Jail was relatively uneventful. I had one bad two weeks when we were all moved to a dormitory setting with about 12 of us in one room. And that didn’t count the same number of girls housed upstairs in the same dorm. The common area was smaller. There was no peace to be found there, ever. One of the only true losers in jail with us, who was in her late 20s, thought it was hilarious to keep people from sleeping every night. I spoke to the counselor and my husband spoke to the sergeant, and I was transferred back to the previous cell block, where I spent the last six weeks sharing a cell with my friend Suzanne. All went well.

I was released on December 17 to another 18 months on probation. Most of the women at the Wayne County Correctional Facility (WCCF) were there for probation violations, which are ridiculously easy to commit. Most people, regardless of their crime, are required to find full-time work, but also lose their driver’s license for at least six months. I was fortunate enough to have a probation officer who was well aware that my probation was a bit of a joke. She knew I wasn’t going to find work. I passed all my urine drug tests. They can drop by your house, always with an armed cop along—and they all carry guns. It’s unnerving to have openly armed individuals in your home with your children. The court fees and highway safety course ($300 alone) are outrageous. But not paying the fees will land you back in jail. Many drank or were caught on drugs again, etc. I lost my driver’s license for 18 months, but chose not to drive for several years. Frankly, I was so paranoid and depressed that I was more than happy not to bear any responsibility in that area.

Your life is ruined once you have a criminal conviction on your record. My fellow inmate Cassandra is the only one who is doing well. She was the sickest of all of us by far. Her family history was rife with suicides and poverty. She celebrated her 40th birthday in jail. One of the girls drew her a card, which we all signed. She said, in all sincerity, that it was the best birthday she had ever had. She is finally on disability, has her own little apartment and a hybrid bike and is finally off most of her meds and responding to therapy.

Others have not fared as well. Two of the teenagers had children shortly afterward and have been pulling their lives together, but it’s not easy. Matera was 19 when we were at WCCF and has a young child and can only find waitressing and bartending jobs—and has lost them when her past has been examined (none of us, incidentally, has lied on our job applications). She lost an apartment as well. The other also has a young child, moved to Florida, and seems to be doing well.

My friend Suzanne moved to North Carolina and has recently lost her job selling tractor equipment due to her past. I was in many ways in the worst position to find work. I was overeducated and had only done nursing for the previous 12 years. I pumped gas for a year, for real. I worked under the table at an antiques shop. I worked at one of the local camping and rafting facilities. I was fired or left all those jobs.

Several girls have reoffended, which is no big surprise. What else are you going to do when the doors are all shut? Only one woman knew she was looking at hard time. She was only a few years older than me, but looked much older. She clearly had had a history of depression and alcohol abuse. One particularly bad day, she wrapped herself in a blanket and tried to set herself on fire. Instead, she set the house on fire and did escape, assuming her boyfriend was right behind her, but he wasn’t, and he died of smoke inhalation. She was sentenced to 15 years, which she is serving upstate.

There were a few noteworthy events in jail worth recounting. One young girl, in the midst of breakfast, had a grand mal seizure. Everyone just froze, which is understandable because they are frightening to watch. Fortunately, I tend to be very calm in emergencies and went into nurse mode and turned her head so she wouldn’t choke on vomit and pulled her away from any objects that could hurt her. After asking (yelling) a good three times, one of the girls woke up and ran and got me a blanket for her head. I also kept calling for someone to call 911 at the same time. It was chaos. When the COs finally showed up, the worst was over, thank God, since one CO told me in all seriousness I should have put one of our bright orange sporks in her mouth. Yes, so she could then choke on a spork. Right. No one has died from biting their tongue during a seizure. The head nurse was quite glad I had been there. I was as well.

At one point, I found myself in a discussion with a young woman who had broken her probation by her inability to pay $100 she still owed the court. We were discussing a hospital I had worked in for nearly a decade. Three of those years were in labor and delivery. As she described the birth of her last daughter, bells started ringing. She had come in through the ER at about 30 weeks pregnant at about 3 a.m. This is, for the nurses, a bit of a nightmare. We had no Ob/Gyn or pediatrician present. We did not have her history or physical or any other information on her. That’s usually sent over when the woman is around 36 weeks. But there she was, and we had to deal with it. Ob/Gyn nurses have to be able to work as a team because we often work without a physician on site. So, some ran about making the necessary phone calls while others got the NICU ready for this little preemie. I and two other nurses remained with the young woman. One of the senior nurses delivered the baby, a little girl who, lucky for us, began breathing and was an alert little thing. Of course, it turned out that I happened to be one of the three nurses in the room assisting the delivery of her premature baby. Her baby girl, incidentally, turned out just fine.

And then, after one of those dreaded court days when you leave the facility for 12 hours or more and remain locked up in a cell with others and nothing to do for all but the two minutes you are in front of the judge, I developed a migraine. My meds had been forgotten and I missed two doses, so the migraine was inevitable. I ended up vomiting in the back of the police car after warning the officers several times that I was going to.

So, after my probation was over, that was that. I had lost all identity. I couldn’t even volunteer anywhere because of my record. My husband was unemployed for two years as well after being laid off his job in 2012. It’s been a long, hard six years. And stupidly so. There is a good deal in our criminal justice system that needs drastic reform. That discussion will be my final word on this subject. Things need to change. There are reasons they aren’t changing, and none of those are valid. The jail and prison system brings in a great deal of money. It always comes down to money.