Hey NURSE! Stories from my time at the county jail

This will, most likely, be my last post about my time at the county jail. Which is why I've resisted writing it for so long. After this, there isn't much more to say about the subject.

Don't worry though, I'll still write posts about my crazy adventures as a nurse.

When I tell people I was a jail nurse, they ask if I was ever scared of the inmates. I tell them no, the inmates were easy. First of all, it was county lock up. They were locked up for drunk driving, marijuana charges, failure to pail child support or just being a disorderly conduct regular. It was not prison. Most people were doing a year or less. Mostly for being a dumbass.

Also, the inmates want things from you. So they are charming and nice.

The problem with working in the county jail was the guards. Let me state that I would never, ever, ever want to be a guard. It's all watching the inmates, wearing horrible polyester uniforms and being underpaid. It's shift work and boring.

It's also a highly masculine group. All crew cuts, dick jokes and guns on the hips. Even the women were masculine, mostly butch lesbians. The guards didn't like the nursing staff. We were viewed as interlopers. Tending to the inmates with bleeding hearts.

For me, it was an uneasy relationship at first. As a nurse, I carried a disdainful moniker. However, I am a lovely and chipper individual. It's hard not to like me. Also, I don't bristle at dick jokes.

What made the biggest difference was that I never tried to be part of their boy's club. I never tried to be tough, hard or mean. In fact, I was kind and caring. These are areas I excel at. I also kept my head down and worked without complaint. This eventually broke down a number of barriers. A number of the guards softened and would seek out my opinion. Perhaps there was even respect.

Well, perhaps not.

Part of my job was to triage emergencies. On certain shifts, I was a lone nurse with no back up. If an inmate had a problem I couldn't handle, I would have them sent out to an ER. The guards didn't like this. To send an inmate out means a lot of work for them. They couldn't block my decision, but they sure as hell could try.

Such was the case with a pregnant inmate who reported spotting in her seventh month. This was not something I was qualified to treat. I wanted her out and in the hands of an ER. A lead guard, a man in his fifties, visited my office. I liked this guard. He and I would talk about turkey hunting. Which is more difficult than it sounds apparently.

We stood in my office, facing each other. He was trying to explain how it wasn't possible to send her out. I was tired, about 8 months pregnant with my son. I was very aware of how I appeared to him. Some chick nurse, pandering to an inmate, bleeding heart blah blah. He did his best to intimidate me. He was a good foot taller, much beefier and lest we forget, black gun on the hip.

But here's the thing, he couldn't stop me. Guards could not overrule me. I knew this. So I let the guard go on about how this inmate was lying and had lied to every nurse. How she was playing me for a fool. How I was forcing him to waste his guards' time. His anger flushed through me and I had to sit down.

But I didn't care. I didn't care if she was lying. I didn't care if she was faking. I didn't care about any of it. She was my patient and I had made the call. It wasn't about her, or me. I am a nurse, I get things done for those in need. The guard wasn't going to stop me. I was plowing through his wall of no and he knew it.

After this incident, things soured considerably. It just wasn't fun anymore. I think the concrete walls were getting to me. But, this was one of the last jobs I had as a nurse. I was climbing my way towards nurse practitioner. I was kind of done with it anyway. I left the job about a month later.

I eventually found out the inmate was lying. She would use the ER trips to smoke dope. Against my better judgement I felt insulted by this. I had been used. My powers of good were used for evil.

I eventually saw that guard again. At a grocery store no less. He yelled out "Hey NURSE!" Which is how I was usually addressed at the jail. We said polite hellos. He bought a box of coronas and one lime on top. Then he walked to his car.

I CAN SAY THIS.

There is not one person undeserving of care, no matter the lying, cheating, stealing, killing or the ugly. It can be challenging for me. But, I try to remember I am hard wired for mercy, kindness and caring. These are my gifts and no better place to use them then as a nurse.

Hey NURSE! Stories from my time at the County Jail

A brief caveat here. This post is a bit graphic. No more so than CSI. But, still, you might want to put down your lunch. It's also a bit long for my taste. But, I promise though, if you can man up and make it through, it's well worth the journey.



