In Utah, where traditional pharmaceuticals often dominate the conversation around mental health, a growing number of patients are exploring a different route—one that doesn’t come from a pill bottle. At Swahn Balanced Health in Clinton, patients are finding hope in a molecule that defies easy classification: ketamine. At the center of that experience is Thomas Swahn, DNP, a Doctor of Nursing Practice who’s made it his mission to guide patients through this unconventional, mind-bending form of therapy. I decided to find out what ketamine could offer me—and what it might reveal.
When it comes to psychedelics, ketamine plays by a different set of rules. Unlike classics like psilocybin, LSD, or mescaline—which light up serotonin receptors and often flood the mind with euphoria—ketamine takes another route. It targets NMDA receptors, opening the door to a different kind of experience, one that some researchers believe can help untangle trauma, addiction, and the brain’s most stubborn patterns.
Originally approved as an anesthetic in 1970, ketamine has since found new life as a tool in mental health treatment. Whether it’s for treatment-resistant depression or long-buried PTSD, patients and providers alike are leaning into ketamine’s unique ability to spark neuroplasticity—essentially rewiring the brain and breaking destructive thought loops. And for some, that rewiring can be life-changing.
So how is it legal? Ketamine has been FDA-approved as an anesthetic and analgesic since 1970. It’s commonly used in veterinary medicine and in specific types of human surgeries. In 2019, the FDA approved esketamine—a closely related compound—for treatment-resistant depression. Esketamine is essentially a tweaked version of ketamine, but it’s only available under strict supervision in a clinical setting. Most ketamine being used in therapy today, however, falls under off-label use—legal, but not specifically approved for mental health treatment.
Until recently, ketamine wasn’t part of the mainstream therapy conversation. But its dissociative, sometimes psychedelic effects can rival classic hallucinogens. Imagine telling your past self that someday, you’d be getting ketamine through an IV, in a medical office, guided by a nurse or therapist—and it would be totally normal. A few years back, my neighbor described how ketamine helped him break through the walls of PTSD, easing lifelong triggers after nothing else worked.
My First Ketamine Visit
To find out what ketamine could do for me, I booked a visit to Swahn Balanced Health in Clinton, with Cole Fullmer as my driver. We were greeted by Adrienne and Natasha Robinson—both friendly, familiar faces. The booking process was straightforward, and since both Robinson and her daughter had experienced ketamine firsthand, they were able to offer some helpful, anecdotal insight. After signing a few forms and providing my medical info, I was given basic instructions: no food for six hours before the session. Clinics typically offer either lozenges or IV ketamine treatments; in my case, it would be an IV—administered in gradually increasing doses—delivered directly into my bloodstream.
Inside the clinic, each treatment room has its own theme: forest, desert, ocean, and space. I chose the forest room—it felt the most grounding, like stepping into a vivid, overgrown dream. Lush greenery, ambient lighting, and a jungle-inspired tapestry surrounded me. Swahn rolled in a speaker and cued up a soundscape designed specifically for psychedelic therapy, complete with a closing prayer from Ram Dass.
Before starting the session, he handed me an anti-nausea pill and began walking me through the process. He explained how ketamine may promote neuroplasticity—the brain’s ability to rewire itself—and why that matters for people stuck in loops of depression, trauma, or anxiety. For many patients, it’s not just about the trip. The real work happens in the days and weeks afterward, when old patterns start to break and new ones have room to grow.
Swahn’s approach is part clinician, part guide. He doesn’t just administer a drug—he helps patients navigate the strange terrain it opens up. After years of working in traditional medical settings, he’s found his lane in this unconventional corner of mental health care. And for many Utahns, that shift is making all the difference.
“The basic idea—that a lot of the Western medical providers are going off of—is that they give you the medicine, and there is a physiological effect that the chemical does to your body to make you better,” Swahn says. “I think that it’s more useful to lean into the experience the patient has, because my feeling is that what we’re trying to do is change your ideas of yourself, of your life—we’re trying to change your story.”
For the first 10 minutes, the IV wasn’t even running—so any effects I thought I was feeling were just placebo. Once Swahn opened the line and delivered a low dose of 0.45 mg/kg, the anticipation set in. The sensation was similar to a few hits of nitrous oxide: a calm, steady body high and a noticeable shift in perception. Things were starting to change, but no vivid visuals yet. Not at that point, anyway.
