By Franklin Lee
“Do No Harm,” the first part of the Hippocratic Oath that all doctors, nurses, and medical response personal take prior to their professional career. An oath held in the highest esteem, but unfortunately not in all places. Not in an environment where violence and abuse run rampant due to lack of professionalism; proper health care is too common with second-rate food; housing is barren-cold with crumbling walls; and the mental anguish is traumatic. This is not some third world country; it is a typical California prison.
With the reality of mass incarceration, especially apparent in California prisons, the political and social push for prison reform continues to be a tug-of-war between those who believe in rehabilitation and those who want stricter policing in the war on crime. Perspectives of what prison should be range from college dorms to inhuman dog kennel-like accommodations.
Medical care is no different. Although medical services range from check-ups, lab work, surgeries, to even dental, vision, and transgender hormone therapy, they are all provided by California medical clinics, where the professionalism and human care many times seems to fall short of the oath and basic human needs.
One incarcerated resident, Ben S. (name withheld in fear of retaliation) encountered a situation that was life-or-death. Seventy years old and serving 42 years to life in prison, Ben had an atrial fibrillation since 2008. A tall, slim and healthy caucasian male, covered with tattoos, Ben came to Mule Creek State Prison five years ago, turning in his hardcore lifestyle for a more productive one on a “program yard.” Ben worked hard every day, maintaining the sanitation of his pod (dayroom) and building, earning the trust of residents and officers alike.
In mid-June 2022, Ben took a fall near the stairwell in the dayroom, hitting his head on a bolt and crossbar that supported the stairs. Waking from his blackout, Ben was taken to medical and had a CT scan. Nothing showed up on the scan and he was released back to his building. Within two months, Ben’s cognitive abilities and balance progressively declined. “I never felt anything wrong, Ben commented. “At my age, I felt some (of it) was faulty anyways.” He first noticed his workstation was rearranged even though he was meticulous in keeping things in place. His co-worker, Charles E., would remind him of the tasks he had already completed (including rearranging his workspace). Ben recalled his first incident—falling out of his dorm room a year ago. Believing it was caused by getting up too fast, he rejected the opportunity to visit medical. He felt there was no need, but he did worry whether something was wrong with his heart. Having a heart monitor implanted in his chest from the prior heart condition, he believed the doctors were already monitoring his condition. After his next incident, his cardiologist checked his heart monitor and found nothing to be concerned about. Since then, he has experienced memory lapses, like forgetting what he was doing or the passing of long periods while sitting on his bed. His memory would be waking in a hospital bed with two officers standing guard.
Mark M., Ben’s roommate, recalls what happened a few days prior to Ben’s stay in the hospital, which led to brain injury. On that Sunday in late August, Mark noticed Ben complaining of headaches and always in a daze, he described as “like being on auto-pilot.” During the week prior to his hospital visit, Ben had taken another stumble during dinner service, collapsing over a table. Refusing medical attention again, he returned back to work. Later he would forget the day, zone out on his bed, and be in a trance. Finally, Mark decided he could not sit around and watch his friend’s health deteriorate.
With the help of three other inmates, Mark got Ben down the stairs and into a wheelchair, and with the officer’s permission, he brought Ben to the facility medical center. The on-call nurse stated that Ben was already scheduled for a doctor appointment the following day and he went back to his bedroom. Ben’s condition got worse and once again Mark made a plea to get him back to medical. The same nurse, now at the end of her shift, once again made her decision to send Ben back to his housing unit to wait for the following day’s appointment. It would take both the oncoming nurse arriving for the next shift and the clinic’s custody officer on duty to make a statement that Ben was in no condition to return back to his room, and making an urgent call to get him admitted to the emergency room. It was reported by another officer that Ben was admitted to Sutter Hospital and immediately air-lifted to UC Davis Medical Center for emergency brain surgery due to a brain bleed. Had he waited another day, he would not have survived.
Ben described being in a drug-induced haze, recovering from his first surgery to drain the fluid built up in his head. His second surgery took artery material from his wrist and patched up the affected area of his brain. Five days later he returned to the prison with 27 staples and a couple of sutures sealing the large cut on the right side of his skull and hole drilled at the crown.
Days after the incident, Ben slowly returned back to his duties. Having come so close to visit from the Grim Reaper, he stated, “I don’t expect a whole lot from CDCR. They don’t do anything really fast unless your bleeding or dying.” Ben wasn’t at all surprised by the first nurse’s reaction. Too often inmates come into medical with fictitious symptoms and frivolous complaints to gain sympathy and attention.
As for following up on how his situation was handled, Ben’s fears of retaliation are all too common among the incarcerated. His biggest fear would be to be transferred to a different facility, surrounded by no one who would care for him like Mark and Charles did. “If I die, I’d rather be around people who cared about me.”
Unfortunately, not everyone is as lucky as Ben. Early this October, another incarcerated resident succumbed to medical neglect. A 70-something inmate who had served 34 years, Gary B. died early in the morning of October 5. He collapsed on the floor right in front of the correctional officer’s desk. According to his roommate, Jason D., Gary had been dealing with a dry heave cough for the previous days, which had progressed enough for immediate medical attention. While at an outside clinic, the doctor noticed a mass in his abdomen area near the liver. After returning to the prison, Gary’s condition worsened. Mark, Ben’s roommate, even witnessed Gary at the facility’s medical center complaining about his abdominal pain. He was turned away that night because he had a colonoscopy appointment the following day. “Medical said he was faking and refused to see him and sent him away,” Charles later said.
The following morning, Jason noticed his cellmate still gagging and pale. At the morning unlock, Gary walked out towards the officer’s desk in the building rotunda. Staggering, even falling on one knee, Gary’s last request for medical attention was dire, he collapsed in a heap. Even when administered CPR, Gary did not revive. “Sometimes people are playing, hypochondriacs, but maybe they could have paid a little more attention to him,” commented Jason.
Not all medical experiences in prison end in tragedy, though. Jason shared a story from a couple of months prior. He had woken up one morning with red spots on the left side of his face which later spread throughout the upper-left side. In fear for his one good eye, Jason sought medical attention. At the medical center, one doctor expressed no concern and was ready to release him, while another doctor intervened, calling it a CODE-1 emergency for possible shingles. The virus had attacked the cranial nerve which could have resulted in him losing his eye if not treated. While at UC Davis Medical, he was checked out and given anti-bacterial medication which made his condition worse. Jason returned back to his facility doctor who, reviewed the prescription and changed the medication for antiviral treatment. Immediately, Jason’s infection cleared up.
There are too many stories like Ben, Gary, and Jason throughout prisons across America. Prison medical personnel shouldn’t have to be reminded of their duty in humane care, no matter if patients are inmates or citizens, and understand the true meaning of “Do No Harm.”
Franklin Lee is incarcerated at Mule Creek State Prison
