Medical Mistakes and Convict Cosmeticians: Skin In the Game

September 14th, 2026

Most amazing discoveries in life are from unexpected reservoirs, like Lucille Ball producing Star Trek leading to the imagining of cell phones meaning historys most overrated comedian eliminated the attention spans of a billion brats drawing a line on somebody's maddening map. Brunette bombshell Hedy Lemarr was the 1940s true technological architect of wireless wonder. Or better, like boners on elderly men came off trying to halt high blood pressure! What if I told you the best beauty secret of ever I dug up in prison, so good a lady of letters stopped cold to learn it?

In the last year have you hit a medical appointment seated comfortably without a strip of crown molding plastered really suspect so its jabbing your lumbar spine for a minimum two hours waiting, many times not your appointment but a neighbor's, summoned avoidably by mistook bed number, as every name's listed with bed assignments and this isn't caught til you blew an hour of stabbing back discomfort? Then likely you at least weren't CAUGHT acting all felonious. Those of us unlucky like that go see "the Provider" which sounds like some CBS procedural about a doctor in a rough 'hood who messes up mobsters maybe played by a faded rapper? Nowadays at Northpoint it's by youthful and cherubic Nikki who about murdered my pal Chris, cheering CAT-Scan results with him having the "heart of a 16 year-old". If you're old or savvy enough to catch this: Corey Haim or Brittany Murphy, maybe. Second opinion offered by Dr. Drinkwater, a new voice in the medical staff and distinct as a pecker-wearer asking Chris' plans for a "desperate situation" with multiple clogs landing him at death's door. That week closed as his chest did likewise, sporting stitches at the University of Kentucky Hospital near our Big House in Danville.

Drinkwater excused himself from my peer, a late-40's grayish but healthy-seeming specimen who'd have keeled over quick-fast without that unscheduled Dr.'s peepers on the page. Heading into Nikkis office, cacophony commenced til the 20-somesuch brunette scrammed sobbing. Afterwards our worthless nursing lead who disrupts our yard routinely Jilling off over her vast power to do that, a short, thick and clearly impotent individual past our fences tried getting Chris' Hancock on a page absolving Nikki and WellPath, our morally and financially bankrupt insurance group maybe employee Nikki wanted "Of The Month" beside her name somewhere shaving the firm's coinage on society's dregs. Chris ain't known for shrinking in such situations and this horrid henchwoman's lucky her feelings are where her hurting stopped.

My birthday month this past one I'm overdue a Nikki visit, awaiting lab results. We have a chick whose role is scheduling and tasked with 75 needing blood draws she called everybody in at 8 A.M. same morning. Despite guys like myself having full-time jobs, college careers, etc, she and a pack of employees assume we're never doing anything but inmate crap. I've only played Poker on the streets, Lady, and will have you know I only abuse PRODUCTIVE drugs. Hmmmpf. Prior to Chris' Death Angel was Jennifer, an extremely kindhearted conscientious doll we sniffed doom wafting from for her outmoded compassion. Between was Dr. Miller, a lovely light-skinned lady who's our tardy impetus for this piece. During my 56 year semiannual visit, we interfaced once. Off her desktop, she turned from the screens-worth of biography, wheeled to me, eyes widened between falsies an inch long if they were a millimeter, hands in her lap offering "Mr. Hiett, let's discuss SKINCARE".

This was my Oscar® moment in an inspirational sports film, my most HATED genre. From Olympics medalist chain-smoker to this. Thanks to a discovery I was and still am completely content sharing with listeners anywhere.

About 3 years prior I hit the Hole my first time, released to the "Restriction Wing", an extinct second layer of damages on infractions like from a fishbowl to a Piranha tank. Now I sleep like a baby in that same 10 man room off Dorm 5 Lower Left, but it's no drug-crimes incubator packed with corrupted convicts feasting on first timers like me then who lost 2 TVs, about 400.00 in clothes and books in two trips, plus a hit ending with a bloody head-wound allowing robbery time and good measure. But l learned the secret to healthy, ageless skin so it came out in the wash.

My first week in what looked and felt more like prison's promise than the bunny-fart factory of A-side swimmin' with sex criminals, an older Black neighbor and real convict consulted about my medical woes. First, I was climbing at 53 into a top rack dangerously. Without even our stools with " tip hazard - do not stand or climb" in dual languages with an illustration of a dude falling like me once when I was convinced I'd need a walker now embossed on their plastic, me then less in-shape, 50 lbs heavier. Instead I was using the rungs on the bunk's feet while being harassed by a hostile Black Muslim YAP (Young Ass Punk) bunky who 2 months later attempted engaging me quietly romantically/sexually, but in this instance he was comfier hating me, as his "brother" slept beside him.