Into the Rabbit Hole: Where the Trip Begins
About 10 minutes later, Swahn returned and gave me a booster dose—another 0.35 mg/kg of ketamine. That’s when the hallucinations really began to take shape. My perception shifted dramatically, though it’s tough to describe with words. Strangely, all my problems felt small and far away, but without any noticeable change in mood. There was no euphoric lift like the early waves of LSD, and no ego death like DMT—nothing overwhelming or terrifying. It was purely the psychedelic visuals, detached from any emotional surge. I felt like I was moving through a tunnel with different routes branching off in every direction. Each scenario I encountered felt strangely plausible, as if I could step into any of them at will.
When Swahn came in for the final dose, he brought me up to about 1 mg/kg total, saying, “No one remembers when I pull out the IV at this point.” And he was right—it felt like hours had passed. This round hit differently. I was launched deep into what felt like a living jungle, surrounded by shifting thoughts and long-buried memories, including fragments from childhood I hadn’t touched in years.
It was a swirl of perception and synesthesia—colors morphing into flavors, sounds folding into shapes. By this point, translating the experience into language became nearly impossible. I couldn’t tell if the trees on the tapestry around me were real or imagined. Other visions hovered nearby, each presenting a different path or possibility, like doorways I could mentally step into.
The visuals weren’t like the sharp tracers of LSD or the melting distortions of psilocybin. They moved more like fluid planes, waving back and forth, weaving themselves into intricate, evolving patterns.
I also had spiritual thoughts, but they were a bit scrambled.
“During the experience, you’ll usually get a lot of insights and a lot of things, but most of them are just really strange in large part, too,” Swahn says. “You’ll have to sift through that later and try to figure out what that even means? What would that mean about my life?”
These visions would need to be decoded in the following days, once I had time to gather my thoughts. I didn’t feel forced to accept or let go of anything, like you might during a DMT or LSD trip. It was more of a hands-off hallucination—detached, exploratory, and free of intense emotional weight.
Swahn explained that a high enough dose would simply knock you out, leaving you with no memory of the experience.
“The benefit of pushing it up is we could get you to more meaningful experiences or we could sort of make it abstract enough that you’re able to see beyond your own human life and figure things out in that way,” he says.
It took about 90 minutes before I could stand on my own. The physical effects lingered, making it tough to control my limbs until the ketamine fully wore off. This is why clinics won’t let you drive yourself home—and trust me, you wouldn’t be able to anyway.
The only downside was some mild physical discomfort. I felt a wave of nausea after the trip, but it passed quickly—within 10 to 15 minutes. They provide vomit bags just in case, and I’d definitely recommend taking the anti-nausea pill Swahn offers beforehand. Without it, I’m pretty sure I would’ve thrown up. Still, the queasiness was short-lived—nothing like an alcohol hangover—and honestly, a small price to pay for the depth of the experience and its potential impact on mental health.
“Ketamine in the form that I would use is called a racemic mixture,” Swahn says. “And that just means that the half and half mixture of left and right-handed molecules. So in 1970, racemic ketamine was approved for anesthesia and pain relief. In 2019, that was esketamine, the left-handed molecule only, was approved for treatment-resistant depression.”
Esketamine is sold as a nasal spray under the brand name Spravato.
The next day, I noticed a subtle but meaningful shift. As I headed out for my morning jog, the usual rituals felt less rigid—like I had more room to breathe, to be spontaneous, to try something new. Swahn had mentioned that many people feel unable to return to their pre-programmed routines, or at least not in the same way. Instead, they feel freer—to make changes, to break patterns.
Unlike many classic psychedelics, there was no dramatic afterglow or emotional comedown. Ketamine works differently. It doesn’t tangle with serotonin the same way, and that gives the experience a quieter kind of power—less euphoric, but no less profound. I’m still holding space for whatever psychological progress might follow—not just the trip itself, but what it sets in motion.
In the weeks ahead, the real question is how this strange, dissociative medicine might reshape my mental well-being—and whether that shift is something I can truly feel, or something others start to notice first.
This is just part one of a multi-session journey. In the next installment, I’ll return to Swahn Balanced Health for a follow-up treatment and begin to unpack the longer-term effects. What sticks? What shifts? And does the experience deepen with time? Stay tuned for Part II in the next issue.
