After completing my Ketamine Assisted Psychotherapy (KAP) training, I felt ethically obligated to do a dosing session, as I wanted to have a personal experience to help guide others through and after it. This session, which lasts between two to three hours, starts with about 45 minutes of information, including practical tips, ethical/safety protocols, and a brief meditation to ready the client for the ketamine. 

Ketamine (K) was developed in 1962 as an anesthetic, with usage in numerous contexts since then. Currently, researchers are examining it's off-label usage (which is somewhat common in psychiatry) for chronic depression, anxiety, PTSD, and other troubling conditions. As a person without an official diagnosis (I feel left out), I discussed with my prescriber other challenges in my life that qualified me for the dosing session. 

My setting was cozy: my wife's and my bed, a relaxing meditation playlist, a fresh batch of red roses, and some copal incense from Mexico. When directed, I put the 200 mg of K under my tongue, swishing for approximately 10-12 minutes. Within a few minutes, I started noticing some numbing in and around my mouth, accompanied by some mild visual blurring. A couple of bodily pains, that I typically manage perceptually, began to diminish. The clinical guide instructed me to spit out the K, I put on my eye shades, and slowly sank into my pillow. Expansion: this theme persisted. K can have a bronchodilating effect, and I certainly noticed my breathing becoming deeper, smoother, and slower. Or, perhaps it wasn't slower; my perception of time began to radically change, at some point, becoming almost meaningless to me. I intentionally thought of my wife, our family, friends, current clients, those I want to serve, and the whole of humanity, if that's possible. I was filled with Love. I felt like I was traveling, mostly through space, rarely alone, but curiously, with a dim light, not emitted by any real light source, that epicodically appeared in my upper left visual field. 

From what I was told, about 10-15 minutes elapsed, and the clinical guide noted that it was time for me to decide about a second dose. I chose to take it (200 mg) and the booster (100 mg), with another period of swishing. As you might guess, this swishing was different than the first, as I was still encountering the effects of the first dose, despite removing my eye shades. My surrounding was blurred, super soft, with a general enhancement of my sensual world: I selected a rose, burying my nose into it. The copal transported me to San Miguel de Allende, or one of our other Mexico destinations. My playlist, although never heard before, seemed comforting, with a level of audio clarity/fullness that made me think I was an audiophile, although I'm not. I touched my legs and put my crossed hands on my chest--both actions felt sensitive, as my skin was welcoming contact. As instructed, I did my required spat, adjusted my eye shades, and giggled into the softness beneath me. 

Approximately 40 minutes passed. Much of this journey seems ineffable. Or, perhaps I wouldn't want to reduce it to language. The theme of expansion remained, but at a much heightened level. More people with whom I'm connected. More space. I was the camera for Google Maps, allowing me to + or - at will. Oh, and I could type much more. At some point, and I'm unsure how I knew, I thought that reality-as-it-is was accessible enough to remove my eye shades to affirm that I was still in my bedroom. Yep: clinical guide onlooking, check; arms/legs attached, check; can I speak? Check. The guide gently asked a couple of questions, providing space for my somewhat rambling expression, as language/coherence seemed a bit tricky. During the rest of the day, I definitely felt in a zone. In fact, as of this writing about a week later, I'm still there. I blame this, in part, on seizing that neuroplasticity space following the K, wanting to make the most of this. And, I feel more prepared (now) to help you seize this space too, if you qualify to do so.