I knew I was about to have a spiritual experience when the four doctors walked in the room with a needle full of ketamine.
We’re getting a little ahead of ourselves though, this story starts with a weathered 30-something, a brand new pair of roller skates, and a deep desire to free her inner child.
I’d been planning to buy roller skates for a couple of years at this point, but always had an excuse why I couldn’t: it’s an expensive hobby, I don’t have anywhere to skate, I’m too old, I’m too overweight, etc. This year, shortly following my 5-year relationship ending, I finally allowed myself to start my roller skating journey. I was itching for a new experience, something to mark the beginning of a new chapter, nay.. a new BOOK. I landed on exploring my interest in hiking and roller skating. I was going to be an outdoor adventure girl 😎
I began by opening the door of education on my new hobbies, and starting following instagram accounts of inspirational roller skaters, like @estrojen, the founder of Moxi Roller skates; a roller skate company I had been eyeballing for a couple of years due to their incredible aesthetic and construction that allowed plus size bodies to skate without fear of the skate falling apart.
Deciding to take the plunge, I picked out the perfect pair of skates: The Beach Bunny roller skates in Peach Blanket! I’ve been obsessed with the peach color palette lately, and everything about this set spoke to my soul.. but oh my gosh what a price tag 😳 especially when I added in the safety gear ensemble: wrist pads, elbow pads, kneepads and a helmet.
I was looking at an investment of over $400. Not to worry though! I set up a 4-part installment plan of about $100 each that would come out of my bank account over the next several weeks. Easy peezy… this was a long-term investment in my health and happiness, afterall. I swiped my credit card, and anxiously awaited the arrival of my skates in the mail.
My excitement was pouring out of my body everywhere I went. I energetically informed my friends and family that skates were coming in the mail for ME!!! I couldn’t even contain my excitement during my twitch streams, and even unboxed my protective gear live while I was waiting for my minecraft mods to load up.
Despite weather reports calling for thunderstorms, the next afternoon, the 1st day of July, was a hot, bright summer dream. I woke up with the sunlight streaming through my window, and didn’t do any of my morning routine (I didn’t even turn on my aquarium lights??). I dashed out of my room to find my skates in a box on the table. They had arrived! It was time to change my life! I fed my cat, grabbed my purse, snatched up the box, and rushed out the front door. My dad’s words “don’t break your arm!” hung in the air as the door shut behind me and I practically skipped to my car.
I drove around town for a good 45 minutes looking for the perfect spot to skate, starting with a stop at dunkin donuts for some delicious avocado toast + bacon to start my day. (this comes up later, so jot that down).
- The basketball court by the lake? a youth team was already practicing there.
- The local skate park? too many hot skater boys around.
- The rec center track? no sun coverage and WAY too hot.
- The tennis court? already occupied.
About ready to call it quits for the day, thinking it might not be in the cards.. I swing by the lake’s basketball court one more time on my drive home… and HOW LUCKY (foreshadowing?), the youth team had left for the day and the covered court was completely empty! I pulled my car up to park, and took a deep breath as I stepped out into the July sun.
Setting up my selfie stick and mounting my cellphone, I hit record as I eagerly began unboxing my new skates. I fully intended to make a youtube and instagram series out of my attempts to learn how to skate, wanting to detail my progress over the summer. Maybe I still will, I’m sitting here trying to type this blog with a broken arm, and still am unsure if I’ll try skating again once I’m fully healed, or if I need to just sell them off to someone more deserving.
After prepping my wheeled friends by removing the plastic, inserted paper balls, and adjusting the wheels; I threw my skates over my shoulder, grabbed my camera and coffee, and wandered out onto the empty basketball court. I felt a little nervous, with the occasional glance over my shoulder to see how many people would be able to observe my foolishness… but this outdoor basketball court was tucked away in the corner of a large field on the outskirts of the lake. There weren’t even many buildings or houses overlooking my new arena.
