“It’s changed my life,” my friend declared, when I asked him how his psychotherapy-assisted ketamine treatments were going. “Things don’t bother me the way they used to; I wake up happier. I’ve cut down on all my medications. I can meditate! Drinking less, smoking less,” All I could think was, ‘I’ll have what he’s having.’
I’ve struggled with depression and anxiety for almost as long as I can remember, so when I was offered the chance to try ketamine-assisted therapy for myself, I didn’t hesitate.
“What the ketamine does is it allows you to look at your trauma without fear. And in so doing, you integrate that experience, which has previously been fenced off [in your mind] and not integrated. When you integrate it, you can heal,” Dr. Anthony Ocana, who specializes in mental health and addiction and is the owner of Epiphany Clinics ,tells me ahead of my intake appointment.
Doctors have been prescribing ketamine to patients with severe depression for more than two decades. But in recent years it’s gone mainstream and there’s been a massive jump in the number of clinics offering it. Fortunately, the data proving the benefits has been piling up too. Studies from Yale Research have proven that ketamine can dramatically help people suffering from depression, PTSD, anxiety, suicidal ideation, and addiction. One of the huge benefits of ketamine is that it triggers the brain to form new neural pathways, making it easier to develop more positive thoughts and behaviors, and in many cases relieving depressive symptoms. This kind of brain upgrade isn’t even on the menu with traditional antidepressants.
Because clinical supervision and psychotherapy are both key in making ketamine therapy safe and effective, I had an in-depth psych evaluation and gave a medical history ahead of my first ketamine appointment to make sure I was a good candidate. With that box checked, I went into prep-mode by cutting out alcohol and cutting way down on coffee and sugar for a few days before my appointment. A calm mindset improves the outcome of the treatment, so I also avoided watching anything stressful or scary the night before.
On the afternoon of my appointment, I found myself laying on a cushy settee inside Dr. Ocana’s Venice Clinic, with a blood pressure meter on my arm, the lights dimmed and classical music playing.
As he prepared my dose, he asked me to set an intention for the session. Patients, he told me, might choose to make peace with their family, or with a significant other. Or perhaps a traumatic event. I settled on making peace with death. No biggie.
“I’m going to inject you with the ketamine, and it will slowly take effect,” he said, before reassuring me that I was safe, and he could handle anything that arose. I pulled down my eye mask and lay back, more than ready for what I hoped would be a mind-healing trip into my psyche.
Before long, I began to feel an electric energy spreading through my body. I felt as though I was falling gently backward, a blissful carnival-ride with no drop. Suddenly my attention was on my hands. Only they weren’t my hands. They were my aunt’s hands, turning stiff as we prepared her body for the funeral home.
She died of natural causes, at home, surrounded by love — but the image of her getting zipped into a body bag and wheeled away by the undertaker still haunts me. You’d think this sort of traumatic memory would trigger panic on a psychedelic trip. But thanks to the dissociative effects of ketamine, I was comfortably numb. I was able to see a fear-filled memory from a mind-bending new perspective. Instead of watching helplessly as her body was taken away, I felt I was my aunt, and discarding my corporeal form was like breaking free from a heavy weight. In my mind’s eye I saw the gurney sliding into the back of the medical transport van, the double doors shutting. My long-held terror about what strangers, earthworms, or a funeral pyre might do, had dissolved. I was certain that my aunt wasn’t trapped in her body, headed to the ground or an incinerator, instead, she was high above. And, suddenly, so was I.
I had blasted into the stratosphere. I recognized my aunt’s spirit there, a giggly energy playing shooting around this upper dimension. My dead grandmother’s energy was there too, filling me with love. A kaleidoscope of pink, purple and white light surrounded me. The anxiety in my chest that I can never seem to shake, melted away and suddenly I could breathe deeper and longer than I ever had before. Each inhale felt like a gift, bliss running up my spine, and every long exhale was an ecstatic release. I was aware of the sensations in my body but still far removed from the Venice Beach clinic, and Dr. Ocana, who was carefully keeping watch on my vital signs.
