Matthew Heath has an idea of what life in prison was like for Marc Fogel.

Heath, a former U.S. Marine, was wrongfully detained in Venezuela in September 2020.

He remained there for more than two years, held captive in a Caracas prison known as La Casa de los Sueños — the House of Dreams.

“It was awful,” Heath told TribLive on Thursday. “You’re in so much trouble, it’s beyond your ability to resolve the problem. The only people that can help you are the president, the national security advisor and the secretary of state.”

Heath said that prisoners were regularly tortured, and there were constant human rights violations. He was hospitalized twice for injuries inflicted on him by the guards.

Eventually, Heath and six other detainees were traded back to the U.S. for two nephews of Venezuelan President Nicolas Maduro. They had been imprisoned in America for drug trafficking.

“I was in shock,” Heath said. “You can’t believe that the nightmare has come to an end.”

Heath and the others were flown to Brooke Army Medical Center at Fort Sam Houston in San Antonio, where he remained for two weeks for medical treatment, mental health therapy and debriefing, known as “Post-Isolation Support Activities.”

It is the same place where more prominent detainees, like WNBA star Brittney Griner and Wall Street Journal reporter Evan Gershkovich, both former prisoners of Russia, went for treatment.

And it is where Fogel — the former Oakmont teacher who was released Tuesday from Russian captivity — is now as he takes his first steps readjusting to life as a free man.

Held initially in Moscow and then moved to a penal colony hours away, Fogel spent three-and-a-half years in Russian custody.

U.S. Special Envoy Steve Witkoff flew to Russia on a private jet and negotiated Fogel’s release.

Fogel flew back to Joint Base Andrews in Maryland Tuesday night, and an hour later, met with the president in the Diplomatic Reception Room at the White House.

On Wednesday, after spending the night at a Washington, D.C. luxury hotel, Fogel was flown to Brooke Army Medical Center to begin the process of reintegrating into American society.

“There might be times when years after the case, where memories come up,” said Liz Cathcart, the executive director of Hostage US, a nonprofit that works with freed Americans and their families.

But, she added, “People recover from this and go on to live very good lives.”

El Tigrito

Heath, 43, of Knoxville, Tenn., was on his way to Aruba to visit friends and travel through Venezuela when his taxi was stopped at a military checkpoint on Sept. 11, 2020, he said.

As soon as he showed the officers his American passport, Heath was immediately detained and accused of working for the U.S. government.

Venezuelan officials said Heath was plotting an attack on their energy infrastructure and tried him for terrorism and treason.

For much of his two years of captivity, Heath was often kept in solitary confinement.

The prison itself, constructed inside a parking garage at Venezuela’s domestic law enforcement headquarters, was cramped. It didn’t meet any human right standards, he said.

One of the things prisoners feared most there, he said, was El Tigrito, or the little tiger.

It was a room the size of a broom closet where prisoners would be punished. It was too small to sit down. There was no food, no water, no light.

“Just the threat of it would change behavior,” Heath said. “I was sent there six times. I was not a model prisoner.”

Heath used his Marine training — he served from 1999 to 2003 — to resist.

“You look for the small victories,” he said. “Whatever they wanted, I would do the opposite.”

He broke the surveillance camera in his cell — and every one his captors placed there after.

“They eventually stopped putting cameras in my cell,” Heath said.

Even though conditions were difficult, Heath said he had only two brief moments of despair during his 753 days of captivity.

“I had an unshakeable faith in the United States government,” he said. “I wasn’t happy, but I had a very strong confidence the U.S. government was not going to leave me behind.

“The challenge was to have patience until the political stars aligned.”

Around 6 a.m. on Oct. 1, 2022, Heath was awakened and told he was going home.

“I told them to get out of my room and let me sleep. ‘Get out of my cell,’ ” he said. “I didn’t believe them.”

But it was true.

He and six other prisoners were flown to the tiny island of Canouan in the Caribbean around noon. As they sat on the plane waiting, then-U.S. Special Presidential Envoy for Hostage Affairs Roger Carstens landed with Maduro’s nephews.

The countries exchanged prisoners.

“The whole time I was walking, I kept thinking they were going to grab me and drag me back,” Heath said.

But finally, he was on the American plane. By 11 p.m., he arrived at Fort Sam Houston.

Fogel has not publicly discussed his release in detail beyond comments made at the White House. But his journey also involved an abrupt exit and a plane ride home.

“They came and pulled me out, I had a mask on, I couldn’t see where I was going, and they were moving me,” Fogel told a presidential entourage moments after he met Trump on the South Lawn of the White House. “There was a point, I think it was today … they brought me my clothes.”

Earlier, the U.S. government had released a photograph of Fogel aboard Witkoff’s private jet, holding a glass to his lips and a plate of cheese and grapes in his hand.

