Columnist's Note: After writing a few pieces for The 40-Year Plan in the fall of 2009 while an inmate at Hartford County Correctional Facility, our prison correspondent Joe Santana was transferred to Garner Correctional Institute in Newtown.

I do not mean to insinuate that there was a cause and effect between his journalistic pursuits and the transfer, because despite being a higher security prison, the services at Garner are much better. Joe and I talk often, and while he writes regularly, this is the first piece he has sent in a while.

When we printed one of his columns last fall, a loyal reader sent Joe a letter encouraging him to write more, as he clearly has a talent for it. I deeply appreciate the community reaching out to Joe.

Joe loved the letter, and he has taken the advice to heart. He told me proudly that the inmate newspaper was publishing a letter he wrote to his father, who is seriously ill in Puerto Rico. Because of the time Joe is looking at, he may not see his dad before his father dies. I hope this is not the case, as Joe has already missed the funeral of a grandparent due to his incarceration. It must hurt more than I want to imagine.

Once Joe read me the letter, I felt our audience needed to see it, too.

If you are interested in writing to our prison correspondent, Joe loves getting mail: Joe Santana, inmate number 306658, Garner Correctional Facility, 50 Nunnawauk, Newtown, Connecticut 06470.

Thanks again, and keep those cards and letters coming.

Peace, KK

Dear Pops,

What's up, man? How have you been? I haven't seen you in ages. I hear from you all the time, but it's not the same, like in person. The last time I really saw you I was in my early teenage years.

The day you announced your withdrawal from Connecticut to live in Puerto Rico, I brushed it off by smoking and drinking all night. It was that night and nights to come that I slowly discovered who you were and who you are.

Dad, when I was younger, your absence was replaced by mom's mentioning of how I’m the spitting image of you. Although it was never mentioned when I was in my Sunday best because she took credit for that.

More of Letters from Inside the Belly: Letter to my Papi

Editor's Note: Joe Santana sent this to me in December 2009, and we printed it in the Hartford News in December while I was studying for exams. I am finally putting it up now.

When Joe sent this, he included a personal letter telling me that he is really hoping that he can get out and get his associate's and bachelor's degree and become a teacher. Joe, I'm rooting for you. We all want you to succeed, and I hope this helps you get to your goals.

Joe has been transferred from HCCC to Gardner Correctional in Newtown, and it looks like he will be getting a long stint on his violation of probation charges. He was under a microscope for publishing items here and in the Hartford News, and he apparently made a mistake and was transferred to a higher security facility.

I haven't had a chance to talk to him, this is what I am told from friends and family. I look forward to hearing from him, and when I do, I will post an update.

55 days it took for the medical unit here to finally respond to my paper request form. I was on my bed reading The Cider House Rules by John Irving when my cell door opened.

If it were a Monday, then my assumption would be that my counselor was calling me down for a legal phone call to my public defender. But it was a Friday afternoon, and the whole facility had been in locked down since Monday.

If I were familiar with the medical unit, I would’ve recognized that Fridays are sick call days. Sick call is exactly what it sounds like. It’s a call out to the sick.

As the cell door opened, I decided that putting Mr. Irving’s book down would be the smart thing to do. Mind you, in a cell, at H.C.C., during lockdown, is nothing like a regular day.

The cell doors open all the time. For breakfast, recreation, lunch, recreation, dinner, recreation, then one more open window of recreation.

So I flung the book across my mattress in a hurry to get out of the cell I have been kept in since Monday. That’s four days of no shower and no communication with anybody.

I rushed out of my bed, put my khaki pants on, brushed my teeth and grabbed my inmate identification card in under 60 seconds. When I stepped out of the cell, I heard the usual from the other inmates.

“Where you going?” and “Why you out of your cell?” I gave everyone the “I don’t know” shrug and kept it moving towards the command center of this floor.

We call it the “Bubble” because one correctional officer sits inside of box-shaped booth, opening and closing cell doors.

As I approached the “Bubble,” the C.O. mouthed “sick call” through the thick plastic window. I walked around the “Bubble”, exited the door and he pushed a button to release me to the stairwell.

Letter from Inside the Belly, Part III, top...

Editor's Note: Thanks to everyone who responded positively to Joe Santana's report from inside the Hartford County Correctional Facility back on October 29, 2009.

Joe is deeply appreciative of the letters he received, and of the feedback that I heard from loyal readers and passed on to him. For some people with relatives in the Connecticut prison system, Joe's last column broke down walls and brought tears of understanding.

Because of this success, and because I have been pressing Joe to write about what it is like trying to go to the doctor in prison, he has written this piece.

With this massive healthcare debate taking place nationally, and as the country discusses the 47 million Americans without regular access to medical care, I have found the discussion lacking on many fronts.

The one percent of Americans in jail - some three million people - is one segment of the population that has not been represented in this dialogue on health care.

