The husband of one of my OR Nursing Course students was taking this class at Evergreen State College. Knowing that I was a Vietnam combat veteran, he told the faculty about my background. The next thing I knew, I received a call asking me to speak to the class. I first obtained permission from my Command, and then agreed.

The whole scenario was somewhat unusual, even for me, but pretty orderly. The students were very well-informed on the problems of war, including disease, and had a lot of questions. It was a large group of students and the classroom was a lecture hall, with many tiers of seats going up to the back of the classroom. About midway through the class, near the top, a student suddenly fell out of his seat and stayed down. My first thought as I ran up the aisle was about the possibility of cardiac arrest, stroke or seizure. My second was "Why me, God?", as if I could expect an answer. When I got to him and cleared a few students out of the way, I quickly changed my diagnosis. The kid was too stoned to sit through a lecture, but not in any danger. A couple of his friends, who appeared to be less chemically enhanced, offered to get him to his dorm room, which was nearby. The instructor looked at me and I told them I thought that would be a good idea, but to keep an eye on him and to make sure he wasn't going to fall off anything and get hurt.

I didn't expect them to send a thank you letter to my boss. I'm glad that my skills at triaging stoned students didn't come up. I'm sure I never would have heard the end of quesions about which year in my undergraduate education in California prepared me for dealing with "stoners". My answer would have been "All of them.".