I sat down on one of the many chairs lining the perimeter of the court, and began lacing up. The only protective gear I brought with me were the wrist guards (because what could go wrong on day 1, right?), and I strap those on, too. There were three large plastic tables on the left side of the court which I thought would make perfect anchor points to hold on to as I tested my balance for the first time. I set up my camera, and weeble wobbled my way out into the middle court to record a few minutes of before footage that I could compare my progress to later. A few stumbles and close calls to falling sprinkled the first 15 minutes of my practice, but I stayed upright! My cellphone, no longer acting as a recording device, was now my radio, and the upbeat yet slightly melancholic voice of Harry Styles rang out through the shaded cement stage while I creaked my rusty body around in slow, uncertain circles. (still obsessed with as it was)
But my solitude is interrupted by the sound of approaching footsteps and several bouncing basketballs. I look up and see a gaggle of young teenage boys approaching, so I snatch my phone up, muting Harry Styles (lest I be judged by the children), and head over to my bag with the intent of packing up for the day. The alpha teenager calls out to me though, “you don’t have to leave! we only need one side!” And after a short back and forth, I tell him “this is my first day skating, I haven’t fallen yet but I expect it to happen, so don’t mind me,” and the boys take to the right half of the court while I continue wobbling around in circles on the left side.
About 30 minutes go by, and I gotta tell you.. I was feeling GREAT. I had my balance, was picking up a little bit of speed, and starting to get more confident at turning the corners around the picnic tables. I’m dripping in sweat, my back is aching, but I’m feeling alive. This is exactly the type of cardio I need: something so fun, I lose track of time and I don’t even think about my heart rate.
So I skate over to my purse, pulling my wrist guards off, it’s time to call it a day. I grab my cellphone to put it in my bag, but then I remember! I should film another few minutes for “after” footage, since I’ve got the hang of it now! So I set my camera back up, and continue out onto the court for another few circuits, my wrist guards still safely tucked away in my purse :’ )
I’m swinging around my last lap, and change my trajectory to my camera. But I’m going too fast and realize I’m not going to be able to stop, so I pivot off towards the edge of the court and that’s where it all goes wrong.
I only fall one time that fateful Friday… but one time is all it took.
All of my studying before I got my skates of how to fall correctly (crouch down, get smaller, don’t throw your arms out) completely disappears from my tiny brain, and I do everything I’m not supposed to: flail around, get taller, and lean backwards. Up go my feet, and down falls my hopes and dreams: the entire impact of the fall landing on my left wrist.
There’s no sound, no crunching, no pain.. just the impact of hitting the ground. I look down and see my wrist in a soft zig zag shape and I know exactly what I’ve done. I’ve broken my fucking arm 😩 And that’s exactly what I shout at the children who are still blissfully unaware, dribbling their basketballs and having a grand ol July afternoon. I don’t regret skating. I do regret falling. But most of all: I regret cussing at the children in my moment of trauma.
They react like my dream characters react when I tell them I’m dreaming: mild confusion, then continue on as if I said nothing at all. But I can tell they’re alert, and it seems as if they just don’t know what to do. One kind young lad delivers me my phone from my selfie stick (wow I feel like a douche lmao), and I immediately call my mommy.
I have to use my right hand to spatula my broken wrist up into my lap, and then wait the long 20 minutes for my parents to arrive with only my pain and idiocy for company. Why did I take the stupid wrist guards off? Why did I even go skating in the first place? Maybe I’m too old to have fun anymore, inner child be damned. I text a few friends to stave off the panic, as the shock starts to set in. I can barely look at my arm, but if you’re morbidly curious, you can click here to see the photo I took of my broken arm while I sat there in disbelief. There’s no blood or bone poking through, just an awkward lump visible under the skin.
The triumphant sound of wheels on gravel sounds behind me, help has arrived! The children finally stop playing basketball as I get awkwardly loaded up in the car. After much fussing and fumbling around, my dad drives my car home, and I arrive at the emergency room with my mom. Paperwork completed, I settle in for what I’m sure is about to be a new traumatic memory.
My nurse comes in, a late 20’s guy who’s clearly new to his job, but his heart is in the right place. As he searches for a vein to get me hooked up to the IV, I notice he has a tattoo of Doodlebob from SpongeBob on his forearm, and I cling to this. Ahh, a meme. Some sense of normalcy in this chaotic situation. I call him Doodlebob for the rest of my stay in the ER, and he seems to get a kick out of this.
