I was sitting in the waiting room of the Iowa Medical Classification Center, an elaborate title for a state prison. I stared straight ahead at a reception area that was accessible only by means of intercom. Someone had thrown a black sheet around the interior so no one could see inside. I imagined it was so that the person behind it could take a nap or watch TV without anyone knowing. It was nice to see my tax dollars at work.

Two lone women were sitting to my left in another row of chairs. They were older and looked like mothers. They held small, plastic Ziplock bags in their hands with coins and dollar bills. Their faces bore the fatigue of a burdened life and made me connect with them instantly. They were endearing, humble, and realer than anyone I had seen in a long time. I had not brought any coins or money for my sister. I didn't even know to bring a quarter for the locker in the hallway to store my purse and coat and had to borrow one from the women. No one had told me that part.

A buzzer penetrated the stagnant silence, and I jumped slightly in my seat. I had been waiting for over an hour for something to happen. A heavy metal door heaved itself open, and a young correctional officer appeared in the waiting room to collect us. We all stood and the woman looked at my red visitor badge.

"You here to see Teresa?" I nodded my head.

"Wait here and I'll come back for you."

I was sitting in the waiting room of the Iowa Medical Classification Center, an elaborate title for a state prison. I stared straight ahead at a reception area that was accessible only by means of intercom. Someone had thrown a black sheet around the interior so no one could see inside. I imagined it was so that the person behind it could take a nap or watch TV without anyone knowing. It was nice to see my tax dollars at work.

Two lone women were sitting to my left in another row of chairs. They were older and looked like mothers. They held small, plastic Ziplock bags in their hands with coins and dollar bills. Their faces bore the fatigue of a burdened life and made me connect with them instantly. They were endearing, humble, and realer than anyone I had seen in a long time. I had not brought any coins or money for my sister. I didn't even know to bring a quarter for the locker in the hallway to store my purse and coat and had to borrow one from the women. No one had told me that part.

A buzzer penetrated the stagnant silence, and I jumped slightly in my seat. I had been waiting for over an hour for something to happen. A heavy metal door heaved itself open, and a young correctional officer appeared in the waiting room to collect us. We all stood and the woman looked at my red visitor badge.

"You here to see Teresa?" I nodded my head.

"Wait here and I'll come back for you."

I sat back down and watched the two women disappear. I stared back at the black reception window and wanted so badly to tell the worker behind it to rip it down. For some reason the secrecy made me intensely irritated. Twenty minutes later the CO came back.

"Follow me."

I walked through the metal door and emptied my pockets; they contained only my locker key and my driver's license. The woman ran her hands along my body, nodded okay, and then another door buzzed open. I followed the CO down a long, tiled hallway that reminded me of my elementary school. It was deadly silent. I had expected to pass inmates in the hallways jeering and screaming to get out, walking to go to the cafeteria or to work or to anywhere. But this was not my elementary school and there was no activity here. We turned left and walked down another hallway.

"You have a no-contact visit," the CO said. "Do you know what that means? You'll be in a locked room, and there will be a plastic divider with an intercom to talk through. Due to your sister's state, it's necessary." I was quiet for a moment, hearing the echo of my heeled boots in this long, cold hallway.

"You're the first person to have any contact with her of any kind since she came here four months ago." We turned left and walked down another hallway. I glimpsed at the first open doorway I saw. It appeared to be a small library with two inmates in it who wore headphones. They glanced at me with curiosity and lust, and I redirected my gaze to the floor in front of me. I was not afraid; I was embarrassed. The CO came to a stop. "Wait here."

She unlocked a door and walked away. I thought about Teresa's case manager and our conversation from the day before, describing what our visit would be like.

When's the last time you saw her? Four years you say? She's different than you remember. She's changed even since she was first admitted here; just to warn you. She'll be wearing a leather belt and she will be handcuffed to it. She also has to wear mittens to stop her from picking her sores. We had to restrain her because the meds weren't enough. She has an open sore on the bridge of her nose that may get infected because she won't leave it alone. She also bit off part of her lower lip. She's being tested for MS. Do you know if that runs in the family? No, I guess you wouldn't since she's adopted. She's lost muscle control over her right eye and can't see out of it. She has a large dark circle around that eye too and she must have given herself a black eye. She has a lot of self-injurious behaviors and she isn't allowed anything sharp. She's not even allowed to use the rubber silverware and she has to eat all finger foods.

She shaved her head because she said she wanted to have it grow back naturally. She has a small afro but she is complaining that she doesn't have any grease for her hair. Unfortunately, due to her condition, she can't work at the prison and has no money in her fiduciary account to buy any hygiene products. The prison only supplies toothpaste and tampons to the female inmates but family members can deposit money into their accounts to buy personal products from the store here. She's also on a lot of psychotropic meds and her speech will be impaired. She's been complaining she can't sleep so we give her meds for that in addition to her obsessive compulsive meds and her meds for schizophrenia. She says she's been hearing voices that she can't control.

I'm just preparing you. Do you know if she had any self-injurious behavior growing up? I know she tried to commit suicide at sixteen and was admitted to the ER at Mercy Hospital. I hate to bring this up, but she didn't add you as a family member for people to come see her. In fact, she didn't put any of her adoptive family on the list. I have to verify that you are a family member and run a background check. . .

I took a deep breath as the CO returned to the door.

"You can go inside now." I nodded my head and my stomach twisted. As I entered the room and peered at the short figure on the other side of the plastic pane window, I swallowed the lump in my throat and pushed back my tears. This was not my sister.

I walked into the room slowly and tried to slide onto the tall stool at the counter. I didn't recognize the face that peered back at me.