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Patient 13 is a story that starts in a hospital ward, detours through a psychedelic clinical trial, and somehow lands in a place that feels both devastating and oddly hopeful. It’s the kind of show that makes you rethink the neat narratives we build around illness, independence, and the people we let close enough to hurt us.
Talking to Gail, you get the sense she’s spent years turning chaos into clarity — not by sanding down the rough edges, but by holding them up to the light. The humour is sharp, the honesty disarming, and the reflections feel lived‑in rather than curated. What follows is a conversation that moves between trauma, mushrooms, medical authority, dating, and the strange business of becoming a new version of yourself while the old one is still watching.
“I got rid of all the toxic people and there was no one left.” Were you laughing at the absurdity of that line, or grieving the truth inside it?
Both, the line exposes the nuance and extremes of human relationships: isolation v independence; trust v self care. As a “chronically” independent person, my impulse is to retreat when I feel I can’t trust someone. Sometimes that is the right decision, sometimes not. In the real events of Patient 13, I struggled to find the balance. What are the right boundaries? What happens when “there is no one left?” I had to ask myself if I went too far. After all, no one is perfect. We can’t do everything alone and it is possible to grow in a relationship.
Your cancer diagnosis pushed you into a clinical trial involving magic mushrooms. What was the moment you realised this experience was theatrical?
The psychedelic trip (or the dosing, as the doctors call it) was an intense download of epiphanies — one was that I missed performing and that I should write jokes again. Years later, when I returned to NYC storytelling stages, the first story I told was one called “The Dosing.” The audience loved it, so that was encouraging. Several people have told me that it was the best performance of a psychedelic trip they’d ever seen. And it’s accurate because the doctors made me write everything down. And now it’s in the play!
The show is darkly satirical, but the trauma underneath is real. How do you protect yourself emotionally while performing something so close to the bone?
The play goes by much faster than the real life events and now I already know the ending is happy, so that’s a plus.
There’s a line in the play that also reflects my pragmatic approach, then and now: “there’s no time to cry, I’m CEO of Gail’s biggest decision ever.” So, even back then, there was/is a breakneck urgency to move forward, to deal with the decisions, the treatments and still have some fun. I’ve always tried to approach life as an adventure, even in tough times. This will make more sense when you see the show.
As an author, the experience has transformed into emotional beats, a complete narrative. While there is some trauma and sadness, it feels like I’m reliving and sharing personal growth, as lessons are learned and action is taken. Overall it’s an empowering and joyful tale, an adventure. The humor is constant, so we’re laughing together at the absurdity of life. I like to say that the show helps me do the show.
I expect that performing almost every day for 23 days in Edinburgh may present a different challenge. I plan to sit in the meadows, hug a tree, find a yoga class or a fellow human to ground me.
You describe yourself as fiercely independent. What did psychedelics reveal about the version of yourself you’d been clinging to? As I mentioned above, I may have gone too far in my independence, especially post cancer treatment. It’s not easy to return to “normal life” after facing mortality and being treated for cancer. For me at least, I wanted to have deep conversations, not just get back to the mundane routine of living. And I think I judged certain people who didn’t behave the way I thought they should. The psychedelics helped me see the bigger picture.
The psychedelics reminded me that we’re all doing our best. And that we are all connected, like it or not. This is a lesson I still have to remember. It’s been long enough that I can slip back into old patterns. Doing the show feels a bit like tripping as the profound truths need to be repeated. It’s fun and enlightening for me and the audience.
The play is also about dating while your identity is shifting. What did illness change about intimacy and desire?
Hmm. I was raised in Oklahoma, in an environment where I was taught to suppress my own feelings, to always put other people first. Over time, this manifests as being a “people pleaser,” which can lead to personal neglect and shame. So, I haven’t always been good at standing up for myself or even recognizing that I should defend my own feelings.
However, facing mortality offers a certain immediate clarity. Suddenly, I had to put myself first — it was literally life or death. Suddenly, I had to ask “is this person good for me?” rather than “how do I make them happy?” The illness forced me into a dramatic self-love that was long overdue. It also turned me into a bit of an introvert, a better listener, and a philosopher. I love this new version of myself and want to keep those elements.
You’ve said you think of your audience as “close friends.” What does friendship mean in this context?
It means we can trust each other. I’m honest about my experience, sharing my vulnerabilities, mistakes, and lessons. In the play, my audience (aka my friends) often see my mistakes before I do. Like life. As their friend, I’m warm and welcoming, protecting them from trauma by adding humor to the “scary” parts. It’s like we are living the events together. What’s more fun than hanging out with friends?! In this case, I get to do all the talking, but it’s not considered rude. When I’ve hung out with the audience after, I joke that it’s their turn to talk for an hour.
Dan Oliverio talks about institutionalised fear and loneliness. What fear felt institutional to you, and what fear felt entirely your own?
The institutional fears that I deal with in Patient 13 are things like questioning the medical authority, power figures. For example, I faced an arrogant doctor who didn’t listen, and seemed to want to scare me into following a healthcare protocol generalised to fit the masses rather than an individual.
On a more personal level, I was fearful due to the uncertainty of a contradictory diagnosis, with treatment supervised by a doctor that I didn’t trust. The question became, do I have to do everything that an authority tells me to do? I was suspicious of his bravado and condescending demeanour. It didn’t feel like I was a person to him. I was more afraid of chemo and radiation than of psychedelics.
Patient 13 arrives as the UK debates psychedelic treatment. How does it feel to have your story intersect with a political turning point?
It feels fantastic to share my story at a time when it can be most useful. It’s synchronicity, a happy accident to be relevant. I hope that the Patient 13 show helps UK audiences see one example of how psilocybin treatment might work. There are documentaries out there, but this play enables people to take a real life journey with me as a patient. Beyond entertainment, I want the show to be a service, such that it helps the audience find more clarity in their own lives and decisions.
When I participated in the study, most people in the US were skeptical about psychedelic therapy. The stigma was so strong that the hospital had a hard time finding cancer patients to participate. Perhaps the UK debate is at that stage now. So again, happy relevance.
The show grew from storytelling nights in New York. What stayed from those early versions?
The early versions were merged into a greater narrative arc. Many little situational jokes stayed, because I know they work. But the endings were cut and reshaped. Beginnings were expanded. The transitions were fun and tedious to write to ensure that they pulled the separate pieces together in a bigger story. This experience has helped me grow as a writer and performer.
If the version of you who first received the diagnosis could watch Patient 13 today, what do you hope she’d recognise?
First off, Version One of Gail would be relieved that I/we survived. Secondly, I think she’d be thrilled and impressed that the New Version Gail managed to follow through with this project and that it is entertaining and helping people. She’d like me to get rid of some toxic people.
Version One Gail would like the jokes. Even in the midst of trauma, she saw the funny. She’d like that New Version now shares that sense of humor with a broader audience. After the diagnosis and during treatment, she never wanted pity and still wanted to be a normal person who has fun. New Gail continues that tradition, which I think people can relate to on multiple levels.
Both Versions believe that you don’t stop living just because you think you might die. Sometimes “healthy” people can be inadvertently condescending to people who are fighting an illness. It’s a weird division. Patient 13 brings light to these nuances. Version one of Gail would be proud.
