I almost forgot today was the day. An email from one of my attorneys yesterday was my only reminder. I feel nothing—and I’m still not quite sure if that’s a good or a bad thing considering it’s my anniversary after all, but perhaps all I need is a little Tony! Toni! Tone! to get me right. We’ll see.

Yes. Anniversary. Exactly one year ago today I stopped playing with demons at the devil’s playground and decided to leave the sandbox for good when I quit my job at the prison. It wasn’t fun anymore—nor was it safe. It took me years to finally figure it out: there’s no winning at the devil’s playground, only a slow calculated death awaits anyone willing to play the game long enough whether you’re an inmate or a staff member. The love of money (and lots of it) is the driving force and the root of all evil inside the 20-foot-high deadly electric fence that houses the violent concrete jungle I simply referred to as “work” for many years.

And for me, it just wasn’t worth it anymore.

So I left (pending litigation ofc).

London.

I remember walking into work on October 24, 2023, never once thinking that would be my last official day on the books. It was a normal day for the most part (shady co-workers, wicked administrators, spiritual warfare, etc.), but little did I know a 'weird' little medical emergency would be the very thing to change the trajectory of my life.

As a nurse I’ve dealt with my fair share of prison shootings, stabbings, assaults, and overdoses—and yet, none of the violence ever seemed to faze me enough to leave.

Maybe because violence was expected, or maybe I'd just become desensitized to it.

Whatever the case, it was apparent that I did NOT feel the same way when it came to this very last emergency.

A low heart rate.

Yes. An inmate who had a long history of heart problems, who was always in and out of the hospital for heart problems, who refused to take any of the prescribed medications to treat those heart problems, and who was getting ready to be released from prison (and our liability), was the non-violent medical emergency that pushed me over the edge.

After I sent him out to the hospital (again), I knew something had to change.

So I talked to God, and it was settled.

I was done.

Just like that.

I woke up the next day on October 25, 2023, rested, but filled with mixed emotions. I was at peace, but I was still somewhat anxious about my future. Truth is, I didn’t have another job lined up, and I was so exhausted and burnt out at the time that as far as I was concerned, I was done with nursing altogether.

Silly me.

I don't know how I ever tricked myself into believing I could be done with nursing so fast but reality hit me once I drove past the prison (on my way to the airport) and got the sudden urge to call and check on my (former) low heart rate patient that I'd sent out the day before. I wanted to be sure he made it through the night and I wouldn’t be able to enjoy my getaway until I knew the status of his health. The nurse I spoke to told me he was still alive, but she had no clue that I’d just resigned moments prior.

She found out once I made it to London.

And like everyone else, she was shocked and wanted answers.

But I was too busy..

To be continued.

But in the meantime, subscribe and wish me a happy anniversary!