My wife and my ten-month-old son were killed by another driver in a crash that should have never happened. My 3-year-old son survived, but at a cost. He is now permanently disabled, forever changed by that day, just like I was.
Grief wasn’t just something I carried, it was something that consumed me. The weight of loss, the responsibility of raising my son with special needs, the endless stress, it all felt impossible to survive. I had lost so much, and with it, I had lost myself.
That’s what led me to Redefined Mind.
I had heard about ketamine infusion therapy, but to me, it sounded like just another promise in a long list of things that were "supposed" to help. I had been down this road before, new treatments, new hopes, only to end up in the same dark place. It was hard to believe that this would be any different. Was this really going to help, or was I just setting myself up for another disappointment?
I sat there in that treatment chair, waiting and waiting for something, anything, to change.
At first, nothing. Session one. Session two. Session three. I was still in the same seat, in the center of my own life's auditorium, waiting for the curtains to open, waiting for the show to begin for something to finally happen. I would give an average of a 4.5 out of 10 on overall improvement all the way up until my fourth visit. But what I didn’t realize was that behind those curtains, behind the scenes of my own mind, something had already begun; I just didn't know it yet.
While I sat there, believing nothing was changing, there was an entire cast behind the curtain, working tirelessly in the background. My mind, so accustomed to pain, so resistant to healing was finally and quietly rearranging itself. I didn't know it then, but something was shifting.
And then it happened.
Subtle changes. A lighter breath. A softer thought. A pause before the weight of my emotions crushed me. It wasn’t an overnight miracle, but it was something different. A spark, a flicker; small, but undeniable.
That’s when I realized what was happening. The ketamine was working.
Ketamine therapy isn’t just about feeling something in the moment, it’s about what it does to your brain long after the session ends. It’s about the way it helps your mind untangle itself, the way it rewires the pathways that trauma and depression have locked in place for so long. It was reshaping my pain into something I could finally manage, something I could finally breathe through.
But it wasn’t just the ketamine.
It was Claire and the entire staff.
I don’t think I’ve met a nurse practitioner like Claire in a long time. She wasn’t just administering a treatment, she was part of the treatment. Her spirit, her energy, the way she uplifted me when I didn’t even realize I needed it, it was just as crucial as the ketamine itself. The rest of the team? They weren’t just staff. They were the people standing beside me in the fight for my own healing. They made sure I felt safe. They made sure I felt heard. They made sure I knew, without a doubt, that I wasn’t alone in this.
By the time I had finished my sessions, I wasn’t the same man who walked in. The crushing weight? Still there, but not as suffocating. The dark clouds? Still looming, but I could see through them now. For the first time in so long, I felt something shift inside me.
If you’re reading this and you feel like nothing has worked, I need you to hear this: give yourself a chance. You don’t have to see the changes happening right away to know they’re working. Sometimes, the most powerful transformations are the ones happening behind the curtain.
They gave me a second chance at myself. And for that, I will always be grateful.
- David Tzic, MBA