The shock has started setting in, I’m emotionless and detached as my body is wracked with chills, but I continue leaking anxious tears despite my best efforts. They fill me up with fluids since I’m dehydrated (and a nice dose of morphine for the pain, my first experience with it) and send me away for X-Rays.
As I’m being wheeled in the bed down the hallway by the x-ray tech, I feel the wind going past me and it hits me: wind in my hair, feeling of weightlessness and freedom as I glide on wheels… this is the exact feeling I was seeking when I strapped on my skates in the first place. I can’t help but let out a half-hearted “Wheeeee!” as he pushes me down the hallway, and he doesn’t make a peep in response. I expected a laugh or something, and now I feel even sillier lmao.
With the x-rays (painfully) completed, I’m returned to my original room. A few minutes later, my (hot????) doctor walks in: a young, fit guy, white sleeves of his doctor coat pushed up to reveal a collection of colorful tattoos on his forearms. A few locks of hair have escaped his low hanging blonde ponytail, and he’s glancing over a clipboard and he walks up to me. “So, you broke your wrist.”
“Yes,” I say.
“You broke it real good.”
“Oh :’ )”
I’ve broken my Radius almost completely apart right at the base of the wrist, the bone neatly splintered like a large twig that stubbornly refuses to separate after you try to snap it in half. And so Dr. Daddy starts laying out my options for sedation because they’re going to need to push the bone back into place and set it.
- Ketamine: a dissociative drug. “Isn’t that a party drug?” I ask, “yes some people use it as a party drug,” Dr. Daddy replies, “but you need to know the risks: the re-emergence can be frightening, and its possible your vocal chords will spasm and if that happens, we’ll need to paralyze you until it stops.” …. and this is when I start crying in front of Dr. Daddy.
- Propofil: the drug most famous for killing Michael Jackson. “Pass” I say immediately, after Dr. Daddy explains it can cause issues with heart rate, blood pressure and respiration.
- The final option, a Local Block: they’ll inject a numbing agent deep into my wrist and hope for the best as I remain conscious for the process of rearranging my broken bones.
I tearfully look from my mom to the doctor, and ask him which he thinks is the best option. He recommends ketamine because, and I quote, “I don’t want you to fight me.”
After signing a consent form to the ketamine, my mom opts to leave the room, and Dr. Daddy starts prepping several other members of the hospital to help out with the procedure. They need someone to oversee, someone to set the bone, someone to monitor my respiration, and a nurse on duty.
I’m laying in the hospital bed, fear increasing. I ask Nurse Doodlebob if ketamine has a psychoactive effect, but he tells me he doesn’t know off the top of his head. My mind is racing, thinking of all the psychedelics I’ve done in the past, and consigning myself to a paradigm-shifting experience. I consider I might die, and just kind of accept that I no longer have control of the situation I’m in, and whatever happens… happens.
“Have you eaten?” the doctors ask.
“Only my avocado toast about 2 hours ago.”
So there I lay, sweaty and disheveled in a hospital bed, Tank top belly shirt, waist high leggings, and ankle socks. My hair bun has fallen to the side, and my feet are crossing and uncrossing restlessly as I wait for the doctors to organize themselves. My left arm is propped up on my thigh and a bag of ice, and my right arm is gripping at the hospital sheets mindlessly.
And finally, they’re ready.
I knew I was about to have a spiritual experience when the four doctors walked in the room with a needle full of ketamine.
“Thank you all for coming, I bet you’re wandering why I gathered you here today” is the joke that slips out of my mouth as they inject the ketamine into my IV.
Dr. Daddy asks me my name and birthday, and I answer. The next question that comes out of his mouth stretches and morphs as the colors of the room blend and everything warps into a strange feeling cartoon land.
I’m blasted into an alternate dimension that I find extremely difficult to put into words. At the risk of sounding gate-keepy, it’s a psychedelic space that once you experience it, you will never forget, but upon trying to explain it, it slips away like fragments of an exotic dreamscape.
