Forensic nurses at North Colorado Medical Center aim to give power back to patients

Julie Rojas works as a forensic nurse for North Colorado Medical Center in the Banner Health system. Courtesy photo.

By Dan England

Julie Rojas works as a forensic nurse for North Colorado Medical Center in the Banner Health system.  She calls it a dream job, but she had to make a rule for herself in order to work it: She leaves the job at work. 

“All my husband needs to hear is how the day went,” Rojas said. “Then he knows how I’m doing and can figure it out from there.” 

Rojas treats victims of assault and abuse. There are, as you can imagine, a lot of hard cases. She treats victims of rape, for instance, and sees many signs of long-term abuse on children, the elderly and spouses. She sees people who are probably being trafficked. She treats more trauma in a day than most of us would see in a lifetime. Her husband, God bless him, doesn’t want to hear about that, and Rojas doesn’t want to talk about it with him anyway. 

When Rojas and the other nurses who undergo a year of training and 64 hours of (free) classes see a patient — Rojas refuses to call them “victims” — they have to walk a ragged path of compassionate, straight-forward, non-judgmental care while offering to collect evidence, find them resources or, even, at times, escape to safety. 

But this is exactly why she loves the job: Nurses are busy, especially in the ER, and sometimes it feels as if patients are pieces on an assembly line to be patched and released. “But when you do this, you can spend as much time as you need with one person,” Rojas said. “That’s a dream. They want you in there.” 

Rojas’ huge heart, she said, compels her to work the job, no matter how much vicarious trauma she absorbs. She loves that it’s not profitable. In fact, Banner, as other hospitals such as UCHealth, don’t charge her patients. Doing so, she said, would just be adding an extra insult. Some money for the expenses comes from the state or the police department, but the hospital covers the rest.  

“It’s like a social service,” she said and beamed. 

She never calls her patients victims because it’s one of the small but many ways she gives them back the power that’s been snatched from them, either piece by piece or all at once. She won’t do anything without her patients’ permission. She won’t put any pressure on them to report or seek help, although she also makes it clear it’s here if they need it and will warn them about cases such as strangulations: People willing to do that are seven times as likely to kill, she said. The police don’t even know who she’s treating or what happened, and she doesn’t have to report anything. The evidence she collects, if her patients allow it, stays in the hospital, giving them time to decide what to do. 

“We consider it planting a seed,” Rojas said. 

The need is there: One in three women, and one in six men, experience sexual assault in their lifetime. And though Rojas may see more marginalized people, assault and abuse is always an issue among all classes and income levels. She sees more patients when the college students come back to Greeley and during the holidays. 

The number of patients treated by a Banner forensic nurse has increased as well. Nearly a decade ago, when it started, there were 64 patients. Last year there were more than 300. This can, occasionally, make the job harder. Cases do stick with her.

“If I notice something nagging at me, I’ll talk about it with the other nurses,” Rojas said.

She ultimately sees the increase as a good thing. She wants to treat as many as she can. She educates officers about bringing them in. She’s trying to spread the word that she and her other nurses are available.

“Just be seen,” she said. “Or bring them in and make sure they are seen. There’s treatment available.” 

She doesn’t want people to face traumatic events, but she’s a realist. She knows it happens. She also knows she can help.