Laundry

I was standing in the laundromat when the NYU ICU called. “His heart is doing better,” said the PA, “we have lowered the dobutamine a lot. But his white blood cell count is still high, and his blood cultures are still positive, so we want your consent to do a bronchoscopy, do you know what that is?” “Yes,” I said, remembering the early 90s and friends coughing and gasping for breath, “they were done a lot when people were being diagnosed with AIDS by getting PCP.” “Yes,” said the PA sounding relieved that I didn’t need an explanation, “we want to one to see if he has a third kind of infection in his lungs.” “I assume he’s still sedated,” I say – bronchoscopy is very uncomfortable If someone is awake – “yes,” she assures me, “and we can give more medication if necessary.” “OK,” I say, “go ahead.” I was still at the laundromat, but had moved on to the dryer, when his mother texted me. “Just wanted to know if you saw him today and how is he doing?” “I’m in Brooklyn today,” I say, “but I spoke to them.” I explain about his heart, the need to find out if there’s another infection, that they are going to be checking his lungs. “Thank you so much,” she says, “I wanted to visit with him yesterday, but I am in so much pain from my sciatica.” “I understand,” I told her. “I have had spine surgery twice. One of our volunteers who knows him well was there yesterday.” “Thank you, I appreciate you so much,” she says. “Happy to help,” I respond, thinking that maybe I will ask the volunteer if he can bring her in his car. The Bronx to NYU is a long trip, especially if you are in pain. When I got home, more messages were coming in. The name was familiar but I couldn’t place it at first. “This is A’s mom,” and I remembered. “We’re getting really really concerned, we haven’t heard from her in forever.” A is a trans woman being held in a male facility on Riker’s and the last time anybody heard from her, she was complaining about being attacked by the male inmates. At the time, I tracked down the public defenders on all three of her criminal cases and gave her out of town mother the info so she could get in touch. But now she’s telling me none of the lawyers got back to her, and when she tried to set up video visits with A., the computer said she wasn’t eligible. Then when she finally got enough money together to post the substantial bail, her status had been changed to “remanded” – no option for bail. Now, after her latest court date, the system is listing her next court date as 12/31/28. Through all of this, neither her mother nor I have gotten any collect calls, or letters, or even my other clients saying, “I just got out of Riker’s and A says hi.” I tell her mother I will contact some people about it. SRLP would have been my first choice, but they’re not really functioning anymore. Chase Strangio is arguing a case at the Supreme Court this week about trans athlete, so he has his hands full. Stephen, being an 18B public defender, could at least look at the details of the case, but he left for the Phillipines a couple days ago. So I text Marc Fliedner, currently doing disability law, but formerly the hate crimes prosecutor for Brooklyn so he knows his way around the criminal court system. I figure he probably knows people who are still working in criminal law, but he asks me if she would be eligible for his program, which requires a mental health diagnosis. “Yes,” I say, “that’s why she keeps getting arrested.” She has a tough time managing her anger and impulse control and that combined with the ever-present transphobia has created some difficult situations where, of course, the police are not inclined to take her side. “Email me all the information, and I’ll intake her on Monday,” says Marc, which will allow him to work on helping her. I tell him I’ll send it after the march tomorrow, when I have her file in front of me. I have no idea when that will be – this march is shaping up to be much larger than we anticipated because of the events of this week, and the two of us marshal captains at the back will be the last ones to reach the end of the route. That settled for now, I start to put the clean laundry away. Then I get a message from my blind client. It’s just a song from a musician I’ve never heard of, Dionne Farris. Not wanting to get into it right then, I send a non-committal message, “I’m not familiar with her.” “But listen to this song, it was the story of my life.” I look at the song’s title, “hopeless” and put down the pile of clean shirts. It’s an R & B kind of song. Hopeless Hello, morning now when does the fun begin Goodbye, morning sorry it had to end But see I cried just a little too long Now it’s time for me to be strong Hello, morning, I sure missed you last night Goodbye morning, you just won’t do me right I stayed just a little too long Now it’s time for me to move on They say I’m hopeless As a penny with a hole in it They say I’m no less than up to my head in it Hello yesterday, I sure need you now Goodbye yesterday, I just can’t stay around You see I cried just a little too long Now it’s time for me to be strong Hello yesterday, remember how it used to be Goodbye yesterday, I can’t take you with me No, no, no I can’t You see I stayed just a little too long And now it’s time for me to move on They say I’m hopeless As a penny with a hole in it They say I’m no less than up to my head in it I finished the song, toggled back to my messages. “It’s beautiful but sad,” I wrote to her. She sent a heart in response and then she typed, “but I really thank you for telling me to keep going.”