That Old cat wanted me to lie on the floor and holler while he'd tell the fuzz I fell. Instant bottom-bunk pass. Not a confident malingerer, I plan B'd, describing floating pains I'd experienced for months provider de jeur Christian diagnosed as "Migratory Arthritis Syndrome", a long-term Covid issue. This started on a dime watching "Eli Roth's History of Horror" in my prior-to-hole cocoon on an October Friday night. By the end, my stomach was like a washer's agitator and my joints burned. For another couple years it stayed plus agony in my bones from neck to shin sporadically. Inmates Guinea Pigged the Johnson's discontinued shot, me wondering if that pandemic produced by people or their cure caused those reactions.

Second was bursting bloody lips, matching miniscule Satanic hard-body "13" who looked verbatim beige not yellow that brainy specs-sporting chick from Foghorn Leghorn with an upside down cross on his forehead's context of evil inks. This made for one odd duck at the chapel when he went born again, and a new low in my dating diary, brief but a cross to bear getting new meaning. Literally all he had going for him was acting nice on a crummy day, February 14. Day ended, and life was suddenly a walk of shame even though a quick smooch was the farthest it went. Both of us split the hole with damaged pouters, chapped to pieces from stale dusty air. Recommending a cure beyond my kin, old dude said "you need you some A N D!". Next I knew he gave me a ketchup-sized packet of Vitamins A + D Ointment, a combo of aloe, lanolin, 'dem vitamins, and lavender oil. Being a veteran massage therapist this spoke to my Healing Arts background, non-mumbo-jumbo curative aspects ("candling" is crap, sorry, hippie hustlers). Within 48 hours, me and Lil' Lucifer both looked like we were issued shiny new lips (maybe THAT'S why I did it). Putting leftovers on elbows for years resembling The Thing from Fantastic Four under a week baby soft, sure as I'm hitting glass here.

Deciding this s#\t don't play, I grabbed a tube off canteen. After showering, toweling lightly I went head to toe with it, a whisper-thin layer wherever dermis eruptus. Miraculous, this "skin protectant" got noticed immediately by Louisvillain visitors Priscilla and Kim seeing me and my glow after 6 months the first time with this regime.

Mind you, I now exercised and tossed back about a gallon of water daily. Aerobics like my Mom used to teach plus squats, the exercise you do if you do nothing but. Bringing those into my day changed my chemistry in a month, 20 a day. My face lost lingering fluid, along with the remains of my body from 5 years of damages wreaked by Rispiradol, a horrible psychotropic. My tenure with it brought high blood pressure, triglycerides, and diabetes, all eliminated starting with :30 of movement including those squats. How I looked, felt, and was perceived reversed quickly. As much as I'm endorsing the A+D, 5 days of exercise a week 10x more-so.

Now, I grab the handle of my Coleman® cooler full of food and ice and I have dumbbells. Passionately like poison I hate the gym. Guys here head there together to do 1000 pushups questing for the "prison body". Then, they blow it off once to never return and body build. Start small and grow, I tell the mooks. Let your body adapt, feel the differences between good and bad pain, develop a relationship with your form that is complimentary and you'll enjoy and anticipate exercising. One guy in my wing commented he could tell working out made me happy, and he wanted that. What I tell you, I gave him: play the music a half-hour and don't quit.

Sitting beside Dr. Miller, I hepped her to the A+D solution she checked Amazon to find in the voluminous jar I once grabbed off medical -I get a monthly tube now thanks to bygone Shelley whom the DOC drove into the ground like a tent peg - for a tame 7.95, enough to last a year if a body did my post-bathing ritual with it. Me, I also suspend essential oils for personal use and barter. Massage peeps, try this stuff at this obscenely low price with those perfect ingredients. Overuse could be slimy, but while doing your "dance" moving around table and body, fingers across the jar surface not scooping but enough for good glide, this could cut cost not quality. Home masseurs, try this.

My professor Dr. Douglas wants me to introduce into the Sociological Imagination what I called "Meaningful Incarceration" Ive subtitled "The Art of Life Locked Down". Its crux is time, the ass-load of that enviable to any civilian with gumption who lacks it. Inside 11 years I've learned and built more internally than 4.5 decades before. Funny how many friends I wish could get arrested, not vengefully but because theyd have time plus resources like free college to hone themselves outside the rat race (honor dorm tattling aside). Dr. Miller said "I always knew the secret was something ridiculously cheap and simple". We also sat and talked, this convict and that lovely educated lady who commented on seeing the sums of people, the best sides of our cultural worst. Thus hits a good enough thesis to all of the above that everyone on Gods Earth has something to offer if we're wise enough to hear. Love yourself, thy neighbor, and the skin you're both in even if you're not wild about where they're at.