This morning was yet another ECT day. When I arrive at the receptionist’s desk, the receptionist knew my name immediately, a sure sign that I’ve been there quite a few times. Though this isn’t a fun experience, I find myself feeling a little less nervous each time I get to the hospital. A large portion of that has to do with just how nice everyone is at Parthenon Pavilion. The entire staff seems to put me at ease. I am truly thankful I am being treated at this hospital. Of course, one of the nurses did tell me today that she thought I looked fine since the day she first met me. I guess I can take that as a compliment, though it makes me wonder if the rest of the staff is skeptical as to why I’m even getting ECT in the first place.
I am also especially grateful that Dr. F is my ECT psychiatrist. When I tell him the news that I was going to graduate school in the fall, he gives me a big smile and then high-fives me. He then listens to me speak for a few minutes. My thoughts are lot less dark than it was but since the faint death thoughts remain, he decides it’s best that I have one more ECT at a two-week interval before we spread out the treatments. I agree. It is what it is, I say to him. And right after speaking with Dr. F, my anesthesiologist, Dr. H, injects me with Brevital. I’m immediately out.
And then I’m awake. I am wheeled back to the waiting room to gather my belongings, and I’m given some paperwork to sign. My sense of time and date always goes out the window right after treatment, so when I hand them over, a nurse looks at me and says, “It’s not June 29 (a date I signed on the paper); it’s August 6.” I also could not remember at all where I will be attending graduate school, even though my mom, sister and I drove down to the school just yesterday. “Where am I going to grad school?,” I ask the nurse after my treatment. She informs me which school I’ll be going come fall.
I should just be glad I really don’t have real memory issues.