Dr Amanda Brown - The Prison Doctor

‘What happens now?’ I asked, as she reappeared.

Wendy explained that the officers from the various wings were collecting the boys, who had either put in a request to see me, or who one of the nurses had decided needed to be seen.

‘They then wait in the communal area until I call them in,’ she explained.

I peered out of the door to look at the waiting area, which had approximately twenty plastic chairs set out in neat rows.

‘Everything is plastic here,’ Wendy explained. ‘From the chairs to the cutlery.’

‘Oh?’

‘To try to prevent them from self-harming,’ she said.

And again, I was forced to face the reality that some of these young people felt so desperate that harming themselves seemed the only escape.

‘You’d better get set up, they’ll be arriving any minute.’ Wendy nodded, and left the office again.

I returned to my desk and glanced over the names of the boys I was about to see. What had they done? I couldn’t know about their crimes, that was a detail not recorded on their medical notes. Besides, I would have hoped that knowing about the severity of their crimes wouldn’t have affected my ability to help them. Yes, I would hope that … but it was a relief not to have to prove as much. Who were they? What were they coming to see me for? Of course, it was no different to any new patient, not really …

By the time I’d read to the end of the list, the noise from the waiting room had swelled into loud chatter and raucous laughter.

An authoritative voice bellowed, ‘Oi, keep it down in here!’ That must have been the prison officer in the waiting room.

Which only led to more sniggers.

And to the prison officer becoming even more irate.

‘Keep it down in here, I said!’ he shouted, banging his fist on the door.

‘Ah, you can fuck off an’ all!’ came the reply.

Then, in a flash, chairs were screeching across the floor, more shouting, more swearing, scuffling, threats, then silence.

I nearly jumped out of my skin when Wendy knocked on my door.

‘That’s what happens if you put a bunch of rowdy teenagers in a small room together,’ she said, poking her head inside and rolling her eyes. ‘I’ve got Jerome Scott here.’

I pulled Jerome’s file from the plastic box. It was as thick as a book.

‘Come in!’ I called out.

I prepared myself to meet my first patient in prison.

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