# “There Was No Ordinary Day”: Rachelle Terry on Life Inside Pulaski State Prison > Rachelle Terry spent almost two years at Pulaski State Prison. We sent her eight questions about the dorms, the medical care, the staffing and the classes. Here are her answers, in her own words, alongside what the state's own records show. **Published**: 2026-10-24 **Source**: https://gps.press/there-was-no-ordinary-day-rachelle-terry-on-life-inside-pulaski-state-prison/ **Author**: Keith Simmons --- *By Keith Simmons, with Rachelle Terry's answers in her own words* Rachelle Terry came home in August 2025. Before that, she spent almost two years at Pulaski State Prison in Hawkinsville, and about 11 weeks at Lee Arrendale State Prison in 2023 for diagnostics. In September, she wrote to Georgia's lawmakers and to the Department of Corrections about the two women's prisons that held her. With her permission, GPS published [her letter](https://gps.press/i-am-telling-you-what-i-saw-a-letter-from-georgias-womens-prisons/). After the letter ran, we sent her eight questions. She answered all eight in writing, and her answers are below in her own words. We shortened them, and we left out a few details to protect her and other people. Dr. Terry has read this version and agreed to it. ## What the state's records show Some of what she describes can be checked against the state's own records. ### The dorm She lived in Dorm E3. She says about 120 women were held there, in a space built for 96. Some rooms meant for two held three women. Pulaski's own description, from the Department, lists four buildings with 48 double rooms "to house up to 96 per building," and two buildings with "double and triple rooms to house up to 120 per building." [Georgia Department of Corrections, Pulaski State Prison facility page](https://gdc.georgia.gov/locations/pulaski-state-prison) ### The death Dr. Terry writes about her neighbor across the hall, Esmeralda Hernandez. In September 2023, Ms. Hernandez was in pain and wearing a back brace. Doctors later found stage 4 colon cancer. GPS's [death registry](https://gps.press/georgia-prison-deaths/record/esmeralda-carillo-hernandez-2025-05-22/) shows that Esmeralda Carillo Hernandez died at Pulaski on May 22, 2025. She was 50. The Pulaski County coroner listed the cause as natural, from cancer. ((Pulaski County Coroner, Coroner's Death Investigation Report for Esmeralda Carillo Hernandez, May 2025, obtained by GPS from the coroner )) Dr. Terry doesn't claim to know what she can't know. She doesn't say that an earlier diagnosis would have saved Ms. Hernandez. What she asks is whether a woman's complaints of pain got the follow-up they needed. You won't find most of what she describes in any public record. One officer covering five dorms. Classes that met about half as often as scheduled. Counts cleared without anyone counting. A fire alarm that went off for about three days. ## What she's asking for If lawmakers changed one thing first, Dr. Terry says, it should be standards for staffing, supervision and accountability. Standards that are actually enforced. And independent oversight that covers medical care too. Here's what she told us. Our questions appear in bold. **When were you at Lee Arrendale, and when did you move to Pulaski? What did an ordinary day look like at each?** ### Lee Arrendale State Prison, June 28, 2023, to September 11, 2023 I arrived at Lee Arrendale State Prison on June 28, 2023, for diagnostics. We were told that we would complete a series of required procedures before being transferred, or “shipped,” to the prison where we would serve the remainder of our sentences. We were also told that diagnostics would typically take two to four weeks. I remained there for almost eleven weeks. Initially, I was housed in the Special Management Unit (SMU), on J Range, which was located on the top level of the building. Summer was in full swing, and there was no central heating or air conditioning. The heat on J Range was almost unbearable. It was so hot that spending any significant amount of time inside my cell was extremely uncomfortable. We had two large fans, but as the summer progressed, they did little more than circulate hot air. In July, one of those fans stopped working and was not replaced during my time on J Range. When I arrived at Lee Arrendale, I was taking medication prescribed by my psychiatrist. During diagnostics, I was seen by a psychiatrist who informed me that the medication I had been taking was not approved by the state. I was required to change from a medication I knew worked well for me to one I was unfamiliar with. I was not given an explanation of the possible side effects or what the replacement medication was typically used to treat. I felt that the decision was based primarily on what the state permitted rather than what had been effective for me personally. One of the most difficult aspects of diagnostics was the inability to communicate with my family. Part of the intake process involved establishing our approved telephone lists and setting up our accounts using our Georgia Department of Corrections identification numbers and voice recognition. We were told the voice recognition system was down and that we would be notified when it became available. Three weeks passed, and many of us still had not been able to call home. Frustration was growing, particularly when newly arriving women began using the telephone while those of us who had been there for weeks were still unable to access it. I began writing letters to the general population counselor responsible for diagnostics and to the director of diagnostics. By the end of that week, we were finally permitted to complete the telephone setup process. That first telephone call home was the brightest moment I had experienced since entering prison. On J Range, there was only one telephone for approximately 23 women. We had no television, no books, and very little to occupy our time. A typical day began around 5:30 a.m., when our cell doors were unlocked. The automatic unlocking system on J Range was broken, so each cell had to be unlocked individually. Most days, our meals were delivered to the dorm on Styrofoam trays. During my entire time at Lee Arrendale, I remember being allowed outside for a scheduled yard call only once. Otherwise, we remained inside the building. There was no air conditioning, and we were required to wear our state-issued T-shirts and orange pants during the weekdays, despite the excessive heat. Even if we purchased shorts through the commissary, we were not permitted to wear them during the day except on weekends. Ice was provided in a cooler once, and sometimes twice, each day. Our drinking water came from the sinks inside our cells. The remainder of my