My name is Kebby Warner, I am a twenty-five-year-old woman prisoner in Michigan. I have been incarcerated since Oct. 17, 1997 for littering and publishing. Passing a $350 stolen check. My time has been one of struggle, heartache, pain, and desperation. Here is my story:
My first month in prison was spent being sick. I was told by health care that my “illness” was caused by stomach flu and that my other “symptoms” were caused by stress. The day after I was released from quarantine, I was called to health care and informed that my “illness” wasn’t stomach flu, but that I was pregnant. Putting the dates together I had conceived my baby the night before I was sentenced to prison. The day I stepped through the razor wire and fence, I was ten days along.
I was at a loss as to what to do. At that time I was twenty-years-old, it was my first time ever being pregnant, and I was sitting in prison. Thoughts went through my mind of abortion, something that I did not believe in for myself, though I am pro-choice. I thought of adoption, but I knew that if I carried my baby to term, I would not be able to let it go. The doctor handed me some pamphlets, sending me back to the cell, giving me two hours to make the decision that I dreaded. I walked back to my unit in a state of disbelief. This could not be happening.
I could not contact my husband that night, so the decision was left up to me. After a night of crying and asking “Why now,” I made the decision to keep my child. I believed that I could count on her father, my husband, to take care of our child until I got out.
I am a Type I Diabetic and must take insulin shots in order to live. Because of the Diabetes I am a “high risk pregnancy.” Michigan Department of Corrections, because of the high-risk status, would not allow health care the responsibility of my prenatal care, I was sent to a hospital in the “free world.” I was grateful for this as I did not want to place the life of my baby in MDOC’s hands. I received the best of care.
After the initial exam, I was told I would have to be seen once a week, and that they would be doing the first ultrasound on the following appointment. I was so excited and could not wait to see the first glimpse at my baby.
By this time I had made contact with my husband, who shared my excitement and who promised to be there for our child. He was the only person I had and thought I could count on.
In order to leave the prison for a “medical” run, you are forced to go through a period of humiliation each time with a MDOC guard. You are strip searched completely upon leaving and returning to the prison. You are placed in belly chains and your hands are cuffed, this you must wear the duration of the doctor visits, unless the doctor requests them to be removed. The strip searches become a difficult task beginning at the six or seven months of pregnancy. By this time my emotional state was up and down, and most of the time I left the “strip room” in tears from shame and humiliation.
At the first ultrasound, the technician looked at the monitor, got up, and ran out of the room, leaving me in a state of panic, thinking there was something wrong with my baby. She came back with the doctor and a big grin on her face. The doctor looked at the monitor, and informed me I was pregnant with twins. At that time, properly named Twin A and B. The first look at my babies was one of pure joy. I wanted so much to share with someone, but the only person I had by my side was a prison guard. I couldn’t talk to her.
At times the medical runs were a horrible experience, then at other times, I looked forward to the escape, even though I went in chains. The horrible times were when the guard drove like a maniac, and when I asked them to slow down, they would refuse. The other times were when I began to get carsick. The guard couldn’t stop at the side of the road because I was a prisoner, and I was forced to get sick in the van. Others wouldn’t even allow me to open the windows for fresh air, because the air conditioning was on. This “air” I hardly felt because of the bulletproof partition between the guards and myself. Others would look at me as if I was about to run at any moment, pregnant, with chains.
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