Life is Ketaful

My first ketamine infusion treatment was Monday August 31, 2020. Mom and I traveled from Andalusia to Ormond Beach and checked into the hotel before heading to the clinic for my treatment. I was extremely anxious--particularly about the IV (I have lived horror stories when I’ve had to have IV’s placed before). I was fearful about the ketamine treatment, but I had done plenty of research and I fully trusted Dr. Handal’s referral to this specific clinic near Orlando. 

When we arrived at the clinic, my first impression was how good the room smelled--like real lavender--not the fake shit you spray from a can into the air. I met Shannon, the administrative person, and April, the nurse. They took me to a room with a single reclining chair and a small chair for my mom to sit on. I saw the machine and lots of wires and tubes and my anxiety was cranked up a notch. Dr. Self came into the room and introduced himself. He was very patient and very kind as we asked (what had to be the same as hundreds of other patients) questions about the treatment and what the next couple of weeks would be like. He explained that the first week we would spend titrating to the full 100% therapeutic dose that we would be using during the second week of treatment. He said that we would start about halfway with a 50% dose, increase the next session to around 70-75%, and end the week on Friday with a 90-95% dose. By the time he finished answering--mostly my mom’s--questions, I was less anxious and more ready to get started with my first treatment. 

The nurse came in and I warned her that starting an IV may be tricky, but she pulled out some kind of Harry Potter wizard shit and before I knew it, my IV and treatment started. After about 8 minutes, I began to feel like the room was spin-y. I took the advice of the articles I had read and flushed it all down the toilet. I decided that I knew better than those people and I would prove that I was unaffected by the ketamine "trip". I began texting my friends. I told my best friend in the whole world that in a picture where she was sticking out her tongue; her tongue looked like a penis. I advised another dear friend that I was going to stop texting her and go breathe--because clearly one cannot text and breathe at the same time. I called my sister who lives in California. The one time she ever answered--it was this time. She heard some random mumblings about how the medicine was a miracle drug and that I wished I could live this way in real life. The nurse came in and offered my mom a separate room to take her phone call--and then she realized it was me on the phone. I explained--sort of--that it was my sister and she lives in California. I say sort of because I was trying to speak, but my mouth felt like concrete. I apologized for being on the phone and quickly hung up on my sister. I handed my phone to my mother and relaxed and closed my eyes. 

This is when I began to feel as if I was "coming down" from the wave I had been riding. Unfortunately, I spend the rest of the treatment--about 40 minutes--on this "downside" of the wave and I didn’t return to the height I had been at for the remainder. This was disappointing, but the doctor assured me that it was perfectly normal. He also encouraged me to ditch the phone for the next treatment and play some music without lyrics to maintain the ethereal yet pleasant feeling I had felt during the first treatment. I left the clinic, slightly embarrassed to have wasted the better part of my first treatment fighting the dissociation and clinging to the world via my phone. 

I had spent hours talking about and preparing myself for the realistic possible results from the first treatment. However, the pink kid in me clung to the articles that talked about an immediate effect and how their depression had faded completely within the first session of their infusion treatment. It was these articles that precipitated the disappointment that I felt that evening when I realized the heaviness was not gone and the darkness was still palpable. 

I was exhausted--physically, mentally, and emotionally. I felt like giving up, but I decided to stick with it and see what would happen over the course of the next couple of weeks. I slept most of Tuesday--so much for being a beach bum and pool bunny. I didn’t leave the hotel room for more than 24 hours. I decided on Tuesday night to force myself to enjoy the view and watch the ocean from the balcony for a little while. 

Before beginning my treatments, I was convinced that the depths of depression I had been experiencing could not be any more horrible. I think that feeling the hopelessness of having been through the first treatment and not experiencing some miraculous baptism into mental wholeness was as devastating as what it felt like to lie on the floor at my job, sobbing, desperately clawing the concrete because I didn’t know what to do with my hands. 

Thankfully, this is not the end of my story.