Okay, I survived the ECT evaluation.
The people were nice, and the info I received gave me some peace of mind regarding the odds of my brain being permanently fucked up. The damage tends to be short term memory loss, and it usually goes away within a few weeks of treatment. There is always a danger that you’ll be one of the unlucky, but that’s life, and my life in its current state isn’t something to hold onto.
I need to make a change, and none of the other methods seem to work. ECT has the highest success rate of any treatment for depression, somewhere around 90% if I recall my initial reading. Antidepressants have less than 50%.
At my best, I’m very capable. I do things well. I tend to the details (I vacuum, when I vacuum, under the furnishings and in the corners, not just in the middle of things), and I do things right (like my writing, which I pride myself on making as close to copy-editor proof as possible). I’m outgoing and genial and people like me. I’m playful and goofy. And I am one damn fine dancer.
Unfortunately, my depression robs me of all that.
I’m at my best maybe a handful of days a year. The rest of the time I’m somewhere on the J.D. Salinger/Howard Hughes/Swamp Witch Hattie end of the spectrum socially, only without the literary pedigree, money, or magic. And I don’t do things well, because I don’t do things.
The ECT has the potential to allow me to do things. If it can boost me past depression’s enervation and paralysis, I can take it from there.
I’m waiting for a callback from my therapist, because I’m required to be under her treatment while doing this. Once I’ve met with her, I’ll make my first appointment, which will hopefully be sometime next week. Then it’s three treatments a week (M-W-F), for 6-12 treatments.
I’ll be blogging the whole experience, which may be entertaining as I try to write when I’m in a state in which they won’t even allow me to drive myself home.