stay at Lee Arrendale was relatively uneventful, and on September 11, 2023, I was finally transferred to Pulaski State Prison. ### Pulaski State Prison, September 11, 2023, to August 2025 Approximately 34 women were transferred to Pulaski on the same day I arrived. We were taken through intake, where general population counselors interviewed us and assigned our housing locations. While we waited, word began circulating that we did not want to be assigned to Dorm E3, E8, or E9 because those dorms had particularly bad reputations. I immediately began praying that I would not be placed in any of those dorms. I also prayed that at least one woman from our transport group would be assigned with me so I would know someone. When my name was called, I was assigned to E3. I was the only woman from our group assigned there. Even the incarcerated woman assisting with intake expressed concern about taking me to that dorm. At that moment, I realized that my transition to Pulaski might be extremely difficult. When I entered E3, the dorm was filled with smoke and smelled strongly of body odor. A woman who appeared to be under the influence of drugs was dancing and singing in the dayroom while removing her clothing. By the time I made my way inside, she was completely naked. The officer who unlocked the dorm did not escort me to my room or provide any instructions. Another incarcerated woman took my housing assignment paperwork and pointed me toward the correct hallway. When I reached my assigned room, I discovered that it housed three women and that I had been assigned the top bunk. I was 44 years old and had been diagnosed with degenerative disc disease of the spine. I was extremely frustrated by the assignment, but I did not feel safe expressing those concerns. For personal safety reasons, I do not want to describe all the activities I witnessed inside E3. However, I do want to emphasize that I was fortunate to be assigned to a room with two women of good character who took me under their wings. The woman with whom I shared the bunk bed was particularly kind and helpful. She looked after me in countless ways, and I attribute much of my ability to manage life in E3 to her and several other women who became my friends. Despite the conditions, I met some of the greatest women I have ever known during my incarceration. ### Work Assignments and the Absence of a Daily Routine The chief counselor assigned me to work in the law library, which was considered a desirable position within the prison. Because I held a doctorate degree, my educational background was viewed as an asset. I took the assignment seriously and worked hard to help as many women as possible. I had prayed that God would place me in a position where I could help others and make my time in prison meaningful. I believe He answered that prayer through my work in the law library. Describing a typical day at Pulaski is difficult because there was no dependable daily schedule. Even when we had assigned jobs, scheduled classes, or appointments, we never knew whether we would actually be permitted to leave the dorm. E3 seemed to be regarded as one of the problem dorms, and officers were frequently unwilling to allow us to participate in movement even when women from other dorms were being released. We were sometimes cursed at by correctional officers simply for presenting movement slips or schedules showing that we were supposed to report to work, attend class, or go to an appointment. Usually, one officer was responsible for Dorms E1 through E5, while another covered E6 through E9. On a few occasions, a single officer was responsible for both sides of the compound. When that happened, we were typically confined to our dorms without regular movement. There were extended periods when movement was restricted for days or even weeks because there were not enough correctional officers available to operate the compound. We were frequently told that officers had been reassigned to medical transports or to supervise incarcerated individuals receiving treatment at outside hospitals. Another unusual complication was that E3 required a different key from the other dorms. If the officer responsible for our side of the compound did not specifically retrieve the E3 key, we might not be released during regular movement periods. My law library supervisor usually had to come directly to E3 and insist that an officer release me so I could report to work. ### Living Conditions in E3 The physical conditions inside E3 were extremely poor. The dorm housed approximately 120 women, although it had originally been designed for 96. Some rooms held three women despite being the same size as the rooms intended for two. Many of the showers did not function properly. Some flooded so badly that water backed up and ran into the hallway, making them unusable. Hot water was frequently unavailable, which was particularly difficult during the winter when the heating system also failed to function properly. E3 did not have an ice machine or a hot water dispenser. Women purchased flat irons through the commissary and used them as makeshift heat sources to warm water for coffee or prepare foods such as soup, beans, and rice. The heating and air-conditioning systems were unreliable throughout my incarceration. During the summer of 2024, we had no functioning air conditioning in the dorm. The windows could not be opened, and our only relief came from electric fans we purchased ourselves. We were permitted to purchase two fans each, but our three-person room had only two electrical outlets. This made it impossible for all three women to operate two fans simultaneously. Maintenance personnel eventually came through the dorm with a temperature gauge to measure the heat in individual rooms. Our room registered 92 degrees, the highest temperature measured in E3 during that inspection. During the winter, the heating system also failed to provide adequate warmth. Women used hair dryers purchased through the commissary as makeshift space heaters. The prison issued coats, but additional cold-weather items such as thermal underwear and gloves had to be purchased through clothing packages. Women without financial resources or family support often had no option other than to endure the conditions. There were also serious maintenance and safety concerns. One weekend, the fire alarm system malfunctioned. The alarm sounded continuously and the lights flashed for approximately three days. Eventually, some women in the dorm smashed the alarms to stop the noise. I did not observe the system being repaired afterward. Another disturbing aspect of life in E3 involved women being forced out of their assigned rooms. I personally witnessed women being physically removed from their