Will #77 Do The Trick? ECT (Electro convulsive therapy)

 

This was written and happened to ME.

It was decided: Wednesday would be the day.  I’ve kept count; it will be #77, another nightmare procedure producing nil results and I’m once again pessimistic.  I have to keep going, plodding along, slowly – ever so slowly to somehow reach the top of the mountain. I’ve lost my faith in ECT, including most of my long-term memory, but what else is there, what else to do?  I should be fighting this but frankly I sometimes feel “what’s the point to it all”.

I take a seat in the TV area alone, starting to float into a point of peace.  Strangely, I look forward to “going under” for these ECT’s, it’s almost indescribable; almost letting go of your whole being and existing in serene, tranquil waters.  That is where I desire to stay – please let me stay – I don’t want to return – I hate coming back.  But I always awaken.  I begin to sob.   I’ve lost so much…my memory…my life.  Why am I doing this, why am I going for #77?  The doctors, could they have endured this many on themselves?  I think not.

Tuesday: 10:00 p.m., I am once again reminded nothing to eat or drink after midnight before ECT tomorrow.   This helps to prevent vomiting during the procedure.  Also, I am to pee right before the procedure as to prevent ‘accidents’.

Wednesday: 8:00 a.m., A fitful sleep last night, awake at different intervals praying that I will not wake up from the anesthetic tomorrow. 

Nurse Anne pops her head in my room, stating I will be patient #2 going for ECT on the ward, which means an additional one hour delay.  I lay back on messed up sheets.  I am a tad nervous, even though I can recite this procedure in my sleep.  Ironic how life is:  I am nervous of the procedure, yet hope for my life to terminate.  Bewildering, painful thoughts.

The time has come.

The gurney is waiting outside of my room and I hoist myself as gracefully as I am able to onto it.  A friendly porter arrives, introduces himself as Allan and makes sure the top sheet is tucked in around me, also equipped with my med chart.  My hands tightly grasp the metal rails of the gurney, and eyes take in the bright florescent hallway lights as we make our ride swiftly down the long corridor.  I become confused and wonder if the lights are moving or am I?  Into the elevator, floor number two is pressed, four floors to go down, a few people waiting, glancing down at me.

 Floor number two, a long gurney ride to the procedure room; my doctor, some technicians and nurses are waiting for me.  I feel at this point, yelling, “this is enough, I’ve had it”, but I don’t.  An IV is started.  Not an easy process, due to veins that do not cooperate and only the left arm seems to bring any sort of results.  Ouch!  This nurse is not gentle and insists on trying twice now on the backside of my hand.  Finally, an IV is started – phew!  Next comes the sensors for recording brain activity; they are placed on the forehead; other sensors are placed on the chest for heart monitoring with the regular BP cuff around the arm.  Seems as if I am all wrapped up in wires.  The ECT procedure itself is painless.

The general anesthesia is given and I am asked to count backwards from 100.  This is the part where I fall gently backwards off a cliff in my mind, into a world where life is no longer filled with melancholy and suffering.  I would give anything to remain in this place; knowing it’s not reality.  Asking, is a life filled with the affects of bipolar disorder and depression reality? 

After the 100 countdown – as they say:  I am in their hands.

Eyes open.  I am still alive.  Mixed feelings – relief/sadness.  Feels as if I was asleep forever, but assured only 10-15 minutes by the nurse.  This time I am spared a headache, but sometimes that has come about later on in the day.  I am wheeled back to my room and sleep until almost lunchtime. We’ll see if this ECT does the trick.

Mom later visits me and is shocked, stating she is looking into black, vacant eyes.

Discouraged, yet not surprised, #77 had no positive effect on my depression.

Footnote: 

People have often asked why I would have granted so many ECT’s.  A logical question, and pretty much none of their business, however, unless you were existing in my shoes and continually being reassured that this is the only treatment left for my medication resistant depression, and then what option did I have?

An example I use is:  If I were a cancer patient, who had experienced many chemo treatments, wasn’t showing any improvement but still encouraged by doctors to continue – would I carry on?  In all probability, yes.

In retrospect, I should have fought more, stood up for myself – but I was just too ill.  Depression claimed my thought processes, self-confidence and self-esteem to stand up to doctors and ask questions.  Family members should have probed also, however, in defense of them; they thought the doctors knew what was best.

My last ECT was in 2002.

Disclaimer:

ECT has been beneficial to many people.  Don’t be dissuaded by my experiences.

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ECT is effective in about 80-90% of people who have found anti-depressants ineffective. Its beneficial effects often aren’t immediate. ECT treatments are given three times a week, usually for two to four weeks. The total number of treatments rarely exceeds 20.