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129 BEING A VOLUNTEER + Walking down six flights to the basement, I turned right, making my way down the container-strewn hall. The solid metal pharmacy door was to the left. In bold letters, a sign commanded, "DON'T RING MORE THAN ONCE. PUSH GENTLY AND QUICKLY AFTER THE DOOR UN- LOCKS." I pushed the intercom buzzer. A closed-circuit camera stared down at me. There were days when, despite my better judgement, I did buzz more than once—I could wait in the hallway only so long. There also were days when I wasn't quick enough to push open the door when the lock re- leased, and I had to ring again. Inside, a waist-high countertop ran along the length of a narrow ante- chamber. From it rose a four-foot-high wall of thick glass, probably bullet-proof. Behind the glass stood several busy pharmacists, and be- yond them was the storage site for all the hospital's medications, including the narcotics vault. The research pharmacist unlocked the narcotics room, went behind another set of doors, and unlocked the little freezer containing our drugs. He had filled the syringe with the prearranged dose of DMT the previous night. He only capped the syringe, because attaching a needle was cum- bersome and potentially dangerous—he might accidentally inject himself with DMT. The drug solution in the syringe was frozen, and I put it in my breast pocket so that it could begin to thaw while I signed various forms. Returning to the ward, I told the nurses at the front desk that the injection would take place in about 15 minutes. My warning was intended to help lend a slightly quieter air to the usually very busy ward. They had heard enough strange stories from the volunteers, and sometimes even yells and cries from the study room, to know that something serious was about to begin. They switched off the public address system to Room 531 and awaited my return an hour or so later. I went to the medication room and prepared a syringe full of sterile saltwater for the flush that followed the DMT injection. I fastened a needle to the top of the DMT-containing syringe. Finally, I stuffed a few alcohol swabs into my pocket for use in wiping off the end of the IV tube into which I'd inject Alex's DMT. Ireentered Alex's room and placed the "Session in Progress. Do Not