rooms by other incarcerated women. Many times, these situations involved debts that were owed. Some women ended up sleeping in the television rooms or the dayroom because they no longer had access to their assigned beds. In some cases, beds were also traded or sold in connection with drug debts. These situations were particularly troubling because there was so little direct supervision in our dorm. With approximately 120 women housed in E3 and no correctional officer permanently assigned to oversee us, conflicts over debts and sleeping arrangements could unfold without immediate staff intervention. In my opinion, no incarcerated woman should have to worry about being forced out of her assigned living space by another inmate. Housing assignments and personal safety should be the responsibility of the institution, not determined by intimidation, debts, or the actions of other incarcerated individuals. ### Food Food was another major problem during my time at Pulaski. I found the meals so unappetizing that I relied almost entirely on food purchased through the commissary. If I tried to eat from the dining hall I would become physically ill. For approximately two years, my diet consisted largely of carbohydrates, processed foods, and snacks because those were the options available to me. During my incarceration, I gained approximately 50 pounds. After returning home, I learned that I had developed high cholesterol. I believe my poor diet and lack of physical activity contributed to those health problems. The condition of the food trays also became a serious concern. Even though I could not eat from the dining hall I often went and gave my tray to someone who was not able to get commissary. At one point, the tray-washing system was not functioning properly. Food residue remained stuck to trays, and some appeared to have mold on them. This continued for weeks before the prison eventually began using Styrofoam trays. ### What an Ordinary Day Really Looked Like The most accurate way I can describe an ordinary day at Pulaski is that there was no ordinary day. We might wake up expecting to report to work, attend a rehabilitation class, receive medical treatment, or participate in some other scheduled activity, only to be told that movement was canceled. We might spend the entire day confined to an overcrowded dorm with unreliable heating or cooling, malfunctioning showers, and little opportunity for recreation. Meals might be delivered to us instead of allowing us to go to the dining hall. Classes and appointments might be missed. Commissary access might be interrupted. Even returning to our housing unit after an approved work assignment could involve hours of waiting outside in extreme weather. Much of our daily existence depended on whether correctional staff were available and whether they were willing and able to carry out routine responsibilities. What I want people to understand is that these conditions were not isolated incidents. They were recurring realities throughout my time at Pulaski State Prison. A prison sentence is a loss of freedom, but it should not mean the loss of basic human dignity, access to adequate food, safe living conditions, or necessary medical care. I met women during my incarceration who showed tremendous kindness, generosity, resilience, and compassion despite their circumstances. Those relationships helped sustain me through some of the most difficult experiences of my life. I also found purpose in helping other women through my work in the law library, and my faith in God remained an important source of strength. However, neither the kindness of other incarcerated women nor my personal faith changes the fact that the conditions we endured were unacceptable. I believe the public deserves to understand what daily life inside Georgia's women's prisons can actually look like, and I hope that sharing my experiences will contribute to meaningful improvements in staffing, supervision, living conditions, medical care, and accountability. **Tell us about the times you saw women wait for medical care. For each one you're willing to share: roughly when, which facility, what she needed, how long she waited, and what happened. If a woman died, her name and roughly when will let us check it against the state's death records. For women who are still inside, please leave their names out for now.** During my incarceration at Pulaski State Prison, I witnessed situations that raised serious concerns about incarcerated women's access to timely and appropriate medical treatment. Two experiences in particular have stayed with me: the illness of a woman who lived across the hall from me and my own experience trying to obtain treatment for an infected finger. ### The woman diagnosed with stage 4 colon cancer One experience that has stayed with me involved a woman who lived directly across the hall from me at Pulaski State Prison. In late September 2023, I walked the hallway with this woman named Esmeralda Hernandez, who also served as a dorm representative. She was wearing a back brace and experiencing significant pain. During our conversation, she told me about the pain she was experiencing despite having already received medical treatment. I later learned that after continued complaints about her condition and additional medical testing, she was diagnosed with stage 4 colon cancer. She remained incarcerated at Pulaski State Prison following her diagnosis. On May 22, 2025, she died. I cannot say exactly how long she waited for additional testing or whether an earlier diagnosis would have changed the outcome. However, what concerns me is that this woman was experiencing significant pain, and by the time her cancer was identified, it was already stage 4. Her experience raised serious questions for me about how medical complaints were evaluated, whether persistent symptoms received appropriate follow-up, and whether incarcerated women had meaningful access to timely diagnostic testing. ### My own experience: June 25–27, 2025 On Wednesday, June 25, 2025, I was working in the law library when my supervisor noticed that my finger was visibly infected. She sent me to medical because it was obvious that I needed attention. When I arrived at medical, I was told that I needed to be examined by a doctor and that I would receive a medical pass for the following day, Thursday, June 26. Thursday came, but I did not receive a pass for a doctor's appointment. That afternoon, I showed my finger to a nurse during pill call. She also told me that I needed to be seen by a doctor. I finally received a medical pass during mail call that Thursday evening, authorizing me to report to medical on Friday, June 27. On Friday morning, when I attempted to leave the dorm for my medical