On Receiving my First Shock Treatment

     How committed am I to managing my Bipolar Disorder? Committed enough to allow a team of medical professionals to run an electric current through my brain in order to induce a seizure. After 25 plus psychiatric medications, 5 hospital trips and 4 suicide attempts this is what the state of the treatment for mental illness has left me with as an option.

     Lest you think I am complaining or that I am having a, "Pity Party," you would be sadly mistaken. I will leave no stone un-turned in order to manage this illness and manifest whatever quality of life is left to me after year's of suffering. I do this for myself, for my husband, for my family, for my friends and for all those who have suffered the way I have with the prehistoric treatments available even in the 21st Century.

     October 30th, 2017 marks my first session in a series of Electroconvulsive Therapy treatments at UMASS Memorial Hospital in Worcester, Massachusetts. Here's how it unfolded:

     I am not a morning person so when my alarm went off at 5:15 am I was not a happy camper. There had been a fearsome wind and rain storm during the night that did not contribute in a positive way to an already anxiety ridden sleep. Even 2 mg of Ativan and 50 mg of Trazodone did little to produce a restful slumber.

    It was dark when we headed for the hospital at just after 6 a.m. Not being one to jump up in the early morning, I was dumbfounded to see all the traffic and activity as we headed to Worcester; about 20 miles away. Who are all these people?? They are the ones who have places to go and people to see. The important people. The productive people. The people who need to feed their families. The people who haven't been lucky enough to win The Lottery.

     My husband and I arrived in the surgery waiting room. It was large, comfortable and well decorated with soothing earth tones. Large screen T.V.s reported the morning news. Free Wi Fi made it an even more appealing space. Almost immediately after checking in and being seated, I was called to the, "Treatment Area."

      I was directed to, "Room #9," which in reality was one bed in a series of beds in a large open space room that was separated from the other 'Rooms' only by curtains. Lots of people were scurrying around. There were other patients already there. The lighting was terrible and I was thinking how my 'no make-up' face was glaring white: every age (or wisdom spot as I like to call them) in stark contrast to my pale skin and lips. We're not here for a formal portrait, Renée - just getting your brain shocked is all.

     There were endless questions: allergies, last time you ate, drank, danced, sang....you know, the usual medical questions we are all used to answering....again....and again....and again. I bet the people asking them are just as tired as the people that must answer them.

     The nurse asked me if I had brought a change of pants. She explained that some people pee during the procedure. Fortunately, being a menopausal woman, I know all about peeing in your pants at inopportune moments such as when laughing, coughing or tripping. I was on it. I was prepared. I was wearing my Poise panty liners....bring on the pee...I'm ready. 

     Preliminaries over, they stuck the IV needle into my hand, placed the medical bracelet on my wrist and prepared to place the Oxygen mask over my nose and mouth- you know just like when you have an emergency on an airline flight. I was pleased to learn they were using Succinylcholine in the anesthesia protocol. It is the 'Gold Standard' for these procedures: only the best for Renée.

    The anesthesiologist told me to take deep breaths from the Oxygen and tell him when I felt sleepy. I heard him say, "I'm administering the meeeuuuh....." and I said, "I'm feeling sleeeuuug," and that was it. The next thing I know, the head of the ECT Department is saying, "You're all finished."

     Huh??? Nothing happened. Is this all an elaborate 'Placebo Effect,' experiment? My husband later told me he knew when the treatment happened because all the lights in the hospital temporarily dimmed and he heard someone yell, "It's alive!" Joking aside, other than a feeling of grogginess, I felt no different. I'm not sure what I was expecting: bells, whistles, The Morman Tabernacle Choir, the Voice of God. 

     The standard ECT protocol consists of between 6 and 12 sessions depending on how the patient responds. I was told that I might not see any significant effect until after at least 3 sessions. Therefore, I am in the loop for a treatment every Monday, Wednesday and Friday for the foreseeable future. This also means: no alcohol (boo!), no driving a car (double boo!) and having to deal with this horrible goop they put in your hair when they attach the electrode. Fortunately they used Unilateral ECT which means they placed it only on one side of my head. The less goop the better! That will teach me to wash my hair the night before a surgical procedure.

     It is now almost 12 hours after my first treatment and I am pleased to say I experienced none of the frightening side effects you hear about: no headache, no jaw ache, no muscle aches and no memory loss. Also, I had one of the best afternoon naps ever thanks to the after effects of that Gold Standard drug:  Succinylcholine.

    I have to say, based on this first experience, I'm looking forward to a 'shocking' November..... 

It only happens to me...#2 in a Series

     Anyone who has a colon can relate to this story...

    

      While on a recent vacation, I attended a family dinner complete with all the trimmings: spaghetti with delicious meat sauce, salad with vinaigrette dressing, champagne for toasting and a scrumptious ice cream selection for dessert. 

     Stories were flying back and forth across the table. Laughter was in great supply. A good time was had by all. I headed back to my domicile with a full stomach and a happy heart.

     The next day I awoke at the crack of dawn (in my world 9 a.m.) and went out for my walk, jog, walk workout: walk for 15 minutes to warm up, jog for 40 minutes to workout and walk again for 10 minutes to cool down. At 55 years old, my jog is more like an exaggerated sliding motion in order to minimize pounding on the knees and hips and hopefully avoid an expensive and painful partial body part replacement in the future.

     It was a crisp Fall morning and I felt especially energetic as I made my way through this unfamiliar neighborhood I was residing in while on my visit. 

