The year was 1987. Ronald Reagan ruled the West, Madonna ruled the rest, and small, portable cell phones were still the stuff of science fiction. I had just graduated with a Bachelor of Science in Nursing—a field for which, I could not have possibly been more ill-suited—and begun working full time, second shift, as a hospital oncology nurse. This job so drained every ounce of my 23 year old being, that at the end of a work night, all I could do was sit zombified on the couch, watching re-runs of the original “Star Trek” series that, thank God, came on at 11:30 PM. I called it, “warping out.” At that time in my life, William Shatner as Captain Kirk, may well have been the only thing standing between me and a future of gurgling, ranting, heavily medicated, lunacy.
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