I kept referring to the space as an “infinity of liquid legos” and that’s the closest I can get to minimizing the experience. I believe one of the doctors had manifested in this psychedelic trip as another entity that was urging me on while I was surfing the geometric landscape that was morphing my consciousness into multiple identities and experiences, but none that were ultimately … me. I was just the consciousness along for the ride on this timeless existence: a constant moment. And that’s all there ever was and ever would be.
My friend sent me this video they found on a random reddit thread, and this is the closest representation I can find to what it “looked” like diving into ketamine land. My experience was much more colorful though: a peaches & cream palette, with pops of blue, white, black and yellow. There was a strong sense of order, like a timeline I was following, dipping up and down and around the smoothed corners of a linear path. Fractals radiating off of everything and the feeling of an entity I was begging and pleading with “is this forever, is this life? why does it hurt so much?”
For other psychedelic nerds like me, Ketamine and DMT were the only substances that Timothy Leary attributed to the 8th (and highest) circuit in his Model of Consciousness, called the Psycho-Atomic Circuit.
The Psycho-atomic Circuit allows access to the intergalactic consciousness that predates life in the universe (characterized as God, the Overmind and lets humans operate outside of space-time and the constraints of relativity. )
Psychology Wiki
Coming out of ketamine, the “re-emergence” the doctor called it, was one of the most disorienting experiences I’ve had. Seeing double doesn’t even begin to cover it, everything is lagging in a visual experience that video editors refer to as Datamoshing.
The re-emergence was similar to being drunk, stoned and highly caffeinated at the same time. A strange, hilarious truth serum. Everything was vibrant, and recognizable shapes started forming around me, forcing me to recognize I was still in a hospital bed. Oh yeah: I broke my arm. When I went under from the trip, my arm was naked and broken in my lap. When I re-emerged, my arm was wrapped up in plaster and ace bandages. A blink of the eye in real life, but an eternity in my mind. I looked up at the clock to see it was a quarter to midnight. Only 30 minutes had passed in the real world, but I felt like the book you left half read on your shelf for a few years before you rediscover it and try to pick up at the bookmarked spot from what feels like a different lifetime ago.
Loopy as hell, I hear a voice asking me “Where are you from?”
“Such & such County” I reply.
“Where in Such & Such County?”
“Such & Such street.”
“What were you doing on such & such street?”
“Trying to feel like a kid again,” and I giggle myself back into another short stint in ketamine land, before finally grounding a short (long?) moment later with a devastating reality: my arm is broken and I’m still “this gemini bitch.” (cue more giggles)
The doctors had my height and weight, so this was a perfectly measured and medically monitored psychedelic experience. I felt safe and protected surrounded by a team of professionals, and strangely I think this has been my best psychedelic experience so far. I didn’t think I was going to do anymore psychedelics after shrooms back in 2018, but the universe really took the wheel on this one.
I remember telling Doodlebob “we’re soul-bonded now, I’m so sorry” and continually saying “what the fuck was that, that was fucking crazy, holy shit what the fuck” a multitude of times to a group of kind, laughing doctors. When Dr. Daddy re-entered the room after I gained lucidity I turned to him energetically saying “that was psychedelic as FUCK” and he laughed, replying “I’ve heard that before.”
As he’s telling me the after effects of the procedure, and having me count to 10 and walk across the hospital room, my stomach finally catches up, and here ends the sad story of my delicious Avocado Toast with bacon: thrown up into a doggy bag and discarded in a lonely hospital trash can.
Friday, July 1st I set out to enjoy my first day skating. Not only did I break my arm, but I accidentally stumbled into a medically induced psychedelic experience as well, leaving me more dependent than I’ve been in my adult life on Independence day weekend. The irony is not lost on me 🙂
I spent the rest of the weekend pain-pilled up, surrounded by pillows and my very sweet cat Toasty, watching back to back episodes of The UnXplained hosted by William Shatner, the final episodes of Stranger Things season 4, and the entirety of The Secret of Skinwalker Ranch. Don’t ask me how I managed to type this entire blog with a broken arm, but the show must go on. 6-12 weeks is too long for a content creator to be silent.
My arm is casted up now, and we’re hoping I don’t have to have surgery. But we still have a few more orthopedic visits and xrays before I know for sure.
Will I skate again?
Only time will tell 🥺