Interesting Session

A long time friend of my kids was over last summer, and we had an interesting conversation.  He (I'll call him Doc here instead of always saying our friend)  counsels and has been using MDMA in some of his sessions.  The discussion was mostly between Doc and Sarah in the context of how MDMA has been used in therapy sessions to treat PTSD and other conditions.  The medicine got a bad rap years ago which led to it being classed as a schedule 1 drug.  But, the FDA has granted therapy designation for MDMA to facilitate more study as it has proved beneficial in certain treatments.  I don't want to go into a long explanation of MDMA and its history and uses.  You can find out all about it on the internet.  And, I feel a little guarded in what I'm saying here as there are many who probably frown upon this.

Anyway, this all ties into dealing with the loss of Everett.  As you can imagine, Everett's mom and dad had the extremely heavy burden of dealing with all of this.  Although, it is hard to quantify anyone's grief and  everyone deals with it in their own way. It was traumatizing for us all. Sarah is a very strong woman and I believe she has handled all of this as best as one can.  But, in counseling, she got to a point where she didn't really see the need to continue.  This is where a therapist may disagree.  As Doc said, if you don't deal with things, and keep stuffing them down, they may cause you other problems, including physical symptoms.  The conversation with Doc focused on how MDMA has been beneficial in a therapy setting to get beyond hurdles we all throw up, and to open oneself up to looking at things differently.  Again, I'm not explaining this well.  But, even if Sarah wasn't interested, I was very interested in pursuing this.  I had asked if it would be possible to have a session for myself with MDMA.  His answer was yes.  

I didn't act on this until about 6 months later.  I wasn't interested in starting therapy.  I told myself I should explore this to report back to Sarah as to whether it might be worthwhile for her to check out.  In reality, I was mostly just very curious about what the experience would be like and this was a good excuse to give it a try.  So, I followed up with Doc and set up a session with him.  This is not something I wanted to do on my own, but only in a controlled setting.  I had total trust in Doc, and he had been through many, many such sessions with people with no adverse experiences.  Still, I had no idea what to expect.

The experience I had this past December was pretty amazing.  In fact, I believe some of what came out of that session is still developing and affecting some things in my life today, including this blog and the topics I am writing about.  Doc was very professional in how he handled this. In advance of the session we had a phone conversation to explain the process, and answer any questions I had.  I filled out some initial intake questions.  Doc asked if I had anything in particular I was having issues with, or wanted to explore.  I really couldn't come up with much, other than my continuing issues with trying to find some purpose in my retirement, and feeling a bit stuck.  And, of course how this all came about was talking about the sorrow of losing Everett.  

The actual session was here at our place, and it took the better part of the day.  I was in a very comfortable setting lying down.  Doc brought a sound track along that played in the background throughout the session.  I had the first dose of medicine, and listened to the music while waiting for the effects to kick in. Doc was at my side and would check in from time to time as to how I was feeling.  The first sensations related to the music.  I started moving to it, and felt it within me.  As the effects increased, I became quite talkative.  Doc didn't really lead me in any particular direction, or I didn't think he did.  But, the memories just started pouring out of me.  These were early childhood memories, and things I hadn't  thought of forever.  Some were not pleasant and related to growing up in a pretty strict, sheltered Italian-American, Catholic household.  I didn't have an unhappy childhood, and nothing traumatic.  But, these things I was remembering, I obviously carried with me, and they  likely had various impacts on how I went about my life.  The medicine allowed me to talk freely about all of this stuff with no self-censorship.  I was also able to view these memories non-judgmentally, and to see them in a different light.  Instead of seeing them as bad or anything to be ashamed of, these were just experiences of a child, some of a child as young as 3 or 4 years old. I was blown away by the things I remembered, and why they would be popping up now. 

After the second dose of medicine, things intensified.  The music continued to be a part of me.  At one point, with a song with a very heavy beat, I almost bounced myself off the bed, bouncing to the music.  The memories continued, and the energy flowed.  And, I continued talking.  Finally, Everett came up, and Doc asked what I was thinking.  I had many thoughts and memories of Everett. They didn't make me sad and it wasn't agonizing to re-experience these things.  I mean there was still some sadness, but it all was much warmer loving thoughts of him.  I'm not sure what led to it, but Doc asked if I thought that Everett knew that I loved him.  That was a pretty emotional moment, and raised some other memories that I still cherish today.  The first was a silly game that Everett started when he was maybe 4 or so.   I was on a usual visit to Arizona to spend time with family.  I was always playing and horsing around with the three grandkids.  At one point, I started going after Everett in a slow mechanical way like I was going to attack him.  Everett laughed and yelled, "Papa, you're a robot!"  He then took off, as best he could, with me pursuing him as a robot monster.  Coen also got into the game and I would chase the two of them through the house with them screaming and laughing.  This became a regular routine for more than a couple years.  I would be on another visit a year later, and all Everett (or Coen) had to do was look at me with a stupid grin, and say, "Papa you're a robot!" and off we'd go again. Who knows why kids can take such joy in simple repetitive games such as this.  But they do.  And I do.  We played many other games, mostly all sports involving a ball.  But this was a made up game, and it was Everett's.  It was a powerful, and good memory, and the answer to Doc's question, was yes, I do know that Everett knew I loved him.  There's another follow up part of this memory that I'll save for another post, as this is getting a bit long.  And, I'm just trying to hook you into coming back to read more. 

There was much more to the session, and by the end, I was getting a bit exhausted.  At the end, Doc said that I may find the medicine continues to work and other things may come up. If I was open to it, I may experience some other after effects.  I didn't put a lot of stock in that.  But, now I think these thoughts and experiences I've been sharing about Everett, and how he affected my life, are directly related to that session in December.  I can see how MDMA can be a very valuable tool for dealing with trauma.  It doesn't erase memories, or make everything all better.  But, perhaps it allows you to see another side to it all, and reframe what has happened in a way that leaves you in a lot better place with the memories and experiences.  We only had a short time with Everett.  But that time was very rich with love, fun, warmth, laughter, along with all the other day to day stuff of being with a kid, and watching his parents raise him.  And not only his parents, but his additional moms, Laura, Megan and Martha. Now after three years of tears and sorrow over his loss, I have Everett keeping me company at times, and he continues to bring smiles to me.  In fact, whenever I conjure him up, the first image is his smiling face, and wherever I am, I break into a smile, or even laugh out loud.  It's a blessing.