Here is Joe Santana's take on trying to get medical attention at the Hartford County Correctional Facility. I hope to have more reports about medical care in Connecticut's Department of Corrections in future editions of this column.

And again, if you are interested in writing to our prison correspondent, he loves getting mail: Joe Santana, inmate number 306658 E2C4 at Hartford County Correctional Facility, 177 Weston Street, Hartford, Connecticut 06120.

Peace, KK

Medical here is almost like the nurses office at a school, although you can't be sent home afterwards. LOL.

Medical here should be more like a Planned Parenthood, a clinic, or like an emergency room. But I guess that would cost too much, that would give DOC a reason to ask for more funding from the state.

When I was asked to give more details on how our medical ward is run, I thought to myself, "Where do I start?" I see a lawsuit waiting to be uncovered. People here, including myself, just allow our rights to be trampled over, as if prisoners have no rights at all.

But to give a better description of what our medical unit is like, I would have to refer to the reasons one would need medical attention. I truly believe that the general public forgets that when an individual is imprisoned, he/she brings with them whatever medical condition he/she is suffering from.

I want you all to imagine that before I came here, my health wasn't in the best condition at all. People come to prison with STDs, mental health issues and plenty of diseases. I have had some medical issues in the past.

When I settled in the holding cell at the West Hartford Police Department after I was first in custody, I thought: "This time away will give me a chance to get myself together."

I really wanted to get myself checked out while here in HCC, but it seems nearly impossible. I have been waiting for medical to get back to me since the beginning of October.

I can’t lie to the COs on duty, claiming I'm sick, in order to get to the medical unit. I will try to wait until my next court date, when I could be set free.

I would rather be seen by a doctor than to risk what these tax dollars have provided us inmates. I'm concerned with leaving this facility in the same health I came in with, because it is obvious that I can't leave here in a better health condition.

Letter from Inside the Belly, Part II, top...

Editor's Note: The phone rings on a Sunday night a few weeks back. An official robotic male voice, not very friendly, says "Hello, This is Global Tellink, and this call originates from a Connecticut Correctional Facility and may be monitored or recorded. You have a call from" (the voice pauses) "Joe Santana," says the person on the other end of the line.

Mr. Roboto continues, without missing a beat "an inmate at the Hartford Correctional Facility. To accept this call, press five now." I press five, and before Mr. Roboto turns over the line to Joe, he gives me a pitch for prepaid collect calls from prison. Then I hear Joe's voice: "Hey Ken." At irregular intervals during the call, Mr. Roboto reminds me that this is Global Tellink and that this call is from a Connecticut Correctional Facility.

With about 13 minutes, Mr. Roboto reminds us that we have but 120 seconds remaining. Mr. Roboto marks time again at 60 seconds. After a minute, silence. Usually the conversation gets cut off in mid-stream, although we try to time it and wind down appropriately. It's always an awkward ending. It's hard to squeeze a lot of life into 15 minutes.

Joe Santana joined the staff of Echoes from the Streets in January 2001, months before we ever hit the presses. His first article explored the history of hip hop. At the time, he was a freshman at an alternative high school because of some difficulties.

But he could write, he had excellent people skills and he showed potential for a reporter. Echoes sent him to New Mexico to report from the Taos Pueblo Native American Reservation with buildOn, the international educational aid organization based on Stamford, CT that builds schoolhouses abroad and encourages community service here in the US. Joe's cover story from September 2002 is here.

Joe earned his GED, and wrote about that triumph. As the years rolled on, his enthusiasm for telling stories was matched only by his propensity to attract trouble.

I wish I could say it is not painful to watch as a person, a friend, an employee, a mentee and a father makes mistakes, compounded by the built-in prejudice of the criminal justice system. It is.

But Joe still loves to write. I have been encouraging him to send this letter for some time. It came in the mail last week, pencil on three different sheets of paper. I offer it to you in its entirity. I look forward to publising more work from him.

Joe Santana, inmate number 306658 E2C4 at Hartford County Correctional Facility, 177 Weston Street, Hartford Connecticut 06120, always loves to get mail. Feel free to write him back. -KK

Well hello everyone. My name is Joseph and I am an inmate at H.C.C.C. I am here because I have made some poor choices in my life, and this is the way I am taught to correct my mistakes. It's a sad story in general, but in this letter I will not be discussing what I should have done.

I will be writing about the process inmates go through before or after sentencing. So pretend that I am an undercover journalist sent to jail to get the first scoop of life in a correctional facility.

Let's start off with whatever police department you're booked in. In my case, I had a choice of either West Hartford or Hartford. I told my bounty hunters to bring me to West Hartford because the officers there would actually treat me like a human being.

When I got there, I was searched thoroughly, told to take off laces and anything else I could hang myself with. Everything that was in my possession was bagged and put away.

Next was the finger printing, which in my case had to be done four times for four different warrants. I would like to thank the WHPD for serving all of my warrants in that one arrest. You might be asking "What's so great about it?"

Letter from Inside the Belly, continued...