It was 3 a.m. when the petite blonde in fuzzy zebra-print pants swayed into the tiny corner room. 

Nurse practitioner Marty Emhardt settled the girl on a gurney and ticked through routine questions in a friendly tone: Do you feel dizzy? Do you feel short of breath? Is your heart pounding? Do you have a headache? Have you vomited? 

Most important: What drug did you take? 

In a room in the back of a Southeast Portland warehouse, where walls covered in tie-dye throbbed with the bass from a distant disc jockey, six volunteers of Northwest Rock Medicine tracked the pulse of a rave. They didn't need to be on the dance floor to see the action. They had a unique view of the intense eight-hour party through the eyes of their patients. 

From late Friday until dawn Saturday, the medics treated about 10 ravers. Most had used some kind of drug and needed help. Through assessing vital signs and talking to the patient, the staff gauged whether someone needed to be talked down from a high or taken to the hospital. 

The blonde in the zebra pants had swallowed one ecstasy tablet 11/2 hours earlier. Emhardt checked her vital signs, gave her some water, and within a few minutes, she was breathing easier and had returned to the party. That's the kind of care they typically provide. Even though some are licensed physicians, in their role as Rock Medicine volunteers they're limited to hand-holding, handing out vitamins, and, if needed, performing CPR. Anything else requires a call to paramedics. 

But 19-year-old Melissa Flaherty of Milwaukie, who died last week after a rave just blocks from Saturday's location, was a chilling reminder to the medics of the crucial service they provide. 

"This is somebody we took care of for a while, we got to know, we were talking with, we were learning about," said Seth Grant, 29, Northwest Rock Medicine general manager. He and several other volunteers planned to attend her memorial service Saturday. "We were watching her get well enough to go home." 

Flaherty spent hours with medics that night as her vital signs improved. Then her oxygen levels plummeted and she was rushed to the hospital, where she died two hours later. The cause of death is pending toxicology results. 

Combined with the December death of Peter Vu, 18, after an ecstasy overdose at a rave at the Pine Street Theater, Flaherty's death has thrust the after-hours rave culture into center stage and into the critical eye of a public that doesn't quite get what it's all about. 


More than ecstasy 
The all-night dance parties, where smooth DJs transform unused warehouses and parking garages into a funky haven of love and energy, are linked with the drug ecstasy and increasingly other designer drugs such as GHB, the "date-rape" drug; and Ketamine, a pediatric and veterinary anesthetic. 

Promotions director Kelly Monroe, who also put on last weekend's rave, always has the medics on hand -- something not required by law but that he thinks is necessary. It's part of the package of the night, he said, and ravers appreciate it. 

"The medics will find people on drugs and sit and talk them through the bad trips, not just call an ambulance to take them to the hospital to have their stomachs pumped," said Jonathan Westmoreland, 26, who has attended raves for about a year. 

During this rave, the volunteers saw it all. The zebra-pants girl on ecstasy. A khaki-clad blond boy on GHB whose wavering vital signs prompted them to call paramedics. When they arrived, he refused to go to the hospital. 

An unexpected patient was a security guard whose evening took a turn when liquid LSD splashed on his skin as he patted down a raver during a routine security check. The drug seeped into his bloodstream and catapulted him into an unexpected trip. 

The only person transported to the hospital was an 18-year-old boy carried in by security just before 6 a.m. He had drunk alcohol, popped an ecstasy tablet, taken two hits of acid and snorted a line of cocaine before he landed on the gurney. The medics called an ambulance immediately. 

Nobody was taking any chances. 


"Walking the beat" 
But the volunteers don't wait for patients to come to them. Patrolling the location -- "walking the beat," Grant calls it, is a routine part of the night. Medics weave through dancers, into dark corner rooms, even check the parking lots for anyone who might need help. 

Grant treated one girl who was lying on the floor in her pigtails and ribbons, dressed in a white T-shirt with sparkly letters spelling "Angel" and a belt with blinking lights. She told him she'd vomited after taking ecstasy. He left only after he was sure she was all right. 

Their diverse patients clue them in to what drugs are making the rounds. They are tight with security, and when a batch of patients comes in with similar symptoms, describing similar drugs, the medics try to pinpoint dealers. 

During downtime, they stay awake with coffee and conversation. Grant, a former Army medic who now works in a Portland emergency room, steals naps on the gurney when he can. Rebecca Provorse, 32, a naturopathic student, relishes her Chai tea. Emhardt, 37, belly dances when she feels her energy dip. 

But at the first sign of need, the gloves go on, and the volunteers are all business. 

Even though Flaherty's death was on the minds of the Rock Medicine volunteers, it didn't seem to have a huge impact on the 762 people who attended the rave, said Monroe, the promoter. Most ravers have an eternal-youth mentality and think it could never happen to them, Grant said. 

"People who attend raves can do one of two things. They can benefit from the times, or they can make the decision to go down the wrong path, and it will hurt them," Westmoreland said. "It's all up to the individual." 


Taking precautions 
Many ravers are drug-free and say they resent the stereotype of a drug-infused culture. Instead, they let the lights and techno-hypnotic sounds strum their minds and bodies to a natural high. 

The crowds listened and cheered supportively during a midnight public service announcement about drugs and rave culture that Monroe played in light of Flaherty's death. He also is donating $5 from the minimum $25 admission to Flaherty's family to go toward funeral expenses and helping a child she left behind. 

To keep drugs out, Monroe hires security personnel, who search everyone at the door and others during the course of the party. They kicked out 12 people, several of whom were dealing drugs. At the request of Mayor Vera Katz, Monroe allowed undercover police to attend. 

Dance Safe volunteers distribute drug education material, but Monroe doesn't let them run tests on ecstasy pills for safety, something they routinely do at other shows, because he says it contradicts his "no drugs" policy. 

But for those who find a way to take drugs and get into trouble, the volunteer medics are there. 

Grant says that newer drugs and different combinations of drugs will make their role even more crucial -- perhaps making their chats to establish a personal connection with someone take a back seat to quickly figuring out what's in a patient's system and how to get it out. 

"We can help identify early on someone that's sick, but that doesn't always mean that's going to happen," Grant said. "Like we saw with Melissa, sometimes there's nothing we can do."