     As I began my 17th minute (or two minutes into my slide/jog) my colon suddenly awoke with a vengeance. The Spaghetti/Meat Sauce/Salad/Vinaigrette/Ice Cream combination that had been winding it's way through my body suddenly came to it's point of exit: my anus!

     As I slid along I began looking for a place to make my deposit: behind a tree? in some unsuspecting stranger's front yard? I needed to make a quick decision. Fortunately, I had just passed under a freeway overpass and beyond was a tangle of blackberry bushes grown just high enough to hide my white buttocks. I made a bee line for the bushes, squatted down and expelled my noxious load. Aaaaaah! What a relief! 

    As I began to pull up my rather tight running pants, I began leaning precariously to my left right into a puddle of water left by a recent rain. With swift reflexes, I compensated by thrusting my right leg out......and into a waiting Blackberry Bush replete with it's grasping nettles. Since my running pants came only to the knee, I looked down to see a bright red gash the entire length of my right shin; dripping; gleaming and throbbing.

     Having already wasted two minutes of my workout time on this endeavor, I licked my palm, ran it down the length of my shin to remove the excess blood and continued on with my sliding: no one ever the wiser until next Summer when the neighborhood kids start eating the strange tasting blackberries they found on the bush, on the corner, underneath the overpass in an Oregon suburban neighborhood.

     
     

It only happens to me....#1 in a Series

    

    One of the reasons I rarely travel anymore is because I detest flying as it is now. Gone are the carefree days of running to the airport at the last minute, lavish meals (with real silverware) served at 30,000 feet and the sheer novelty of leaving one coast of the United States and being on the other coast in a mere five hours. Heady stuff!! Those days are long gone....

     Recently, I broke down and decided to make a coast-to-coast trip from Boston, Massachusetts to Portland, Oregon to celebrate my Father's 81st birthday. Believe me, if it had been merely his 80th birthday it would have been a no go.

     I was pleasantly surprised to breeze through the TSA gauntlet of security challenges at Boston Logan Airport. For some reason known only to the Gods, I received a special, "Red Stamp of Pre-Approval," on my Boarding Pass. No need to remove my Laptop from it's nest in my perfectly packed Backpack. No need to be 'wanded' down or even to walk through the 360 degree full body X-ray machine. While others struggled with dressing and undressing, I walked by in my stocking feet, grabbed my boots, purse, and fabulously attractive lavender Backpack and proceeded on to the gate.

     I should have known that the Gods of Security would not let me slide by so easily.

     On my return flight from Portland International Airport (a beautiful facility that sports live piano music in the Concourse) it would not be so easy. 

     I approached the TSA check out line with verve and confidence. I read the posted rules and prepared to comply with agility and grace. I pulled my knee high riding boots off without falling over (so far so good), out came my iPhone, Laptop, beautiful pink cosmetic case with clear window so as better to view my entire beauty regimen. Off came my shawl and any remaining jewelry. I filled four gray bins and wished I had four more hands to keep track of them.

     Then I stood alone to face the beast that was the 360 degree full body X-ray machine. "Step forward and place your feet on the yellow footprints. Hold your hands over your head." I was almost there, I could hear the soothing notes of the pianist and see my gate. I entered the sacred space.

     Red lights. Alarm sound. "Oh damn....it's too late now," I hear from the over-sized female TSA agent to my left. "Step out here ma'am. Do you consent to a pat down search here or in private?" Deer in headlights look in my eyes, "Here, I guess." Female hands roaming over my entire lower body. Me: I thought this machine picks up metal? Her: No, it actually alerts on bulges, you know like the Underwear Bomber. I look down trying to figure out what bulge I was sporting and then I saw it....IT! That thing that had destroyed a nearly perfect trip through the Security Checkpoint: The knot at the end of my scarf that fell squarely over my crotch. It was this 'bulge' that had done me in.

    And the Gods of Security smiled....

The Shocking Truth about my Health

  

      As many of you know, I have struggled with Bipolar Disorder for over 25 years. I have seen many doctors, taken many more medications, been hospitalized 5 times and attempted suicide 4 times. This illness has wreaked havoc in my life and the lives of those closest to me. I have lost friends, relationships and a job because of this illness.

      After so many years of struggle, I have decided to try a treatment that has polarized the medical community since it's inception in the 1930's: ECT (Electroconvulsive Therapy) or as it's most commonly referred to "Shock Treatment."

      I have made this decision after consulting with my Doctors, my husband, my family as well as reading extensively on the history, method and side effects of this treatment.

      I share this with you for a variety of reasons: 
          1) I ask for your prayers (if you pray), your support and your love 
          2) I want to put a face on mental illness and particularly on the struggles and frankly   the prehistoric state of medical care for the mentally ill 
          3) I want you to remember me as I was and celebrate the me I hope to become.

      Please know this treatment is NOT the treatment as depicted in "One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest," where poor Randle McMurphy is electrically lobotomized as a punishment. This is a humane, medically controlled procedure performed under general anesthesia that has saved thousands of lives over many decades. In fact, statistically it is more effective than any other psychiatric treatment for the severely depressed.

      If all my medical clearances come through, I will be receiving my first treatment on Monday, October 30th. I plan to share my experiences here.

Thank you in advance for your support. Feel free to leave comments or questions for me. I am an open book where my mental illness is concerned because I want the stigma to STOP and I want those who are suffering to get the help they need without fear or shame.