Inside a Med-Surg RN's Bag: What 10 Years of Nursing Looks Like

You know that moment when you’re digging through your bag for your badge and you pull out a granola bar from 2023, three dried-up pens, and something sticky you can’t identify? Yeah. That’s nurse life.

After ten years on a med-surg floor, my work bag has become an archaeological dig site. Each layer tells a story: the optimistic new grad who bought matching organizational pouches, the second-year nurse who gave up on systems entirely, and the current version of me who just shoves everything in and prays.

Let’s take a tour. It’s funny because it’s true, and if your bag looks nothing like this, you’re either lying or you’re a travel nurse who hasn’t accumulated a decade of ‘just in case’ items yet.

The Pen Graveyard

I currently have seven pens in my bag. Seven. You’d think that would mean I always have something to write with, but you’d be wrong. Here’s the breakdown of what nurses carry in the pen department:

• Two black pens that ran out of ink sometime during the pandemic
• One fancy pen a drug rep gave me that I’ve never actually used because it’s ‘too nice’
• Three mystery pens from random hospital departments I floated to
• One pen that works but writes so badly it looks like I’m documenting in invisible ink

And yet, when I need to write something down during report, I’m borrowing a pen from the charge nurse. Every single time.

Snack Archaeology: A Timeline in Wrappers

The snack situation in a veteran nurse’s bag is its own special category of nursing humor. I just pulled out a protein bar from an orientation I attended in 2024. Not an orientation for a new job — just some mandatory in-service about a documentation system we stopped using six months later.

Here’s what’s currently living in various pockets:

• Three granola bars in varying states of ‘probably still fine’
• A fun-size candy bar from Halloween (which Halloween, I couldn’t tell you)
• Half a pack of gum that tastes vaguely like hand sanitizer
• An apple I packed yesterday with good intentions that I’ll find next week, unrecognizable
• Fourteen individual salt packets from the cafeteria

The optimistic part? I keep packing fresh snacks on top of the old ones. The realistic part? I never eat during my shift anyway because who has time, so they just accumulate like sedimentary layers.

The Badge Reel Situation

My badge reel currently has: my hospital ID, my floor key card, a backup floor key card (because I locked myself out of the med room in 2019 and never recovered emotionally), a grocery store rewards card, and a key to an apartment I moved out of in 2022.

The badge itself is a work of art. You can barely see my face anymore because of the faded lamination and the mysterious scratches. I look like a witness protection program participant. But getting a new one printed means going to HR during business hours, and I work nights, so this ghost photo is apparently permanent.

Things Clipped to the Badge Reel

A tiny bottle of hand sanitizer (empty), a flashlight (batteries dead), and a small scissors that I’ve had since nursing school that’s somehow still sharp. That scissors has cut more tape and clothing than anything else in my bag, and I guard it with my life.

Medical Supplies That Definitely Came From Work

Look, I’m not saying I took these things. I’m saying they appeared in my bag through mysterious nursing magic. There’s a difference.

Current inventory of what nurses carry in the supply department:

• Approximately forty alcohol prep pads, most of them opened and dried out
• Three rolls of tape in different widths (all partially used, none with a findable end)
• Five pairs of trauma shears (because I keep losing them and buying new ones, then finding the old ones)
• A pulse ox probe that definitely belongs to the unit, and I keep meaning to return it, but it’s been three years
• Enough gauze pads to supply a small field hospital
• One (1) sterile needle that I have no memory of putting in there and that now lives in a side pocket I’m afraid to reach into

The nurse bag essentials category also includes half a box of gloves in a size I don’t wear, because someone left them in the break room and I figured I’d find someone who needs them. Narrator: She never did.

The Personal Items Graveyard

This is where it gets really relatable. Every nurse’s bag has that one pocket where personal items go to die.

I just found: a receipt from 2025, a grocery list I never shopped from, a birthday card I bought for a coworker and forgot to give her (her birthday was in March), lip balm in four different flavors (all dried out), a hair tie that’s stretched beyond recognition, and exactly $2.37 in change.

There’s also a small notebook where I was going to ‘track my patients better’ and ‘be more organized.’ It has three entries from my first week with that plan, then blank pages forever. Classic nurse life.

The Technology Corner

Two phone chargers (neither of which fit my current phone), earbuds with a cord so tangled it would take a surgical team to separate, and a portable battery pack that died in 2024 and I never recharged.

The Stuff I Actually Use Every Shift

Here’s the funny thing: despite all this chaos, there are exactly five items I reach for constantly:

• My stethoscope (which lives in the bag’s own special pocket and is somehow always tangled)
• Hand lotion (because despite the chaos, I do take care of my hands)
• One specific pen I borrowed from the manager’s office that actually works
• A small pack of tissues (you never know)
• My water bottle (which I refill twice per shift and still end up dehydrated)

Everything else? Set dressing for the chaos.

What This Bag Actually Represents

Sure, it’s funny to inventory the disaster zone that is a med-surg nurse’s bag after a decade. But honestly? This bag is a love story.

Every dried-out pen represents a patient assessment documented. Every forgotten snack is a shift where someone else needed me more than I needed lunch. Every random supply item is a moment I was prepared for something unexpected. The chaos isn’t disorganization — it’s evidence of showing up, every shift, ready for whatever comes.

That said, I should probably clean it out. Maybe this weekend. Or next month. Or when I retire.

If you’re a nurse who gets this — whether you’re two years in or twenty — the Intuites Recruiting Team would love to connect with you. We work with nurses who bring their whole selves (and their chaotic bags) to every shift, and we help match you with opportunities that respect what you carry, literally and figuratively. Reach out anytime at contact@intuites.healthcare or visit intuites.healthcare. We promise we won’t judge your bag contents. 🤍

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