One of my jobs at the county jail was "short visit nurse" at the central jailhouse. The jailhouse had an exam room in the basement that I would work out of. It had some medical supplies, a blood pressure cuff, thermometer, some bandages and an otoscope. There was an exam table placed diagonally across the center of the room. The room looked a lot like this.



Every morning I would receive a roster of about 40 inmates. The list would have their name and inmate number. It would usually have one word describing the inmate's health concern. Most of the time it would say, "Rash" or "Cough" or "Blood pressure check". Sometimes it would say, "teeth" or "crack tooth". It was an interesting mix of common inmate health problems.

Either way, I saw inmates in 20 minute intervals and did what nurses do. Which is to assess the patient, determine and execute a course of nursing treatment. All while educating them all about it. I had been a nurse for about five years at that point. I was well schooled in the art of delivering a direct and efficient hit of quality nursing care.

While the job required no grand skills, it afforded me the chance to relax. I only worked every other weekend, nine to five. Plus, I didn't know these inmates. I did not need to hear their whole story, just the bits required to do an excellent job. I was about 7 months pregnant and going to school part time to become a nurse practitioner. My daughter was 3 years old. This easy breezy job was exactly what I needed.

One Sunday morning, after assessing a particularly nasty rash, I was washing my hands and looking over the roster. The next inmate was to be seen for "stitches". This meant he needed stitches removed. I pulled out the sterilized kit. It contained tweezers and a pair of sharp little scissors. I set up the supplies on the exam side table.

Two guards arrived flanking the inmate, resplendent in brown polyester uniforms. He had silver ankle chains attached to a waist chain attached to handcuffs. Standard operating procedure. The inmate was gigantic. About seven feet tall and 300 pounds. Shaq size. He had massive black dreadlocks skimming the waist chain. He carried himself like most the inmates did. A fully formed and upright badass, about the see the nurse.

After the hardware was removed, he sat on the exam table. I thought he was going to break the thing with his massive proportions. I washed my hands again and introduced myself using only my first name. The florescent lighting buzzed overhead. He put his hands on his knees and made poor eye contact. He looked tired. Then I said, "So, where are your stitches?"

In one smooth motion, he turned his palms up. Supination is the technical term. He revealed about fifteen to twenty slash marks up and down each forearm. There was no pattern. It looked like he just hacked away with a very sharp and straight edge blade. Then, I imagine, after he was done with one arm, he transferred the knife to the other hand and began slashing anew. There were about 200 stitches in all. This presented a problem. This was going to take a while. Longer than 20 minutes.

I flipped on the goose neck lamp and got to work. The sutures were clean, the skin was warm to the touch, uniform in color. No drainage or other signs of infection. "Looks good and clean," I said. "Removing the stitches shouldn't hurt that much, it feels like plucking hairs." He nodded, continuing to make poor eye contact. Massive shoulders slightly hunched. I got to work.

I would clip a black stitch with my scissors and pluck it out with the tweezers. Sometimes the skin had grown over the stitch making it more difficult. I would dig, then clip, then pluck. He would twitch or grunt. I would say, "Boy, that was a tough one.", and try to sound encouraging. Mostly though, we said nothing. It was very quiet. The guards were still standing guard, flanking the exam table. I clipped and plucked, clipped and plucked. After about twenty minutes, my back started screaming.

The exam table was lower than my waist. I had a huge pregnant belly. Which meant I was bending at a awkward angle with my big gravida belly hanging forward. I stood up, rubbed my back. "Whew! You're sure making me work here!" I said and smiled. He made eye contact for the first time but didn't change his badass expression. A moment passed. We still had about 100 stitches to go. "Ok, let's get back to it. We're almost done.", I said gently.

Whoever stitched the stitches did a good job. It was fascinating seeing the different layers his skin. He had hacked through a different layers at different angles. His bark brown pigment was just the surface layer. Underneath was gleaming white sheathes of dermis and smooth tendons.

Surprisingly, with all his frenzied hashing, he didn't hit any veins. I could see the vessels pulsing underneath. It was all very fascinating. He took no notice but preferred to stare straight ahead. Eyelids hooded.

After another 50 stitches I told the officers I needed a break. My face was sweaty and my back was down right spasming. There was no room in the exam room for me to sit. I hopped up on the counter next to the sink. After catching my breath I looked right at him. He looked at me, no longer sneering. It was a soft exchange. Then I said, "You weren't messing around were you?"