appointment, the correctional officer covering our side of the compound refused to let me out, despite my having a valid medical pass. When I attempted to explain that I needed medical attention, the officer called me a "[expletive]" and told me to "shut the [expletive] up" because it was count time. What made this particularly troubling was that the officer never entered our dorm to conduct a count. After being refused permission to leave, I called my mother and explained what had happened. She contacted inmate services and was transferred to Pulaski's security department. After my mother explained the situation, an officer from security directed the officer covering our side of the compound to release me so I could attend my medical appointment. When I finally saw the doctor on June 27, the infection was serious enough that the doctor had to cut it open and drain it. I was also prescribed antibiotics. I had been attempting to obtain treatment since Wednesday. Medical personnel had already recognized that I needed to see a doctor, and I had followed the procedures required to obtain an appointment. Yet I was still prevented from receiving care until my mother intervened from outside the facility. I often wonder what would have happened if I had not been able to contact my mother or if she had not known whom to call. The larger concern ### The larger concern These experiences illustrate why I believe medical care within Georgia's prisons deserves serious scrutiny. Incarcerated women are entirely dependent on the institution to provide access to medical professionals, diagnostic testing, medications, and treatment. Even when medical personnel determine that treatment is necessary, the ability to receive that treatment can depend on whether correctional staff permit the individual to leave her housing unit. My own experience demonstrated that having a valid medical pass did not guarantee access to care. I cannot speak to every medical decision made within the facility, nor can I say whether different medical treatment would have changed the outcome for the woman who died. However, I can speak to the barriers I personally encountered and the suffering I witnessed. I believe Georgia lawmakers and the Department of Corrections should examine not only the quality of medical services provided inside prisons but also whether incarcerated individuals can reliably access those services when they are needed. A medical appointment should not depend on whether an officer feels like allowing someone to attend, and an incarcerated woman should not have to rely on a family member outside the prison to intervene before she can receive necessary treatment. **What did short staffing look like day to day? For example, dorms locked down, count running long, or one officer covering more than one building.** Short staffing affected virtually every aspect of daily life at Pulaski State Prison. It was not simply a matter of having fewer correctional officers available. It meant that normal prison operations were frequently disrupted or came to a complete halt. There was virtually no sense of routine or consistency, and we never knew from one day to the next what we would or would not be allowed to do. On my side of the compound, there were five dorms. Our dorm alone housed approximately 120 women, despite originally being designed to accommodate 96. Some rooms had been converted to house three women instead of two. Despite the number of women living there, we did not have a correctional officer permanently assigned to supervise our dorm. Typically, one officer was responsible for overseeing all five dorms on our side of the compound. This was not an occasional staffing arrangement. The lack of direct supervision was the normal condition throughout my incarceration at Pulaski. When staffing was particularly limited, regular movement throughout the facility was frequently restricted or canceled altogether. Many times, only women with medical passes were supposed to be permitted to leave their dorms. However, even those appointments were not guaranteed. I worked in the law library, which was housed within the general library. On several occasions, my supervisor had to physically come to my dorm and insist that an officer release me so I could report to my assigned job. Without her intervention, I would have remained confined to the dorm despite being scheduled to work. Another serious problem involved returning to my dorm after work. My workday at the law library ended at 4:00 p.m., but there were many occasions when I was left standing outside my dorm for two or three hours waiting for an officer to unlock the door and allow me back inside. I can remember standing outside Dorm E3 and being able to see an officer sitting at a covered picnic table near Dorm E2. Despite an officer being nearby, I would be told that I would not be allowed back into my dorm until our dorm was called for dinner. There was nothing I could do but wait. During the summer months, the heat could be extreme. I was left standing outside in the sun without access to drinking water or a bathroom for hours at a time. During the winter, the conditions could be extremely cold. One incident that particularly stands out occurred when it began snowing while I was waiting to be allowed back inside. I was wearing my prison-issued coat, along with a toboggan and gloves I had purchased through a clothing package. Despite having those items, I was left outside in the snow for approximately two hours before being allowed to reenter my dorm. These were not isolated inconveniences. The delays happened repeatedly, and I had no ability to resolve the situation myself. I could not simply open the door and go inside. I was entirely dependent on correctional staff to provide access to my housing unit. I believe these experiences demonstrate that the problems at Pulaski State Prison went beyond simply not having enough employees. In some situations, there appeared to be officers available who were not taking action to address our needs. I cannot say what instructions those officers had been given or why they did not allow us inside sooner. However, I can speak to the conditions I personally endured and the lack of urgency I experienced when seeking access to my dorm. Meals were also affected by staffing shortages. Sometimes we received two separate meals at the same time, such as breakfast and lunch or lunch and dinner, because normal meal movement was not taking place. Other times, we were not permitted to leave the dorm to eat at all. Instead, meals were loaded onto carts and brought directly to us. On those days, we often spent the entire day confined inside the dorm without ever stepping outside. It was particularly difficult because there