The Two-Year Track

Crisis Management

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By Theresa Smogor

If you're responsible for teaching courses at night, or are in locations away from the main campus, have you ever considered what you would do if you had to cope with a student-health emergency on your own, with little immediate support from other staff members?

It hadn't crossed my mind either when I began teaching four years ago.

I teach part time in the evening business program of a two-year college in a large Midwestern city; my other job is running a small marketing and consulting business. Sometimes I teach early on Saturday mornings, but usually my classes meet in the evenings in "community outreach" locations, away from the main campus and all of its resources. I frequently teach my courses at a local elementary school, and because of the late hour, I am usually the last to leave the building.

I enjoy teaching evening classes because they are an opportunity to get to know adult, nontraditional students. I have found, however, that the older students' health problems can sometimes cause challenges that my education and background have not prepared me for.

One Saturday morning a few Septembers ago, I was the only faculty member teaching in a suburban office building. On the first day of class, a student saw me in the women's restroom and confided that her friend and classmate, "Nancy," had had a heart attack a few weeks earlier and was on medical leave from work. Just a few minutes later, Nancy herself walked in hoping to meet me. She was eager to have a little talk.

As we were getting acquainted, I had to struggle not to look shocked as she informed me that she was in her early 40s, a couple of years younger than me. She looked physically fit. My immediate reaction was to think only of myself and how, up until that moment, I had felt too young and too active to have a heart attack. During our conversation, she mentioned that she was not feeling particularly well that morning.

At the next break, I noticed that Nancy was missing. I eventually found her back in the women's restroom, resting on a couch. She was perspiring noticeably and seemed a little shaky. I asked her if she should call her doctor, but she said she did not feel it necessary. Somehow she managed to endure almost all of the four-hour class, and actually looked somewhat better as the hours went by.

As I drove home after class, I thought about Nancy and wondered if she got home safely, but I had no means of contacting her. I felt powerless to assist her. Luckily, Nancy e-mailed me the following Monday to say that she had felt much better by Saturday afternoon and had enjoyed her son's football game.

That incident, I believe, was ideal training for a bigger student-health crisis that I faced during the next school year. I was more prepared that time because I had gone out of my way to familiarize myself with the support services that were available for students and because, by then, I made it a policy to collect student telephone numbers and e-mail addresses on the first day of class.

In this case, I was teaching in the evening at the elementary school. Near the end of the quarter, a middle-aged student, "Darla," walked up to me and seemed disoriented and upset. In a sober voice, she said she might not be well enough to do her presentation that evening, but she was willing to try.

Instinctively, I asked her to step into the teachers' break room so that we could talk privately. During that conversation, Darla blurted out that she had had suicidal thoughts during the previous weekend. She felt overwhelmed by the burdens of working full time and taking 15 credit hours in a business honors program. Everything seemed wrong -- at work, at school, and at home.

I had no idea if Darla was serious about committing suicide, and I have almost no training in the mental-health profession. Based on my limited experience, I thought that her decision to confide in me seemed more like a call for help than a step toward suicide.

On the other hand, I felt that Darla wanted me to make the decision about whether she was mentally capable of making a presentation that night without embarrassing herself. One look at the pain in her eyes told me that it had taken all of her strength just to show up for class. I felt it would be a mistake to encourage her to do a presentation at that time.

As I was driving home after class, I outlined in my mind the e-mail message I would send to a counselor I knew in student services and to my department head. By mid-afternoon the next day, a plan was evolving to assure that Darla would receive the medical attention she needed. The counselor promised to call Darla over the weekend.

I also called psychological services on the main campus and asked what I should do if Darla contacted me again over the next few days. The folks there armed me with two emergency suicide "hot line" numbers and told me that a mobile unit for psychiatric patients would be available if needed. That unit served all students regardless of their age, background, or insurance status.

Once Darla received the help and medical attention she needed, it crossed my mind that perhaps if I had been more sensitive, I would have noticed sooner how serious her troubles were. There were hints along the way. For example, one day about a month into the quarter, she stopped to chat before class. She talked then about how little free time she had for herself and how, in order to meet all of her obligations, she had limited herself to an hour a day to take care of her personal needs.

Over time, I have reached the conclusion that I can't offer a preventive solution to teach students how to manage and alleviate their stresses. I am a marketing instructor and, to some degree, it is my responsibility to put students under stress in the form of exams and presentations. I see them only once a week and for such a short period of time that I doubt that anyone in my position could have anticipated the severity of Darla's anxiety and depression.

The fact is that students often complain about the stresses they face, but Darla was my first suicidal student -- at least, the first I know of. It's been several months now since Darla successfully finished the class and, so far, she is doing much better emotionally.

Initially, I had been concerned that my nontraditional students would be treated as second-class citizens by the college. What I learned is that I had only to ask for help. I had underestimated how completely, professionally, and warmly the support staff would fulfill student needs, regardless of their status.

For the first time in the four years that I had worked at the college, I felt like a part of the institution. I know that I am not completely on my own after all, even if I am the last to leave the building.