to a few radiation-therapy sessions. We had a blast on each of those rides. Ok, I did anyhow. Nancy is a pioneer in many ways, most notably as a female entrepreneur, business consultant, author, and so much more! She's an amazing person, and I'm a better person for knowing her. Seriously - Nancy is BUSY, but she volunteered to drive me down to 3 days of radiation sessions. Who (in her position) does that? Nancy Dorrier. That's who.  On one of those trips, Nancy  asked if I'd done any more writing. I'd been fortunate enough to be able to attend a writing workshop/exercise she hosted. It was a free-writing "worksh
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Bill in one of his favorite tee shirts, happy to be in India. 2017-ish. Bill's last stay at the hospital was a rough one, but thanks to a good friend, it had its highlights and left us a treasure. He'd landed in what he called "the Ritz Carlton with drugs" just a few weeks before his passing due to extreme nausea and unrelenting dizzingness. (Both his Hospice nurses and doctors strongly believe the cancer had finally taken hold in his brain, and these symptoms supported that suspicion.)  While he generally loathed and feared the hospital during his three years with cancer--I think because he was afraid he would die there, and he did not want that--this time was particularly hard.  He'd gone into the care of Hospice just 24 hours before we had to call 911 this last time, and the difference in his hospital experience was dramatic. No nurses coming in continually to check his vitals, no transport people showing up at all hours to whisk him away for another scan or te
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