A Day in the Life of a Custody Healthcare Professional Zoe Dobson 

It is still dark outside when I pull up outside the custody suite, gather my belongings, and take a breath before heading in. No two shifts in custody healthcare are ever the same, and the unpredictability is part of what makes this role both challenging and rewarding. Working in custody as a Registered Nurse or Paramedic is not a career path most of us knew existed when we trained. It is rarely mentioned at university, and it certainly is not promoted at job fairs. Yet, for those of us who discover it, it becomes a uniquely fulfilling place to practice. 

A Quiet Start (But We Never Say the “Q” Word) 

Inside, the suite is unusually calm. The custody staff are quietly working at their desks, and a quick look at the CCTV monitors shows six detainees asleep in their cells. I work in an 18‑cell suite, and the night‑shift Health Care Professional (HCP) also covers other sites, so their absence suggests they have been called elsewhere. 

I log in, review the handover, and check in with the Custody Sergeant. Together we walk around, check on each detainee, and introduce ourselves. For now, everyone is asleep and content to stay that way. I know full well this will shift as the day unfolds. 

As the Suite Wakes, So Does the Work 

By the time daylight breaks, the pace is picking up. We have completed our morning huddle and touched base with HCP colleagues across the force. Interviews are being arranged, detainees are waking properly, and questions are being asked. That is when a new detainee arrives. 

They have been stopped while driving, and a roadside drug wipe indicates the presence of cocaine. After consenting to a blood test, they come to the medical room for assessment. During our conversation, they disclose that they are struggling with their mental health and experiencing suicidal thoughts. 

This is where the dual nature of the HCP role becomes clear. While I complete the required forensic procedure, I am also there to listen, assess risk, and offer support. Much of what we do involves identifying vulnerabilities and referring detainees to mental health teams or support services—if they give consent. Many detainees are at their lowest point when they walk through our doors, often distrustful of services after past negative experiences. The work can be delicate and requires empathy, patience, and reassurance. 

Although we work as lone clinicians in custody, we are never isolated. We collaborate closely with Liaison and Diversion teams, external support agencies, and fellow clinicians and Forensic Medical Examiners within Mountain Healthcare when advice or guidance is needed. 

Supporting Vulnerability in All Its Forms 

Around lunchtime, although custody remains busy, I have only seen the one patient—the individual I referred to mental health support. The referral took time, as they were unsure whether they wanted help. Building trust is a fundamental part of this job. 

Later, one of the detainees from the early morning asks to see me. They disclose that they are alcohol dependent and currently experiencing withdrawal symptoms. They are embarrassed about their situation but open to support. I manage their physical symptoms, provide medication, and refer them to an alcohol‑misuse service. They leave the medical room feeling listened to and supported—one of the most meaningful aspects of this role. 

Some detainees prefer not to be noticed; others make themselves impossible to ignore. Understanding these differences is crucial to delivering compassionate care. 

Wrapping Up a Steady Shift 

As the day winds down, I reflect on how steady it has been. There have been no medical emergencies, no hospital referrals, and the intoxicated detainee from earlier has sobered up without needing intervention. Some days involve managing serious medical concerns, including airway support for heavily intoxicated individuals. Today, thankfully, has not included any of those situations. 

I hand over to the night‑shift HCP, highlighting anyone who may need reviewing or a fit‑to‑release assessment later. 

Today has been a good day.