I’m Kayla. I’ve worked as a travel medical assistant for a year and a half. I packed my teal Littmann stethoscope, a folding clipboard, and a pair of loud compression socks, and I went. I’ve done clinics, urgent care, and one wild ER float. I’ve slept in tiny studios and one very sketchy motel. Was it worth it? Yes. Mostly.
Let me explain.
If you want even more nuts-and-bolts detail, here’s my real take on life as a travel medical assistant.
What My Days Looked Like (And How They Felt)
Every site had its own rhythm. That’s both the fun and the stress.
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Phoenix, AZ (urgent care, 12-hour shifts): I roomed 30 to 40 patients a day. Lots of coughs, burns, and sports sprains. I pulled meds, did EKGs, ran flu and strep tests, and charted in Epic. The doc there liked fast triage. He’d say, “Two vitals, one plan.” It kept me sharp.
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Boston, MA (orthopedics clinic, weekdays only): I prepped cast rooms, removed sutures, and set up for joint injections. We used Cerner. The surgeon hummed Bruce Springsteen while he worked. Patients brought us Dunkin. I still crave the Boston cream.
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Rural Montana (ER float, night shift): Small staff. Big hearts. I checked in walk-ins, set up for labs, and helped with a trauma once. A snowplow slid. We stabilized the driver. I held his wife’s hand while he got scanned. I shook the whole drive home. Then I cried into a gas station burrito. That night still sits with me.
Not every day is heavy. Some days it’s kids with stickers and coughs. Some days it’s paperwork, lots of it. But you learn fast. You learn how to breathe in the chaos too.
The Good Stuff I Didn’t Want to Miss
Honestly, the freedom hooked me. And the growth stayed.
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Quick skill growth: I became fast with injections, EKG lead placement, wound care, and CPT code lookups. I learned Epic and Cerner quirks. I can find the discharge button with my eyes closed. Well, almost.
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Pay that made sense: One 13-week contract paid $24/hr base, plus about $1,050 a week for housing and meals. With two extra shifts, I hit around $1,750 a week take-home after taxes. Not every gig paid that. But some did. Read your contracts. Twice.
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New places, new people: I hiked South Mountain after a long Phoenix shift. I ate a lobster roll on a bench in Boston on my lunch break. In Montana, a rancher brought us huckleberry pie. He said, “You kept me walking.” I kept the note he wrote on the pie box.
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Team magic: When the nurse says, “Kayla’s got the rooms,” and you do? That feels good. Trust shows up in small ways. A quick nod. An extra glove tossed your way.
Between shifts, I’d scroll through ValidTravel for last-minute flight deals and bite-sized city guides, turning off-days into mini adventures. On lake-side contracts, casting a line with a travel fishing rod I actually use became my reset button. Reading this account of road-testing King Charles’s sustainable travel push also nudged me toward greener routes between assignments.
You know what? This work made me feel useful. Like my hands had purpose.
The Hard Parts (That No One Posts on Instagram)
Now the grit. It’s there.
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Short orientation: I once got two hours of training and then a full night shift. New EMR, new rooms, new everything. I made a mistake with a supply code and had to fix the charge. I owned it. Still felt awful.
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Housing drama: Furnished Finder was hit or miss for me. Denver was great: a small studio near a bus line for $1,450/month. Tampa was not: roaches in the bathroom. I moved after two nights and lost money. Lesson learned—ask for a live video walk-through.
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Schedule switches: I’ve had “guaranteed 36 hours” turn into 24 when census dropped. Read the cancellation clause. Ask about low-census policies. Put it in writing if you can.
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Floating: I signed for clinic and got floated to ER triage once. I said yes, but I asked for a nurse buddy. Say what you need. Calm voice, steady hands. That’s the job.
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Being the “new one” again and again: Every break room has its vibe. Some are warm. Some are… chilly. I bring snacks. I learn names fast. I don’t take it to heart if someone’s short. Often, they’re just tired.
Gear That Actually Helped
I didn’t bring much, but these mattered.
- Littmann Classic III (teal, because fun matters)
- Folding clipboard with quick reference sheets (BP ranges, injection sites, immunization schedule)
- FIGS scrubs, Hoka Bondi shoes (my back says thanks)
- Compression socks (Sockwell), lots of black pens, and a badge reel
- Fanny pack with alcohol pads, Sharpies, and bandage scissors
Apps that saved my brain: NurseGrid for shifts, Medscape for drug checks, GoodRx coupons for patients who asked, and the Aya app for timesheets. I’m not fancy. I’m just trying to keep it all straight.
Money Talk, Without the Fluff
Here’s the thing: the pay looks great on a flyer (curious what the national averages look like? Check the latest figures for travel medical assistant salaries). The truth lives in the details.
- My best weekly gross: about $2,100 with overtime and a healthy stipend.
- My lowest: $1,050 when they cut a shift for census.
- Costs that sneak up: parking, background checks, drug screens, BLS renewal, TB tests, scrubs, gas, and one sad $300 rental car week when my car died.
Keep your tax home if you can. I used a tax pro who knows travel healthcare. I also kept every receipt. It’s not fun. It’s smart.
Compliance: The Paper Trail You Can’t Ignore
Every assignment asked for something new. Standard stuff, though:
- BLS card (I keep a photo on my phone)
- Vaccine records (flu, COVID, Hep B, MMR), plus TB test
- CMA or RMA cert helped a lot, even when it wasn’t “required”
- Fit test for masks, and a quick skills checklist
One place even asked me to do a mock EKG on a coworker. He laughed the whole time. I didn’t. Wires everywhere.
Safety, Boundaries, and Speaking Up
I had one provider snap at me during a rush. I paused and said, “I’m here to help. I need a clear order.” He blinked, nodded, and slowed down. We were fine after that.
If something feels off, tell charge. Use the incident report when needed. I ask for a safety orientation on day one: exits, codes, where sharps go, who’s the go-to.
Tips I Wish I Knew
- Ask what EMR they use and how long orientation is.
- Clarify float expectations. ER? Triage? Or strictly clinic?
- Get the schedule in writing. Ask how they handle low census.
- Bring two pairs of shoes. Rotate. Your feet will sing.
- Keep a “go bag” in your car: hoodie, snacks, phone charger, spare scrubs.
Who This Life Fits
If you like change, if you can walk into a new room and smile, you’ll do well. If you need a steady team and one clear routine, it may feel rough. Neither is wrong. Know yourself. If you’re still on the fence, here’s a concise rundown of how to become a travel medical assistant that spells out the prerequisites and training steps.
I missed birthdays. I FaceTimed on Sundays.
While we’re being honest, life on the road can make dating—or even casual connection—feel impossible. If you want to keep your intimate life alive without committing to a long-distance relationship, this no-judgment step-by-step guide to finding free, consensual hookups online explains how to vet platforms, protect your privacy, and avoid paid scams—useful tricks when your zip code changes as often as your patient list. On the rare week I was stationed near upstate New York, a fellow traveler tipped me off that browsing AdultLook Syracuse lets you scan verified local listings, recent reviews, and safety notes in minutes—perfect when you want a discreet, no-strings meetup without wasting an entire night on dating apps.
But I also watched a sunrise in a place I’d never seen, right before walking into a clinic where people needed me. That mix felt real and good