‘Soft landing’

Heath said his time at Brooke Army Medical Center was much like any regular hospital stay. Patients have their own rooms and are kept away from others to guard their privacy.

“They bring you the not-great food,” Heath said. “But it tasted like a million bucks because it was in freedom.”

The staff, he said, was amazing.

“It was one of the most professional experiences I’ve ever had in my whole life,” he said. “They cared.”

The Post-Isolation Support Activities, said Cathcart, of Hostage US, include debriefing, a thorough medical examination, mental health care and practical assistance, as well as dealing with financial and legal concerns.

“It’s focused on providing a soft landing,” she said.

A U.S. State Department spokesman said that the Post-Isolation Support Activities program was created by the Department of Defense for soldiers who were held hostage, and then adapted for wrongful detainees.

Although it is not required for people returning to participate in it, it is strongly recommended, the spokesman said, especially if the person was held for a lengthy period of time.

Most often, according to the State Department, returned prisoners remain there for a week or two.

Although they offered Heath as much as a month, he said he left in half that time.

“I was in pretty good shape,” Heath said. “I was very eager to go home.”

In the early days, Heath said, there were a lot of medical appointments with specialists and medical tests.

Immediate physical challenges facing some returned prisoners can include malnutrition, vitamin deficiency and muscle wasting, Cathcart said.

But there is also a lot of mental health care. Heath said he had both individual and group therapy sessions.

Released detainees learn about stress reactions and coping skills, Cathcart said. Some people also have post-traumatic stress disorder, Cathcart said, though not always.

“Some folks inherently have resiliency skills — or build them in captivity,” she said.

While he remained at Brooke Army Medical Center, Heath said, his mother and aunt stayed in VIP housing on Fort Sam Houston.

“It was the nicest housing I’ve ever seen,” he said. “If it was a hotel, it was a five-star hotel.”

In addition to working with the returnees, the government provides services for family members, too.

Changing family dynamics can impact a prisoner’s return, Cathcart said.

“Your family will have continued their life without you,” she said. “So coming home can be emotionally challenging — to figure out what that looks like moving forward.”

Sometimes, the roles in the family have to be re-evaluated.

“Oftentimes, the family needs continued support because they’ve gone through years having this traumatic thing happening to them,” she said. “It’s a big switch for families and a really challenging one.”

Filling the gaps

Once a detainee is released from Fort Sam Houston, most government intervention ends.

The State Department spokesman said that the special presidential envoy for hostage affairs is authorized to provide wrongful detainees up to five years of medical services. Funding has been approved, according to the State Department, but the mechanism to allocate it is still being worked out.

“From a service side, the practical side,” Cathcart said, “Hostage US fills that gap now.”

The group is the only entity in the country providing continuing services to returned prisoners, she said.

Founded in 2016, Hostage US said an estimated 200 Americans are taken hostage overseas every year.

“We are here to help families survive this terrifying ordeal and help former hostages rebuild their life after captivity,” according to the group’s website.

“There’s a massive gap from when the government support ends,” Cathcart said.

For the returnees, Hostage US provides a coach to help them with initial coping skills and then matches them to a therapist trained in trauma, Cathcart said.

Her organization currently provides services to 40 clients, including families with a loved one still missing.

About 70% of their clients are returned prisoners.

Heath said that after he returned to his home in Knoxville, he lived with his dad.

“I didn’t function very well for the first three or four months,” he said. “I’m not sure I could have taken care of myself.”

The adjustment was jarring — and that was outside of the financial repercussions Heath faced with canceled bank accounts and credit cards. His vehicle was repossessed.

“The readjustment process is like you come back from the dead,” he said. “You have to restart everything.”

In a video on the Hostage US website explaining the group’s work, Amy Manson, a founder of the organization, described the challenges associated with suddenly going from confinement to freedom.

“We at Hostage US find that returning hostages probably struggle most with returning to normal,” Manson said. “How is life normal when you have been psychologically abused? You may have suffered malnutrition. You may have muscle wastage. You’ve had a near-death experience, and so how do you return to normal?”

Since his release, Heath, who works as a security consultant, began volunteering with Hostage US. He hopes to prevent what happened to him from happening to others. It also gives him a sense of purpose.

“I don’t let my detainment define me. It’s not who I am. I’m a father. I’m a veteran. I’m a proud U.S. citizen.”

In January 2024, 16 months after his release, Heath said he had an epiphany.

“It struck me how happy I was, how much my life had improved,” he said. “It’s easy for me to have a good attitude because I have so many blessings in my life.”

Heath said he’s followed Fogel’s story.

“I want to send my good wishes,” Heath said. “I’m really, really happy for him and his family.”