Nomadic Nurse Diaries

Dear Prison Gods,

Today marks the beginning of a new chapter in my illustrious, adrenaline-fueled, and occasionally disaster-prone nursing career: prison nursing. Yes, you read that right. I’ve swapped the life-support machines and the frantic beep-beep-beep of the ICU for the clang of prison doors and the dubious honor of providing healthcare in a place most people would rather not think about. Because, let’s face it, there’s as much information online about prison nursing as there is about the mating habits of the elusive Antarctic aardvark.

So, here I am, a thirty-something-year-old woman with a zest for adventure and a penchant for finding herself in the most unusual circumstances, about to embark on an experience that promises to be equal parts challenging and enlightening. I’ve always believed that everyone deserves quality healthcare, no matter who they are or what they’ve done. After all, it’s not like compassion is a limited resource. So why not extend it to those society often forgets?

First things first, let’s address the elephant in the room: prison. The word alone is enough to conjure up images of dank, dark cells and orange jumpsuits. The reality, of course, is more nuanced, but my imagination has been running wild. What must their lives be like? Cut off from the outside world, their routines dictated by strict schedules and rules. It’s a far cry from the freedom I enjoy in my cozy van with my faithful dog and cat, my little family of three traversing the USA one highway at a time.

One of the biggest adjustments will undoubtedly be the night shifts. There’s a part of me that’s apprehensive about being alone at night in such a setting. Let’s just say I’m not particularly thrilled about the prospect of hearing every creak and clang when the sun goes down. Plus, no phones allowed. That’s right—my trusty lifeline to the outside world will be locked away, leaving me to rely on my wits and a good old-fashioned landline for emergencies. It’s almost quaint, really. Almost.

Then there’s the fear of making dumb mistakes. The ICU was my domain, my playground of controlled chaos where I knew exactly what to do. Prison nursing? That’s a whole new ball game. No call lights, no poop (hallelujah!), and definitely no overbearing family members insisting they know better because they read an article on WebMD. But the flip side? What if I mess up? What if I miss something critical because I’m still learning the ropes? The anxiety is real, my friends.

But let’s not forget the positives. I won’t have to deal with call lights ringing incessantly like a deranged symphony. I won’t be dodging poop grenades or mediating family dramas that rival the best (or worst) reality TV shows. Instead, I get to focus on the patients. People who, despite their circumstances, deserve the same level of care and compassion as anyone else. It’s a chance to make a real difference, to be an advocate in an environment that sorely needs it.

So here’s to new beginnings, to stepping out of my comfort zone, and to learning more about a facet of healthcare that doesn’t get nearly enough attention. I’m excited, I’m nervous, and I’m ready to embrace the adventure with open arms (and maybe a taser, just in case).

Wish me luck!

P.S. Give me tips on how to smuggle said taser into work, please thx ❤

Until next time,
The Nomadic Nurse