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| Georgia Death Chamber |
I am dropped off at the Georgia Diagnostic and Classification State Prison as a witness to an execution. I am uncomfortable, but as a physician providing expert anesthesiology testimony in lethal injection cases, I feel compelled to see this for myself.
The afternoon is hot and muggy, and I am standing in a field bounded by a yellow rope. I am overdressed in a suit jacket and was not planning on being outside. What does one wear to an execution?
Several corrections officers soon approach. This staging area is full of corrections officers in paramilitary regalia. It's off-putting, and I can't help but wonder what the show of firepower and force is supposed to convey. What army would attack such an event?
I am expected. My name is found on the invited list, and I am addressed politely as Dr. Zivot, but I am asked to hand over my suit jacket (which actually is a relief) and also my cell phone, watch, pen, and wallet -- everything except for my driver's license. They inform me that all will be returned at my departure.
Now I am alone, unable to communicate with anyone or even note the passage of time. They reassure me that a van will arrive shortly to drive me to the prison. I am struck by my loss of independence. Usually, when it is known that I am a physician, some social deference is shown me without asking, and the loss of control unnerves me. I have been warned in advance that I cannot protest or I will be refused entry, and so I go along obediently.
A corrections officer pulls up in a van and takes me to another building where I pass through a metal detector and am asked to produce my identification. I soon realize that my driver is actually my guard and I am unsure if he is protecting me or constraining me.
We are taken to an office and I am told to wait for further instruction. A clock is on the wall and I am grateful for that information. Five hours pass. From time to time, I am provided with an odd selection of food, a sort of prison hospitality. It doesn't feel like I can refuse these offerings and I cannot imagine what social custom applies here.
At some point, I need to use the restroom and after asking permission, I am followed into the toilet itself. No one is unkind and some are even pleasant. Still, my loss of freedom is complete, and deep within this prison I rely on my host/captors to guide me.
An official arrives and informs me that it is time to leave, and we drive to yet another building. It is dark now and the road is poorly lit, lined by corrections officers in body armor holding automatic weapons. We pass through a barbed-wire gate, probably 20 feet in height. The van is trapped in a fenced area. More corrections officers inspect it. They open the hood and use mirrors to examine its chassis.
When we're waved through, we drive across an open field to a small, unmarked building -- no larger than a trailer -- next to a basketball court. A van marked "Coroner" pulls up next to us. Men in body armor, with weapons drawn, guard this building. We wait outside. The night is still and the air is warm and muggy, typical for Georgia at this time of year.
Source: Med Page Today, Joel Zivot, MD, August 17, 2014. In this guest post, Joel Zivot, MD, of Emory University Hospital, recounts witnessing an execution by lethal injection, and laments the secrecy surrounding the identity of physicians who participate.