Gratitude and Long Island Iced Teas

Once upon a time, several years ago, I attended a concert with some work friends at a bar called 3^rd and Lindsley in Nashville.  I was working at GBOD and invited a few work friends to go with me to see my new pastor, Sherry, sing with her old band, The Evinrudes. We had a great time and it was a great show. However, I may or may not have had one (or three)-too-many long island teas. I graciously accepted a ride back to our work building from my friend Suzanne. I hopped in the passenger’s seat and we headed back downtown. I was feeling nauseous, so I rolled down the window and hung my head out into the cool air. I yelled at random strangers and then I had this odd, warm sensation from my seat. I immediately worried that I had peed in Suzanne’s car, but I leaned my head back in and shouted, “Suzanne!! My ASS IS ON FIREEEE!!” She cackled, and then advised me that I had somehow turned on the seat warmer. Crisis averted.

There is a point to this story.

During my last treatment on Friday, everything went great. Nurse April performed her magic with the IV and I began my infusion. The first sensation I had was gradual warmth that started in my lower extremities and flowered out until it reached my fingers and toes. It was a pleasant feeling—not too warm—then came the marshmallow clouds. I wish I knew the words to use to describe this feeling, but I don’t. I wish I knew the words, because here I sit, compelled to find them. But, wherever those words exist, they belong to the Universe. What I can do is take off my shoes and recognize the presence of the sacred in this experience.

I won’t try to describe the specifics of this experience, because once again—it was a highly personal experience and I want to honor that by keeping it to myself. Besides—how does one truly describe the way a marshmallow separates into sinewy, sticky pieces when pinched and stretched by one’s fingers?

However, I will say this about the experience: I have curated the perfect playlist (for me) for a one-hour infusion. The songs I included are mostly classical piano. I cannot emphasize enough how important your music choice is for the experience. The music literally carries you through the one-hour journey in your mind. I recommend no lyrics, no fast-paced rhythms, nothing with an overpowering bass line. It took all six treatments and using trial and error to decide which songs worked best for me.

 Here’s the list of songs that make up my “perfect” one-hour playlist:

Moonlight Sonata (1^st movement)

Piano Concerto in A Minor, Op. 7: II. Romanze: Andante non troppo  con grazia

Clare De Lune (Debussy)

Chopin—Nocturne Op. 9 No. 2 in E Flat Major

The Well-Tempered Clavier: Book 1, BWV 846-869: 1. Prelude in C Major

Vivaldi Variation (Arr. For Piano from Concerto for Strings in G Minor)

Adagio Sostenuto

Gymnopedie No. 1 Lent et douloureux

Minuet in A Major, D. 334

Ave Maria-Charles Gounod, Yo-Yo Ma

Nocturne en mi bemol majeur opus 9 Ballade en sol mineur no.1

Liebstraume, S541/R211: No. 3: Nocturne in A-Flat Major

Suite bergamasque: Suite bergamasque: III Clair de Lune. Andante tres expressific

Piano Sonata No. 12 in F Major, K. 332: II. Adagio

Again, this is my personal playlist, so you should choose whatever works best for you. But I have found these particular songs to be the most helpful to keep me relaxed and to allow my mind to float with the rhythm of the music.

Now—what you’ve all been waiting for—the results…please hold your applause until the final results are read. JK. Clap whenever the hell you want to.

I am getting better. I have reached the point in my treatment where I have begun to see the light at the end of a long, dark, nightmarish tunnel. Last week when I started the treatments, I wasn’t even convinced that the light existed for me anymore. I was sure that all hope of ever seeing that light was gone. After all, it had been months of living in the dark and carrying around the weight of the heavy, deep depression.

I began the treatments without really believing they would work and planning on finishing them out and ending my life.

However, progressively, with each passing day and each treatment…I began to have something that I had been longing desperately for, for months on end. Hope.

Dr. Self believes that I am exactly where he expected I’d be after 2 weeks of treatments. It was his belief, and that of my nurses and family and friends, that I grasped with my heart and my hands and held on to with all my might for the past 2 weeks.

My general mood has become lighter—less irritable, less intense reactions to things. I feel calmer and less agitated. My hands still aren’t shaking—which in and of itself is a miracle. I wake up and my immediate thought is no longer wishing I had died in my sleep. I have more energy, I can think past the next “moment”, I can feel the difference in my body, mind, and soul.

Friends, there just aren’t words. Just like there aren’t words to accurately describe the whole experience of receiving ketamine infusions—there aren’t words for the changes I’m seeing happen in my own spirit. There is only deep, deep gratitude. Gratitude for the changes, gratitude for the doctors who collaborated to provide this treatment option, gratitude for the friends and family who have stood by and walked with me on this journey, gratitude for the many friends and family who have reached out to me over the past couple of weeks and offered your words of support, prayers, and kind thoughts. Specifically, gratitude for Sara—for if it had not been for her support through the worst weekend of my life—I would, without a shadow of a doubt—not still be here.

Thank you.

Thanks be to God for each and every one of you—and for this life that I get to continue on my adventures.