was no opportunity for a change of scenery, fresh air, or a break from the crowded living conditions. Recreation was practically nonexistent. During my entire time at Pulaski, from approximately August 2023 until August 2025, I can recall being allowed outside for scheduled yard call on only four occasions. This was not an unusual situation. It was the norm. Mandatory inmate counts were another serious concern. Rather than counts simply taking longer because of inadequate staffing, there were occasions when counts were not conducted at all. We would be told that movement was restricted because it was count time. Yet no officer would enter our dorm to conduct a count, and eventually movement would resume as though the count had been completed. There were also occasions when an officer did conduct a count, but the number of women on our hallway was incorrect. Despite the discrepancy, the count would be cleared anyway. I witnessed similar problems while working in the law library. Our supervisor had a radio, and we could overhear count-related communications. There were occasions when counts were cleared even though no count had been called in for the library where we were working. To me, these were serious security failures. The purpose of conducting inmate counts is to ensure that everyone is accounted for. If counts are cleared without being properly conducted or discrepancies are ignored, the institution cannot reliably determine whether someone is missing or in danger. Throughout all of this, we frequently remained without direct supervision. Officers rarely entered our dorm unless they needed to allow someone inside or occasionally distribute mail. After dinner, it was not unusual for us to go the remainder of the evening and night without an officer entering the dorm. This created an environment where violence could occur without immediate intervention and where women had limited means of obtaining assistance when something went wrong. What I want people to understand is that these conditions were not occasional inconveniences. They were a recurring part of daily life at Pulaski State Prison. We were expected to follow the institution's rules, schedules, and procedures, yet the institution frequently failed to maintain those same schedules and procedures. In my opinion, the staffing crisis at Pulaski affected far more than the prison's ability to operate efficiently. It affected our physical safety, access to medical care, opportunities for rehabilitation, recreation, and overall quality of life. The women incarcerated there were entirely dependent on the institution for their basic needs, yet there were many days when even the most basic operations could not be carried out consistently. I believe these experiences demonstrate why adequate staffing, effective supervision, and meaningful accountability are essential to ensuring the safety and well-being of incarcerated women. **Which programs were you in or waiting to get into, and what happened to them when staff were short? Rough numbers are fine, like "most weeks" or "a couple of times a month."** During my incarceration at Pulaski State Prison, staffing shortages routinely interfered with our ability to participate in rehabilitation programs and receive mental health services. I participated in [a required program], Motivation for Change, and Reentry Skills Building. I also had mental health appointments that were frequently affected by restricted movement. There was virtually no consistency in any of these services. Even when classes or appointments were scheduled, there was no guarantee that we would be able to attend. ### [A required program] I was required to complete [this program] as part of my incarceration. The program was supposed to meet twice a week for approximately three months. However, because of staffing shortages and restricted movement, we were fortunate if we managed to meet even once a week. Even when classes were held, we rarely had a full group in attendance. Women housed on one side of the compound might be released for movement while those on the other side remained confined to their dorms. Consequently, some participants could attend while others could not. What concerns me most is that the program continued moving forward despite the missed sessions. The schedule was not extended to make up for the classes we missed. We simply moved forward with the curriculum regardless of how much instructional time had been lost. This raises serious questions about the effectiveness of required rehabilitation programs when participants are unable to attend consistently. If the Georgia Department of Corrections requires incarcerated individuals to complete a program, it should also ensure that they have a meaningful opportunity to receive the instruction. ### Motivation for Change and Reentry Skills Building I also participated in Motivation for Change and Reentry Skills Building. These classes experienced many of the same disruptions as [that program], but there was an additional obstacle because of where they were held. Both classes took place at Main Control. Even if we were fortunate enough to be released from our dorms and make it through the gate on our side of the compound, there was another locked gate separating us from Main Control. There was rarely a correctional officer stationed at that gate to unlock it so we could reach our classes. This meant that even when we were permitted to leave our dorms, we could still be prevented from attending class simply because no officer was available to let us through the next gate. And the problem did not end when we managed to attend class. If we were fortunate enough to make it through the gate and participate, we often encountered the same difficulty trying to return to our dorms afterward. We had to wait for an officer to become available to unlock the gate so we could get back to our side of the compound. These were classes intended to help us address our behavior, develop skills, and prepare for returning to society. Yet the institution frequently could not provide the staffing necessary for us to reach the classrooms or return to our housing units. ### Mental Health Services Mental health services were also affected by staffing shortages. I had scheduled mental health appointments that I missed because movement throughout the compound was restricted. Even when an appointment was scheduled, there was no guarantee that I would be permitted to leave my dorm to attend it. Sometimes mental health counselors would come directly to our dorms to meet with us. However, these appointments took place in the day area, a common space accessible to everyone living in the dorm. Other women would be sitting nearby during these appointments and could