By Kevin Light-Roth / For The Herald

Before he came to Washington Corrections Center, Vincent Burnett had gone six years without a epileptic seizure.

He began suffering from them after he was shot in the head more than a decade ago, but thanks to the medication Lamictal, an anti-epileptic medication, the seizures had been under control. “When I take my meds, I’m good,” Burnett says. “I went years and never had a problem.”

That changed when he transferred from the Monroe Correctional Complex in January of 2023. Upon arrival there, Burnett’s medication was inexplicably halved.

“I’ve been taking Lamictal twice a day for 11 years,” Burnett said. “But as soon as I got here they cut me down to one pill at night.” He asked nurses why his prescription had been altered. He was provided no explanation.

Frustrated, and afraid of what might happen, Burnett wrote to the prison’s medical provider, explaining that his medication — at its previous dose — was the only thing keeping his condition in check. The provider responded that Burnett would be seen immediately, without acknowledging the issue. The reduced dosage was not corrected.

Then, that May, Burnett was in his cell when he suddenly felt dizzy. The world clouded over. He fell to the floor, with his cellmate watching anxiously from the doorway, telling him that medical staff were on their way. For the first time since 2017, he’d had a seizure.

Despite this indication that his seizure medication was insufficient, and his continued pleas for his prescribed dose, the prison kept him on a once-daily regimen. He again wrote to his medical provider, and the provider again said he would be scheduled for a check-up, never acknowledging the issue.

Another seizure followed in July. Afterward, staff transported him to the infirmary, but sent him back to his living unit after a few minutes, without performing any tests other than measuring his vital signs.

He fell into another seizure two hours later. “It was the first time I’ve ever had two seizures in a row,” Burnett said. The second seizure was more violent. Burnett collapsed in a hallway, directly in front of a nurse who was distributing medication. As he thrashed uncontrollably on the ground, Burnett said his head struck the concrete floor again and again.

Returned to the infirmary, medical staff insisted dehydration had triggered the attacks. Burnett disagrees: “It didn’t have anything to do with dehydration. I know how much water I was drinking. They’re just trying to cover their tracks because they know they should’ve kept me up there after the first seizure and they know they’ve only been giving me half my medication.”

Medical staff locked him in an observation cell, where cameras watched him eat, sleep, shower and use the bathroom. He remained there two days. “They might as well have put me in the hole,” Burnett said.

When he was finally permitted to return to his unit on the morning of July 20, 2023, a nurse admonished him to take his medication, as if his irresponsibility were to blame for the seizures. That night Burnett waited in a medication dispensation line for his Lamictal. The nurse in charge didn’t have it. He walked to the infirmary to ask what was going on and was turned away. Medical staff maintained that he only needed his medication once per day, and threatened to write him up for a rule violation if he didn’t leave.

Burnett’s situation is hardly unique. The Vera Institute, a nonprofit advocacy group, estimates hundreds of prisoners die each year as a direct result of deficient medical care. The indifference and incompetence of prison medical staff often rise to the level of criminal negligence. In June of 2023, authorities charged several nurses at Michigan’s Alger Correctional Facility with manslaughter in connection to the death of a prisoner in their care. Similar charges have been filed in at least five states over the last two years alone.

At Washington Corrections Center, Burnett is still navigating the medical bureaucracy, hoping to get his condition under control again. But he had another seizure in November, and this year, another on April 7, and two more on May 11. His faith in the state Department of Corrections medical staff has eroded entirely.

“Who knows what they’ll do. There was no reason for them to mess with my meds in the first place,” Burnett said. “They never even tested me for a concussion when the nurse saw me hit my head.”

“Either they don’t care,” he said, “or they really want me to die.”

Kevin Light-Roth is from Tacoma. He is currently incarcerated at a Washington prison, where he works to organize the prison community around legislative bills. He is a regular contributor to the Information For A Change legislative update page on Facebook.

Editor’s note: The state Department of Corrections was provided an opportunity to respond or comment. After several months, no response beyond acknowledgement of receipt was provided.