Shock: My Experience with Electroconvulsive Therapy

ECT. Electroconvulsive Therapy. What many people know as "shock treatments."

It's no secret that I've been through ECT, otherwise known as "shock" therapy. I've talked about it before. I've done interviews on the subject of ECT. I've been going on and off for these treatments since 2015. I've been through several acute series and years of maintenance treatments. I have scars on the inside of my elbows where I've had so many IV catheters. (For a while, they had to stick me in my upper shoulder since my veins are so bad. No matter how much water I would drink the night before, it always took at least a few sticks to get an IV that was viable.)

Let me first say this: ECT is not like what it used to be. It's not One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest. You're not awake during the procedure, and no one is forcing paddles wrapped in wet towels on your head while shoving a bite guard in your mouth.

Here is what happens, based on my own experiences:

The overall procedure starts with a nurse setting up an IV. You're sometimes waiting while another patient is in the treatment room. When it's your turn, you're wheeled into the treatment room on a gurney. The doctor verifies your name and DOB. A nurse gives you a bite guard to put in your mouth while electrodes for an EEG and an EKG are stuck all over you. A blood pressure cuff is strapped around your ankle and inflated. (This is how they watch and time the physical seizure, as the cuff stops the paralytic from going to your foot.) The anesthesiologist starts injecting your special cocktail of medications, including the fast-acting anesthesia that feels like it's setting your veins on fire as it makes its way to your heart, and before you know it, you're asleep. You wake up a little while later. The nurse checks all your vitals and gives you your choice of drink. (I usually went with Sprite.) They help you get out of the gurney and into a wheelchair, where they monitor your vitals for a little while. If you're inpatient, they wheel you back to your unit. If you're outpatient, they call for your ride to pull around and help you into the vehicle, and off you go.

It's not a completely complicated procedure. While outpatient, I was usually in and out of the facility within a couple of hours. I'd go home, have a cup or coffee or go straight back to bed. It's an exhausting treatment, but I usually felt much more lively after a nap. Sometimes I'd do some work from home in the afternoon.

Some of the nicest, kindest medical people I've met have been ECT folks, people whose names I'll never forget. And I'll be honest:

ECT has saved my life when I've been desperate. No, I don't believe it should be a first line of treatment. I cycled through medications for years before ECT was considered as part of my treatment plan. I'd already been hospitalized multiple times.

But the times when I was severely suicidal and needed to get out of it quickly before I hurt myself? ECT saved me. The times I was so manic that I was delusional and psychotic? ECT saved me when medication wouldn't work.

It got me quickly out of my episodes with just a few treatments. By the second week, I would start to feel back to my normal self. By the end of the acute series, I was totally fine, back to a normal, functioning state and could return to work.

There are side effects to ECT, namely the muscle aches and headaches on the day of the treatment. Yes, there is some memory loss. Some of my earlier memories are gone. I vaguely remember my first date with my husband. I don't remember bits of our wedding, namely the dinner we had afterwards. I don't remember a trip to Texas we apparently took during a time I was going for ECT. My husband has to sometimes remind me of these things. He'll talk about something we did together, and I'll look at him, all confused, then he'll remind me that we did that thing together. It can be disheartening, but I remind myself that these treatments have saved my life many times.

It's a side effect I'm willing to deal with because it means not seeing the shadow people or feeling invisible bugs crawling all over me. It means not wanting to die because I can't take another day in my own head. It means not freaking out because I think the neighbors have planted cameras inside my house or waking up in the middle of the night thinking someone's about to come and kidnap me.

I have to say, though, that many people in my life have been amazingly supportive, especially my husband. My father, too, drove me to a few of my treatments, and we'd stop at IHOP on the way home, and he'd get a big turkey dinner at ten o'clock in the morning (that's my dad, and we love him just as he is), while I usually got chocolate chip pancakes. With the patience belonging to saints, my best friends from college (we're celebrating 20 years of friendship this year!) will remind me of stuff we've done over the years and cheer for me when I do remember little things. They've never once scoffed at me or gotten upset when I don't remember something.

My most recent treatment was this past August, a couple of weeks before we made the move to New York. I was sad to say goodbye to the staff there, as they have been some of the most compassionate people I've ever known. I won't lie, though; having this break from treatments has been a bit of a relief. My memory is improving greatly, as it usually does when I go some time between treatments. I don't doubt that I'll need to go back for ECT at some point, and I've already found a facility here on the Island that provides it. For now, though, I'm getting through despite losing my day job. I'm on a good cocktail of oral medications, and I have lots of support from my husband and my girlfriends.

If you're a writer who wants to include ECT in your story, go for it. I simply ask that you do it respectfully and not to demonize it. I won't deny that the old techniques were basically torture, but there have been so many enhancements and improvements over the years that it's not what it used to be. I'm happy to answer questions if you want to write about shock treatments, and you can fill out the form on my contact page.