easily overhear our conversations. I found this particularly troubling because mental health treatment often involves discussing deeply personal and sensitive matters. It is difficult to feel comfortable speaking openly about emotional struggles, trauma, or other private concerns when other incarcerated women are sitting close enough to hear what is being discussed. I understand that counselors may have been attempting to work around the staffing shortages and movement restrictions, but the lack of privacy made those appointments feel less like meaningful mental health care and more like an effort to check another appointment off a list. I cannot speak to the counselors' intentions, but that is how the experience felt to me. I believe privacy and confidentiality are essential to effective mental health treatment, and those needs should not be overlooked simply because a facility is struggling with staffing. ### The Larger Impact on Rehabilitation What I want people to understand is that these were not isolated inconveniences. The lack of consistent access to rehabilitation programs and mental health services was a recurring part of daily life at Pulaski. We were expected to participate in programs, comply with institutional requirements, and prepare ourselves for successful reintegration into society. Yet the institution frequently failed to provide reliable access to the very services intended to help us accomplish those goals. The staffing shortages affected whether we could leave our dorms, whether we could pass through secured gates, whether classes could take place as scheduled, and whether we could return to our housing units afterward. In my opinion, rehabilitation cannot be effective when participation is repeatedly interrupted by circumstances beyond the control of the individuals required to attend. If the State of Georgia expects incarcerated individuals to take responsibility for their actions, develop healthier behaviors, and prepare for productive lives after release, then it must also provide consistent access to the programs designed to help them achieve those goals. Rehabilitation should not depend on whether a correctional officer happens to be available to unlock a gate. **The beatings you described, where no staff were around: how long did it take for staff to arrive, and what happened afterward?** One of the most disturbing incidents I witnessed during my incarceration at Pulaski State Prison involved a woman who was brutally beaten by several other incarcerated women in my dorm. My understanding was that the assault stemmed from money she allegedly owed another woman. I personally witnessed the assault. The women beat her until she was unconscious. Her face was so severely swollen that she was unrecognizable. Afterward, the women responsible dragged her into the sally port and left her there. We were generally left inside our dorm without direct supervision. Officers rarely entered except to allow someone inside or occasionally distribute mail around 8:00 or 9:00 p.m. After mail call, we often would not see another officer inside the dorm until breakfast call the following morning. On the morning the woman was discovered, I was waiting for breakfast call when an officer found her lying in the sally port where her attackers had dragged her. The officer took her away, but I do not know whether she was taken to medical for treatment or to security. I cannot give an exact amount of time between the assault and when the officer discovered her. However, I can say that no officer was present to intervene while she was being beaten. I also do not know what medical treatment she received afterward or whether any disciplinary action was taken against those responsible. What troubles me most about this incident is that a woman could be beaten into unconsciousness, left with such severe facial injuries that she was unrecognizable, and dragged into a sally port without a correctional officer being present to stop the assault. This was not an isolated staffing shortage. The lack of direct supervision was the normal operating condition of our dorm throughout my incarceration at Pulaski. We were entirely dependent on an officer happening to come by when something went wrong. In my opinion, this created an environment where violence could occur without immediate intervention and where incarcerated women had little protection from serious physical harm. I believe this incident illustrates the consequences of inadequate staffing and supervision in Georgia's women's prisons. Regardless of their convictions, incarcerated women deserve basic protection from violence and timely assistance when their safety is threatened. **You wrote that you were offered drugs. From what you saw yourself, how did drugs get in, and what happened when they were found?** During my incarceration at Lee Arrendale and Pulaski State Prison, I was personally offered drugs, although I did not accept them. Drugs and other contraband were present within the facilities, and I became aware that some staff members were terminated for bringing prohibited items into the prison. On one occasion, I personally witnessed a staff member being escorted out of the compound area in handcuffs at Pulaski. While I believe the introduction of drugs and contraband into correctional facilities is a serious issue that deserves investigation and accountability, I am not comfortable discussing specific individuals, incidents, or methods of entry because of concerns for my personal safety. I believe it is important to bring attention to these problems, but I also believe that individuals who speak out about conditions within correctional facilities should be able to do so without fear of retaliation. **Did you or women you knew file grievances about any of this? What came back?