I would have happily stayed in my psychedelic state forever, but, like all good things, eventually, my ketamine trip came to an end. I felt myself slowly inhabiting my body again, which had hardly moved in the hour that I was tripping. I felt heavy, the memory of what it was like to be totally detached from my physical form a stark contrast. When I finally peeled off my eye mask, the sun was setting, the shadows of palm trees dancing in the fading light outside the window.
Once I was fully conscious, I was given time alone in the room to recenter myself. It’s not safe to drive after getting a ketamine treatment so I’d arranged for a good friend to drive me home. I could have taken an Uber, but I was so relieved to see my friend and giddy to share everything about my transcendental experience. That night I hardly slept, I kept returning to the blissful moments that I could so vividly recall. I felt certain that what I’d experienced was a preview of death. I could finally let go of my terror about the post-mortem unknown.
The following day, my energy remained high and vibrant. I was able to put in a full workday in spite of my lack of sleep, but by the end of day I finally crashed for a solid 8 hours, or maybe more. My good mood continued for several days, though with each day I felt a little of the shine wearing off.
Three days after my ketamine treatment, I had a therapy session with Dr. Ocana to integrate the psychedelic insights into my three-dimensional world. I described all I could recall from the experience while he took notes. Reliving the experience, talking about it and, if possible, journaling about it, are important steps in making new neural pathways.
When I mentioned that I’d felt as though I was taking extraordinarily long breaths during my trip, the doc confirmed that yes, my breathing was noticeably deep and slow during much of the session. Apparently, I’d also been sighing very loudly with every exhale. Luckily, I didn’t feel at all judged, because this is the sort of thing that would normally have me cringing with embarrassment. But there’s no denying that the peaceful breathing I’d connected with during the session, however loud and cringey, was incredibly healing. It might be the best thing that came out of it for me because weeks later, I can still tap into that visceral feeling. I’ve been using the memory to guide myself into a better breathing pattern during yoga and meditation. I’ve even used it to self-soothe during an early morning moment of anxiety.
When it comes to my insights about death as a joyful adventure, I must admit, doubt has begun to creep in. I don’t feel quite as certain that what I experienced really was a preview of death, as I’d confidently told Dr. Ocana during our therapy session. But that doesn’t mean it hasn’t been helpful. Now, when I conjure the image of the undertaker driving away with my aunt’s body and the panic begins to rise in my chest, instead of spiraling into my long-held fear, I can return to the memory of my psychedelic experience and the certainty I’d felt during the trip that her body was floating free from her corpse long before she made her way to the crematorium. And it does bring some comfort.
There’s no required number of sessions to see a benefit from ketamine therapy, but it’s ideal to have multiple sessions to get the most benefit. The friend that insists it’s changed his life did six sessions (with another doctor) and is now on a sublingual maintenance dose. Dr. Ocana’s Epiphany Clinic offers packages ranging from one to six sessions. A therapy session is always required after each ketamine infusion, and is included in the cost.
And speaking of cost, it’s undeniably a barrier for a lot of people. One session of psychedelic-assisted treatment, with a follow-up therapy appointment, is upward of one-thousand dollars. The good news is that insurance companies, including Blue Cross Blue Shield, are beginning to cover it. But be warned, there are currently a lot of hoops to jump through to get it covered by insurance and the criteria for who qualifies is limited to more extreme cases.
The strict criteria for who qualifies isn’t really “fair,” to the general population, says Dr. Ocana.
“You don’t need to have PTSD to benefit from psychedelics. You do need to have a negative impact or dysfunction. Sometimes you don’t even know that you have dysfunction, so to say, only these people can get treated with psychedelics isn’t fair. Sixty-five percent of women and thirty-five percent of men have been physically or sexually abused, of these, twenty percent will develop PTSD….and it could be double that. One of the challenges is that many people who are traumatized repress it, so they do not seek care. I’m not trying to say ketamine-assisted therapy is the silver bullet, but I am saying that if you’ve been traumatized, this will help you.”
The goal of doctors on the frontlines of psychedelic-assisted therapy is to get every insurance carrier to cover it — especially the federal ones looking after our veterans, our police officers, and our health workers, the doc explained to me. “Imagine what this could do for their trauma,” he enthused. And, after my experience with ketamine-assisted therapy, I must agree. It has serious potential to heal — but for it to do any real good, more people need access to it.