One beautiful spring day in New York last year, I found myself in a 10th floor medical clinic, hooked up to a saline IV drip. I was there for my very first ketamine IV infusion, a treatment meant to help me with anxiety, depression and PTSD.

A kind nurse sat by my side and explained that I could use a button to call her if I was uncomfortable in any way or wanted help. And did I want a blanket? Yes, I did want a blanket. I wanted to feel warm and cozy, and I had brought everything else I needed: an eye mask, a journal to reflect on the ketamine therapy experience, my headphones for music and a suitably jolly playlist on my phone.

“Do you want the blinds open or closed?” the nurse asked. I thought for a second. “I guess closed?” She shut the blinds and continued her work, leaving the room

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