[media-credit name=’JEFF SCHORFHEIDE/Herald photo’ align=’alignright’ width=’336′][/media-credit]In some ways, the Dane County Detox Center is a world of euphemisms. Being a “client” means you’re too drunk to care for yourself. Sometimes it means you’re too drunk for jail, which won’t accept anyone with more than a .3 blood alcohol content. One of the factors that often tips off police to such levels of intoxication is “incontinence of urine or feces,” so the center includes a laundry room. “Seclusion rooms” serve as solitary confinement for violent clients and lock from the outside, as do the laser sensor-guarded rooms for females. “It’s like a very low-security prison,” said University of Wisconsin senior Alex Evans, who spent a night at the center during his freshman year. After a finishing the larger part of a liter of Southern Comfort and playing beer pong at a party, Evans woke up under a scratchy blanket in a room he didn’t recognize. His memory from the night before was spotty, but he had time to get acquainted with the center as he waited to get out the next day. Increasing numbers of UW students like Evans have ended up in a similar position this fall, according to University of Wisconsin Police Department statistics, and detox staff say overall admissions are up as well. Between Aug. 31 and Oct. 17 of this year, university police brought 48 UW students to detox, according to department data. That number has been increasing steadily since the UWPD started keeping records of detox conveyances in 2004, when 14 students were transported over the same period. The number of students going to detox each school year has also risen, with 112 in 2006-07, compared to 52 in 2003-04. With Halloween and UW Homecoming celebrations coming up, the detox team is expecting a big weekend, and the center will have extra staff on duty to monitor intoxicated revelers. But the upturn in student admissions is raising concerns over student binge drinking in the long term. Dangerously Drunk A trip to detox begins with the police, who have the discretion to take a person to the center based on safety concerns for that person and others around him or her, according to UWPD officer Lt. Eric Holen. “Detox is a very serious thing,” Holen said. “This is not just people who are really drunk … these people are very close to real danger” — including sickness and death. After behaviors including slurred speech, unsteady gait, odor, or a breathalyzer or blood alcohol test indicate drunkenness, police will determine whether a person is too intoxicated to care for him or herself. Even if someone is incapacitated, officers will often try to find acquaintances to look after the person instead of taking him or her to detox. Once officers transport the person to detox, the party enters a small windowless room where a nurse takes the client’s vitals. Almost all of those who come are admitted under the legal protective custody of the medical director of the facility. Leather restraints are on hand if the client resists, and police can lock their weapon in a cupboard if they need to assist in taking the patron inside. “Most of the them come in, put up a little fight and go to bed,” said Chad, an aide who declined to give his last name out of safety concerns over violent clients. The center has no life-support equipment, so those with a BAC around .5 or who the nurse decides need medical treatment are taken to the emergency room. Anyone who’s admitted is required to stay at least 12 hours, see a substance abuse counselor, and blow a zero in a breathalyzer test before leaving. In total, the trip costs $365 for detox fees, plus the underage drinking ticket many students receive. Interpreting the Increase Interim Assistant Dean of Students Tonya Schmidt, who oversees the UW code of conduct violations under which detox conveyances fall, attributed the increase of students in detox to the larger number of home football games so far this fall. “It’s the rally around the team, ‘Let’s drink as much as we can before we get in the stadium’ mentality,” Schmidt said. But some public safety officials are concerned the higher numbers indicate increased binge drinking at the university. “It’s a lot of drinking and a lot of partying that’s getting out of control,” said Melody Music-Twilla, director of the Dane County Detox Center. Despite police vigilance and increased public awareness about the dangers of overconsumption, the “problem is still there” and remains widely accepted, Music-Twilla said. “The culture of drinking on campus has become more pervasive,” agreed UWPD Officer Shane Driscoll, who compiled the detox records and also works home football games. He pointed to the even larger numbers of students who recorded a blood-alcohol concentration of .16 or greater in a breathalyzer test but didn’t go to detox. “All of them would have gone to a medical facility had we not found someone to care for them,” Driscoll said. According to some officials and detox staff, greater awareness may also be heightening watchfulness over drunken behavior. Most people in detox end up there due to the concern of another community member, according to staff. “Police may ask somebody to do a breathalyzer where in the past, that person might not have been a problem,” Pastor said. Holen and Driscoll said university police have not stepped up conveyance efforts and are not focusing on drunken behavior more than other criminal activity. “We’re not trying to take kids to detox — we’re trying to keep behavior at a safe level,” Driscoll said. With enforcement of anti-binge drinking measures “down to a science” and a downtown alcohol density plan addressing the environmental aspect of alcohol abuse, education remains the weak point of Madison’s campaign to curtail alcohol problems, according to Assistant to the Mayor and former Alcohol Policy Coordinator Joel Plant. “We’re working on getting the norm out that there is a standard of behavior, and puking out of your nose isn’t part of it,” Plant said. Lifesaver VS. Punishment UW junior Debby Oakes wasn’t exactly puking out of her nose the night she was brought to detox, but she did puke into the breathalyzer when university police tried to test her BAC. It was the first weekend of her freshman year, and Oakes had gone drink for drink at a party with an older guy friend. After her house fellow found her passed out on her dorm room floor, she was woken with smelling salts and eventually brought to detox. “All they did was put me in a room and watch me go to sleep to make sure I didn’t choke on my own vomit, which my sister was already doing,” Oakes said. Her friends still call her “Double D” — “Detox Debby” — because of the experience, but Oakes said it made her realize the serious consequences of consuming too much alcohol. While Oakes views her trip to detox as a “reality check,” other students perceive the ordeal as a punishment. UW junior Megan Enge was ticketed and transported to detox on her way into her first UW football game freshman year. She blew a .21. “It was just my unlucky day, out of all the students drinking there,” Enge said. “They picked me out of everyone, when my friends were just as drunk.” Enge didn’t think anything bad would have happened to her that day had she been allowed into the game, although she admitted the risk and said she now drinks more responsibly. Evans called his detox experience a punishment as well, although he said he has been as drunk on other occasions as he was the night he was admitted with a .38 BAC. His friends reacted with a “concerned humor,” but most don’t know what exactly detox entails. “It’s a social faux pas to talk about going there,” Evans said. The cavalier attitude toward binge drinking displayed by some students continues to dismay detox and university officials, as does the view of detox as a punitive measure. “Ending up in detox is not a bad thing,” Music-Twilla said. “It probably saved your life.” View The City Within blogpost