I've suffered from depression since I was a pre-teen. In 2012 I got very sick, becoming suicidal. In 2013 I decided to try ElectroConvulsive Therapy. The "Depression" series of blog posts chronicles that process.
To start the Depression series at the beginning, click here: http://ittybittycrazy.squarespace.com/imported-data/2013/12/29/depression-1.html
#depression
#ECT
It occurred to me that I have started a series on depression because I am having ECT, and I have yet to describe the ECT experience. So here goes...
I arrive at the hospital at about 9am and enter the ECT registration room. There's a desk (behind a counter) for the scheduler, then six intake chairs. They're those hospitally chairs, a version of dentist chairs.
First, I have to fill in a questionnaire about how I've felt over the last two weeks. Then I have to sign a consent form. It's the same form with multiple lines to sign and date to consent to the procedure described on page one.
Second, they take my vital signs. They wheel over a machine that has a blood pressure cuff on it, which they put on me and allow to do it's automated thing. A strange wand with a rollerball in it is is passed over my forehead to take my temperature.
Then the nurse comes to put in my IV. Unfortunately the one that is usually there has the shakes, so she's stuck the needle through my vein a few times. When I first came for treatments I was told by this guy to ask for the IV team, and I did a few times, but it seems insulting when you see the same nurse three times a week, to ask for the specialist team. So now I put up with her poking me, and pray. She hasn't been too bad of late, so my patience is paying off. She puts a little butterfly IV thing in, and then hooks me up to an actual saline IV.
While the IV is being put in the nurse asks me a bunch of questions. When did I last eat or drink (I have to fast prior to the procedure)? When did I last take X medication? Y medication? Do I have any pain?
Last but not least, they put a medical tag bracelet on me.
Once the computer has been updated with all my info, vital signs, etc., and I am plugged into the saline drip, I can wheel my little drip over to the waiting room across the hall.
A different nurse comes out from the treatment room to get me, and takes my saline bag off the drip pole and walks me over to the hospital bed. She hangs the saline bag up on a new pole and asks me my full name and date of birth, then reads a medical record number from my medical bracelet to the anesthesiologist, who puts it into a computer.
I have a brief check in chat with the psychiatrist. It's not always my psychiatrist - he alternates with another one in his practice to actually do the ECT treatments.
The nurse puts EEG and EKG electrode thingies on me and wipes with some kind of liquid above and behind my ears.
The anesthesiologist introduces him or herself and, if needed, asks me any questions to do with anesthesia. The anesthesiologist seems to change all the time. I don't think I've ever seen the same one twice.
The nurse strokes my head while she puts a mask over my face, and asks me to take deep breaths. The sleepy medicine tends to hurt as it goes into my hand (that's generally where they put the IV), but it doesn't hurt for long.
Then I'm waking up in the recovery room. There's goop in my hair on both sides above my ears but the EEG/EKG sensors are gone, as well as the IV. I'm drowsy, of course, and the recovery nurse asks me how I am, possibly including a question that will give him or her an indication of my recovery, like what the date is. The nurse asks if I'd like something to drink and I always ask for cranberry juice, which comes in a small yogurt-like cup.
Once the nurse feels I am awake enough, he or she takes the tape that held the IV off my hand, and helps me out of the bed and to walk back to the intake room. I think that, as I shuffle by, the scheduler calls Fluffy Bear and tells him he can come and get me. The nurse offers me a muffin or a banana, or even more to drink, but I tend to refuse.
Seeing Fluffy Bear is always an enormous relief. Then we can leave the hospital and go and get lunch somewhere.
I'LL NEVER FORGET HOW THE DEPRESSION AND LONELINESS FELT GOOD AND BAD AT THE SAME TIME. STILL DOES.
HENRY ROLLINS
To start the Depression series at the beginning, click here: http://ittybittycrazy.squarespace.com/imported-data/2013/12/29/depression-1.html