I had my first “maintenance” ketamine treatment on Wednesday. I was anxious about it, but things seemed to go pretty smoothly. No big freak-outs, no big insights, just a smooth ride to la-la land for about 90 minutes before wrapping up.
During the treatment I found myself wondering — again — why am I going through all of this. Is it really worth the trouble? Why not just stay depressed and accept that version of reality for myself? It’s not so bad, is it? And lord knows, there’s more than enough stuff to be depressed about these days.
But I’ve stuck with is for months already, so staying the course seems advisable. Maybe there’s an end in sight? I hope so.
While I was coming down from the treatment, there were several ideas I wanted to take note of. Jane wrote them down for me:
What’s behind my compulsion to write about this stuff? Am I doing anything useful? I know others using ketamine are interested in my experiences, so perhaps that’s enough.
Do human beings have an innate desire to connect emotionally? The urge to “share” my experience is stronger than I expected it would be. That said, the things I write will never be as important to anyone else as they are to me. So why the desire to explain myself? Maybe it’s as simple as this: I’m a writer, so I write.
The big nagging feeling I came away with: Am I leading a virtuous life? How would I know? If I’m not, what can I do to course-correct? Or is it already too late? Sound like another journey in the offing.
All these thoughts kept skittering through my brain as I left the clinic on Wednesday. It had been two weeks since my previous treatment and I didn’t really know what to expect this time.
Blow by blow
The familiar ritual of setting up my music, my headphones, my blanket, my blindfold, etc., was a welcome one — as was the chance to spend uninterrupted time with Jane. I didn’t realize how much we had come to appreciate these few hours together. We were in a small office with one reclining chair, and a view of the powerlines outside.
My doctor asked if I was comfortable continuing with the dosage we’d planned on, and I said yes. So we did. My maintenance dose is 56 mg of Spravato.
The big issue for me this time was all about aftereffects, not the actual treatment experience. For the first time in all the months I’ve been doing this, I got really nauseous afterwards, I could barely walk to the car. The ride home was excruciating, and when I got to the house, it took me almost a half-hour to make it to my bedroom. I ended up having a four hour nap, and felt bad for at least 24 hours.
Today is three days later. I feel fine now, the nausea is gone and I seem to be on a fairly even keel. I won’t say I’m holding depression and anxiety at bay — but I don’t think I’m likely to go off the deep end.
You never know, though. The world seems to be going to shit and I feel powerless to do anything about it. That’s a common complaint among my circle of friends, which makes me wonder how we’re all going to make it through.
Thanks for reading.
So many of us are trying to figure out how to cope with the madness in our country Jim. We all benefit from hearing of the challenges and ways different people deal with our current situation in America. Even for some who have figured out ways to keep their lives on an even keel, we ask many of the same questions you cite. Some days I just want to hide, but mostly the freedom and justice for all compells me to keep moving against this oligarchy as best as I am able.
Keep on writing.
Hi James! I'm quite interested in reading what you have to say and on what ever subject you choose to write. I didn't even know Ketamine treatment was a thing until you wrote about it here. And like others here have said, I like knowing I'm no alone in the mad, mad, mad world of the U.S. of (north) A. in 2025.
I am quite glad that you sought and have benefited from the treatment you are doing and continuing. Like yourself, I wrote about my journey through trama therapy and I've had a few friends mention that it allowed them more space to consider looking inside themself in a similar way. Heck, with all the bat crazy shit being flung into the informationscape I believe there is more than enough room for stories that build us up and let us know we're not alone.
Keep on keeping on my brother from another mother.