** I personally never filed a formal grievance during my incarceration at Pulaski State Prison because I was afraid of retaliation. When you are incarcerated, you are entirely dependent on correctional staff for virtually every aspect of your daily life. They control your movement, access to medical care, and many of your basic needs. I was concerned that filing a grievance could make an already difficult situation worse. My concerns were influenced by the behavior I personally witnessed from certain correctional officers. There was one officer in particular who, in my experience, would respond negatively when women attempted to stand up for themselves. She was unpleasant toward me on multiple occasions, and I personally witnessed her treating other women poorly as well. I cannot say that her behavior was connected to anyone filing a formal grievance, because I do not know that to be the case. However, witnessing how women could be treated when they spoke up contributed to my reluctance to challenge staff through the grievance process. I believe many other women shared similar fears, although I cannot speak for everyone. I occasionally overheard women saying they intended to file grievances about various issues. However, I do not know whether they actually followed through, and I cannot speak to what responses or outcomes they may have received. What I can say is that my fear of retaliation was enough to prevent me from using the formal grievance process. I believe this raises an important concern about accountability within correctional institutions. A grievance system cannot function effectively if incarcerated individuals are afraid to use it. When people fear negative consequences for reporting mistreatment or unsafe conditions, serious problems may go undocumented. The absence of formal grievances should never automatically be interpreted as evidence that problems do not exist. Sometimes it simply means that the people experiencing those problems do not feel safe reporting them. I believe meaningful prison reform must include ensuring that incarcerated individuals can report legitimate concerns without fear of retaliation and that those complaints receive fair and impartial consideration. **If lawmakers changed one thing first, what should it be?** This is probably one of the most difficult questions for me to answer because I witnessed so many problems within Georgia's prison system, and I believe each one deserves serious attention. However, if I had to identify one place for lawmakers to begin, it would be addressing the staffing crisis while establishing meaningful oversight and accountability within the Georgia Department of Corrections. During my incarceration at Pulaski State Prison, I witnessed how inadequate staffing affected nearly every aspect of daily life. It compromised security, left women vulnerable to violence, contributed to extended lockdowns, and disrupted programs and other essential operations. However, I also believe the Georgia Department of Corrections failed to adequately manage and supervise the employees it already had. One of my greatest concerns involved mandatory inmate counts. I worked in the law library, which was housed within the general library. Our supervisor had a radio, and we could overhear count-related communications. There were occasions when I heard counts being cleared even though no count had been called in for the library. I witnessed similar problems in our dorm. During designated count times, we would be told that we could not leave because a count was taking place. Yet there were occasions when no officer ever entered our dorm to conduct a count, and movement would eventually resume as though the count had been completed. There were also times when an officer conducted a count but the number of women on our hallway was incorrect. Despite the discrepancy, the count was cleared for our area anyway. Another serious concern involved women living in dorms where they were not officially assigned. I personally knew of women who voluntarily stayed and slept in our dorm for weeks or even months despite being assigned to another housing unit. Many did so because they wanted to stay with a girlfriend. These were not authorized housing transfers. They were women effectively living in the wrong dorm without the discrepancy being identified and corrected for extended periods. To me, these were not minor procedural problems. They represented serious failures in institutional security and accountability. If correctional officers are not conducting accurate counts, and women can live in housing units where they are not officially assigned for weeks or months, how can prison officials reliably account for the people in their custody? How can they know whether someone is missing, injured, or in danger? I believe staffing shortages contributed significantly to these failures, but I also believe there was a lack of effective supervision and accountability. Hiring additional correctional officers is necessary, but those employees must also be properly trained, supervised, and held accountable for performing their duties. Ultimately, I believe lawmakers must recognize that these problems are interconnected. Understaffing, inadequate supervision, security failures, violence, overcrowding, and insufficient medical care all contribute to an environment where the safety and well-being of incarcerated women are at risk. If lawmakers changed one thing first, I would ask them to establish and enforce meaningful standards for staffing, supervision, and institutional accountability, supported by independent oversight. That oversight must also include the delivery of timely and appropriate medical care. I am not asking lawmakers to excuse the crimes that brought these women to prison or to eliminate accountability for their actions. I am asking them to recognize that the state must also be held accountable for how it carries out their sentences. The State of Georgia has a responsibility to protect the people it incarcerates. Until that responsibility is taken seriously and consistently enforced, meaningful prison reform will remain out of reach. --- ## Call to Action: What You Can Do Awareness without action changes nothing. Here's how you can help push for accountability and real reform: **Join the GPS Advocacy Network**: Sign up at [https://gps.press/become-an-advocate/](https://gps.press/become-an-advocate/) and we’ll advocate on your behalf every week. GPS identifies your state legislators, crafts personalized letters on the most pressing prison issues, and sends them directly to the representatives who represent you. You receive a copy of every letter. It takes two minutes to sign up, and we handle the rest. **Send a 60-Second Message**: Pick an issue, get a ready-to-edit message with the verified facts already in it, and email your state House representative and senator directly from your own inbox at [https://gps.press/send-a-message/.](https://gps.press/send-a-message/.) No signup, nothing stored. It takes about a minute. **Tell My Story**: Are you or a loved one affected by Georgia's prison system? GPS publishes first-person accounts from incarcerated people and their families. Submit your story at [https://gps.press/tellmystory](https://gps.press/tellmystory) and help the world understand what's really happening behind the walls. **Contact Your Representatives**: Your state legislators control GDC’s budget, oversight, and the laws that created these failures. Find your Georgia legislators at [https://gps.press/find-your-legislator/](https://gps.press/find-your-legislator/) or call Governor Kemp at (404) 656-1776 or the GDC Commissioner at (478) 992-5246. **Demand