Nomadic Nurse Diaries

Dear Coffee Gods of Overthinking,

So, I got this email today, and it’s got me thinking. Thinking in the way that keeps me up at 2 a.m., staring at the ceiling of my van and wondering what life choices led me here. It’s a nursing contract. In California. At a supermax prison.

Supermax, as in the final boss level of prisons, where the inmates probably have more tattoos than I do nursing certifications (and I have a lot). And I don’t know what’s scarier—the idea of having to get my California nurse license (why do states need to make that process harder than assembling IKEA furniture blindfolded?) or the fact that this prison is apparently like Shawshank, but without the uplifting Morgan Freeman voiceover.

Let’s be real, though. I’ve done exactly one corrections nursing contract, so I’m not exactly seasoned in this whole world. I know just enough inmate lingo to be dangerous, and I’ve gotten pretty good at dodging spitballs (an underrated skill). But this? This is a whole new level. I imagine it’s like upgrading from babysitting the neighborhood kids to wrangling velociraptors. Are you entertained?

Would I be good at it? Absolutely. Do I want to be? Ehhhh… that’s the question.

On one hand, I’ve always said I wanted to push myself. Growth, right? Isn’t that what all the motivational Instagram posts are about? Chase your fears and run toward discomfort—which, by the way, I’m 99% sure was written by someone who’s never had to tell a guy named “Snake” that he’s not getting his contraband Tylenol.

But then there’s the other hand, which is currently holding my third cup of coffee and whispering, Are you crazy?

Also, I’d have to move to California. Thankfully, rent isn’t a problem because, well, I live in a van. The real issue? California traffic. I’d have to spend my downtime on the 405, which might actually be more terrifying than the supermax itself. And let’s not forget the people who say things like, “Let’s go do yoga on the beach at sunrise.” My sunrise involves me in scrubs, praying to the caffeine gods, not saluting the sun with a downward dog.

And here’s the kicker: Is it weird that, despite the stress, despite the chaos, I kind of love corrections nursing? I love that no two days are the same, that I’m constantly on my toes, and that I can make a difference in the most unexpected places. But a supermax? Am I ready to deal with the worst of the worst while still trying to maintain my sarcastic charm and a reasonably functioning nervous system? I’d like to think so, but… I mean, I’m not a superhero. I’m just a nurse who once got friend-zoned by a guy shorter than me (still not over it).

So, do I take the plunge into the deep end of prison nursing? Or do I keep swimming in the slightly safer, less-supermax waters I’m already in? The jury’s still out. But if I do end up in California, someone’s going to need to send me regular shipments of good coffee and maybe a playlist of soothing whale sounds.

In the meantime, I’ll just sit here, overthinking and Googling, “How hard is it to get a California nursing license?”

Love,
Your Not-Quite-Supermax-But-Maybe-Considering-It Nurse