Revisiting Electroconvulsive Therapy - Part 1
/The following comes from my time in the Adult Residential Program at Skyland Trail. I wrote at the end of every couple of days on my phone about my experiences in treatment and going to Emory Wesley Woods for regular Electroconvulsive Therapy sessions. The rest of this Mental Health Awareness Month I’ll be going back to these posts about this misunderstood and unnecessarily feared procedure because of the level of efficacy it had against the worst of my mental illness.
December, 2019
It’s an odd feeling being put under general anesthesia so that a doctor can induce a seizure. As of this past Wednesday, I’ve had five ECT treatments, and I’m starting to feel some benefit from the treatments. It takes, on average, six to twelve treatments before most patients report improvement in their thinking and mood.
Currently, I feel markedly calmer in my thoughts. I feel them coming slower and with more space between them.
Three days a week I get shocked, but that is an oversimplification. I arrive at the hospital early in the morning to check in, and meet my nurse. She administers a memory test of a few standard questions to make sure I’m not suffering from any short-term memory loss. Then I get covered with a warm blanket, and she places an IV in my arm.
Fluids are placed in the line, and I wait my turn in the ECT suite. The nurse wheels me in when everything is ready. I shake hands with the anesthesiologist, who assures me that this’ll be nice and easy.
An oxygen mask is placed over my face and tells me to breathe deeply, while another nurse slathers some slime on my temples. I assume that’s to make it easier to conduct the current through my skull and not a prank played on gullible patients. Then the doctor says: “here comes the medicine,” and I feel my breaths coming heavier until I drift off into unconsciousness.
Each time I try to stay conscious a little longer, but Propofol is one hell of a drug. My willpower is no match for the chemistry.
I wake up twenty minutes or so later. Groggy and not all together sure where I am. It’s taken me longer to remember what just happened as I progress with each treatment. This is indicative of changes to my brain, but it is a little disconcerting to forget what just happened. I’m hoping that’ll be the extent of my memory troubles, as it’s rare to experience long-term memory loss.
A nurse administers another memory test, removes the IV, and checks my blood pressure. Once I get a clean bill of health I’m out for the rest of my day at the treatment center. I’ll be tired for the day, seizing for a minute takes some oomph out of you, but no real worse for the wear.
I’m deliberately subjecting myself to electric shocks to reboot my brain because standard medication treatments have not been effective enough. My life continues to be negatively impacted by disastrous automatic thoughts. Fortunately, I have some good doctors who felt it was time to give ECT a try. I’m hopeful because in the span of two weeks my mood has flipped from suicidal to downright chipper.
My next treatment on Monday will mark my sixth treatment, and the start of the therapeutic range. My prognosis is good since I’ve had a good response to the early treatments. Here’s hoping that all of this medical intervention will provide me something I haven’t had for most of my life: a mind that doesn’t fight itself.