Media Coverage**: Contact newsrooms at the AJC, local TV stations, and national criminal justice outlets. More coverage means more pressure. **Amplify on Social Media**: Share this article and tag @GovKemp, @GDC_Georgia, and your local representatives. Use #GAPrisons, #PrisonReform, #GeorgiaPrisonerSpeak. **Message the Board of Corrections**: The citizen board that oversees the GDC publishes no contact details for its members. GPS built the missing front door: pick a board member and a policy message and send it from your own email at [https://gps.press/write-the-board/.](https://gps.press/write-the-board/.) **File Public Records Requests**: Georgia's Open Records Act gives every citizen the right to request incident reports, death records, staffing data, medical logs, and financial documents. Start with the GPS Action Toolkits at [https://gps.press/toolkits/.](https://gps.press/toolkits/.) The Open Records Toolkit walks you through what to ask for, gives you ready-to-file request templates, and tells you what to do when the state says no. File directly with GDC at [https://georgiadcor.govqa.us/WEBAPP/_rs/SupportHome.aspx.](https://georgiadcor.govqa.us/WEBAPP/_rs/SupportHome.aspx.) **Attend Public Meetings**: The Georgia Board of Corrections and legislative committees hold public meetings. Your presence is noticed. **Contact the Department of Justice**: File civil rights complaints at [https://civilrights.justice.gov.](https://civilrights.justice.gov.) Federal oversight has forced abusive systems to change before. **Support Organizations Doing This Work**: Donate to or volunteer with Georgia-based prison reform groups fighting for change on the ground. **Vote**: Research candidates' positions on criminal justice. Primary elections often determine outcomes in Georgia. **Contact GPS**: If you have information about conditions inside Georgia's prisons, reach us securely at GPS.press. --- ## Further Reading **[“I Am Telling You What I Saw”: A Letter From Georgia’s Women’s Prisons](https://gps.press/i-am-telling-you-what-i-saw-a-letter-from-georgias-womens-prisons/)** *Dr. Terry's September letter to lawmakers and the Department of Corrections, published in full.* **[A Woman Died of Tuberculosis at Pulaski State Prison. Families Had Been Warning for Ten Days.](https://gps.press/a-woman-died-of-tuberculosis-at-pulaski-state-prison-families-had-been-warning-for-ten-days/)** *What the state has confirmed about the TB death at Pulaski, what families report, and what GDC's own TB policy requires.* **[Three to a Cell: Georgia's Commissioner Says Single Cells Cut the Violence. Four Prisons Do the Opposite.](https://gps.press/three-to-a-cell-georgias-commissioner-says-single-cells-cut-the-violence-four-prisons-do-the-opposite/)** *How crowding works cell by cell, with a section on Pulaski's rooms built for two that hold three.* **[Two Commanders Say Georgia Hides Its Prison Staffing Crisis](https://gps.press/two-commanders-say-georgia-hides-its-prison-staffing-crisis/)** *Two former GDC commanders on how the staffing numbers the state reports hide the shortage.* **[Dunked, Stacked, and Served: Why Georgia Prison Trays Are Making People Sick](https://gps.press/dunked-stacked-and-served-why-georgia-prison-trays-are-making-people-sick/)** *Broken dishwashers and contaminated trays in Georgia's prison kitchens.* --- ## GPS Intelligence System The GPS Intelligence System maintains living research profiles that aggregate data, news, settlements, and analysis on Georgia's prisons and the issues defining them. The profiles below provide deeper context for the issues raised in this article: **[Pulaski State Prison](https://gps.press/intelligence/facility/pulaski-state-prison/)** *Everything GPS has gathered on Pulaski State Prison, where Dr. Terry spent almost two years.* **[Staffing Crisis](https://gps.press/intelligence/issue/staffing-crisis/)** *What short staffing looks like across Georgia's prisons, and what the records show about it.* --- ## Explore the Data GPS makes GDC statistics accessible to the public through several resources: - **[GPS Statistics Portal](https://gps.press/gdc-statistics/)**: Interactive dashboards translating complex GDC reports into accessible formats, updated within days of official releases. - **[GPS Lighthouse AI](https://gps.press/ask-ai/)**: Ask questions about Georgia's prison system and get answers drawn from GPS's investigative archive and data analysis. - **[GPS llms.txt](https://gps.press/llms.txt)**: A single machine-readable index of every GPS data resource, published using the open llms.txt standard. Point any AI tool (ChatGPT, Claude, Gemini, Perplexity) at this URL and the model can navigate to facility profiles, intelligence briefs, mortality records, statistics, and the full investigative archive, with no other configuration needed. It is the fastest way to ground an AI conversation in verified GPS data. - **[GPS Public MCP Server](https://data.gps.press/mcp)**: For AI tools that support the Model Context Protocol (Claude, ChatGPT, and others), connect directly to GPS’s data: read-only tools covering population, facilities, mortality, parole, the Georgia Code, settlements, and more. Every answer arrives with its source link and citation built in. For a walkthrough of how to put these resources to work with AI, see **[How to Use GPS Data with AI Tools](https://gps.press/how-to-use-gps-data-with-ai-tools/)**: a step-by-step guide for researchers, advocates, families, and journalists analyzing Georgia prison conditions, statistics, and policy with tools like ChatGPT, Claude, and Gemini. Contact GPS at media@gps.press for access to underlying datasets used in this analysis. --- ## About Georgia Prisoners' Speak (GPS) Georgia Prisoners' Speak (GPS) is a nonprofit investigative newsroom built in partnership with incarcerated reporters, families, advocates, and data analysts. Operating independently from the Georgia Department of Corrections, GPS documents the truth the state refuses to acknowledge: extreme violence, fatal medical neglect, gang-controlled dorms, collapsed staffing, fraudulent reporting practices, and unconstitutional conditions across Georgia's prisons. Through confidential reporting channels, secure communication, evidence verification, public-records requests, legislative research, and professional investigative standards, GPS provides the transparency the system lacks. Our mission is to expose abuses, protect incarcerated people, support families, and push Georgia toward meaningful reform based on human rights, evidence, and public accountability. Every article is part of a larger fight: to end the silence, reveal the truth, and demand justice. ![GPS Footer](https://gps.press/wp-content/uploads/2025/03/GPS-Ad2.jpg) ---