"No, no I wasn't." He said plainly. For one brief moment there was a window. I saw and felt it. It was right there, standing in front of me like a big red fire truck blaring it's yellow orange sirens. But, I didn't take it. I didn't ask what happened.

"You don't have to tell me what happened. We are almost done here." Then I hopped down and finished the job. All told the job took about an hour. It was the most stitches I had ever removed in one sitting.

Hey NURSE! Stories from my time at the county jail

I was a County Jail nurse for about a year. I was reminded of this by a certain number two sister.

If you have even seen an episode of COPS, you pretty much have a complete picture of the County Jail Inmates A.K.A. my patients. Go ahead now, picture them in your head . . . no shirt, no shoes, running their mouth off, white trash . . . ahhh . . good times, good times.

My time at the County Jail is a veritable treasure trove of crazy nurse stories. So, let's begin shall we?

Mr. Johnson had come in four hours prior to my shift. He was loaded on alcohol and had been driving. Drove into the center median, jumped out of his car, ran across the oncoming lanes of traffic and kept on running.

Can ya hear the theme song people?. . . bad boys bad boys, whatyagonnado-ooh. . .

Can ya see it? Lone white male, wearing cut off shorts, barefoot and drunk as hell, drives off road, jumps out of the car and gives foot chase to the police.

Dark nighttime sky, flash lights beams waving all around. K-9 unit is dispatched, police dog barking crazily. They police begin to shout:

"STOP!!! THIS IS THE POLICE!!! IF YOU DO NOT STOP WE WILL RELEASE THE DOG!!"

Ruff ruff BARK BARK BARK GRRR, RUFF RUFF!!

SIR!! IF YOU DO NOT STOP WE WILL RELEASE THE DOG AND HE WILL STOP YOU!!! SIR, THIS IS THE POLICE!!! STOP RUNNING AND GET DOWN ON THE GROUND!!!

Yet the suspect keeps running. Cause he's an idiot, and drunk, and maybe he thinks if he runs fast enough, he will outrun the-

BARK BARK!!! RUFF RUFF GRRR!!!

Again, idiot.

For the love of God people, if the police say GET DOWN, get the fuck down ok??? Jeez. Listen to the nurse here. please.



Now, I have met the K-9 in question. All sorts of friendly. He is a family dog to one of the deputies. German Shepard dog. Good dog. Speaks German even.




Well, it is the German commands that release the training. The training that taught the K-9 how to take down the criminal. Which the dog did.

Once the suspect was immobilized, he was brought in. Brought in drunk and belligerent. Refused medical care. Refused to cooperate with the booking process. All sorts of liquid courage and superman. He was put into 'segregation' or seg for short. He yelled a lot and then passed out in the cell.

This is where I visited him some four hours later. My task was to clean the wound, check his vitals, check his sobering up status. He was no longer drunk. He was very pissed off though. Not so mouthy anymore, but, in a world of hurt.

The K-9 took the suspect down by clamping down on his right shoulder. Clamping down with a very powerful jaw and sharp canine teeth. The shepard bit through the guy's t-shirt. It was now crusty with splotches of dried blood and matted into the dog bite. There was bits of grass, road pebbles and pus too.

The t-shirt was a total loss. First I cut off the sleeve, then I cut up the back. Gingerly I worked. Slowly peeling an orange.

My breathing was shallow and I became sweaty. I was spooked by what I might find with his shoulder. I was expecting to see torn up flesh, exposed muscle and tendons. There was none of this. Just a very deep puncture wound from the teeth, and some bruising from the crush of the jaw. No torn flesh, just a small and surgical bite wound.

The inmate took my care in stride. He winced a lot but was very quiet.

"It's too late to get stitches now", I told him, "but we can continue to keep this clean and it should heal nicely, you are very young and there is good blood supply. It doesn't look infected at all."

He made eye contact for the first time. I offered a sympathy wince.

"How are you doing by the way?" I asked.

"I don't never wanna see another fucking dog again".

I laughed. He chuckled a little. The deputies laughed. It was really funny.

"I bet you don't", I said.