Treatment Resistant, but Resilient

 When I was in Junior High, 2 classmates died by suicide. I didn't know either of them well, didn't even really know what suicide was. I learned a lot at that time. Tom Eschler died first, he lived about 2 blocks away, and I knew who he was, and we had mutual friends but never interacted. Tim Wright died exactly one month later; there were rumors the two boys (best friends) had made a suicide pact. I am not sure if that was true or not. I only knew Tim's name. As you can imagine there was a lot of talk at school. Everyone was devastated by the news, even if we didn't know the boys personally, it was a difficult thing to have happen, especially in Junior High. I remember being afraid to ask questions, hoping someone else would ask the questions I wanted answers to. I wanted to know how they did it, (perhaps I could try that?) where they did it? did they leave a note? Was it really a sin to kill yourself? I did find out that one died by gunshot and one died by overdose. A...

 When I was a little girl, probably 5 or 6, I remember thinking that I was the exception when people said things like "Jesus said love everyone" or "be kind to everyone". I thought that nobody could love me. That people all around the world had photos of me, pulled out to explain that I was the exception, or for someone to hold up and say, "I can't bring myself to love or be kind to this person", after which, the adult or other person would say "of course you can't. She's the exception. She is unlovable".  When prayers were said, I was terrified that everyone was watching me and making judgments about my appearance and the way I held my arms or how tall and stiff I sat.  Throughout my childhood, and into my adult life (even now at times) I was paranoid about people watching me. I walked stiffly, unsure what to do with my hands as I walked. Nervous what a smile might look like or imply, afraid to speak to just about everyone because I ...

I started TMS shortly before I turned 41, in May of 2021.  The first appointment consisted of placing an elastic medical "hat" on my head (one of my friends said it looked like a pair of men's briefs.... good comparison). Marks were made so that it would always be positioned exactly the same on my head. They gave me tiny shocks of electricity while I held my hands out. When my fingers twitched, they knew they had the right voltage (?) and position for the machine. Once everything seemed in place, I was scheduled for my treatments. I went in 5 days a week for, I believe, 5 weeks. Every appointment brought a panic attack. I would arrive early, cry my eyes out, and go in like everything was fine. How could I explain that it was so terrifying to be in the clinic that "treats" treatment-resistant mood disorders? How could I describe the nightmare that was induced by being near this clinic? Why did I keep returning, and why did I still crave that ECT treatment I had b...

My kids expressed to me that they wanted more from me. Things I used to do with them that I couldn't do anymore (anything on the weekends was off-limits because most treatments were Saturday mornings). I barely left the house. I got lost on the way to the schools I had been picking kids up from for years. I couldn't remember their friends. I forgot the way to my therapist's office, after 5 years of therapy at the location. My psychiatrist asked me questions about my medication and how I was doing, and I had no idea. I couldn't answer because I truly didn't know. I didn't remember if I even took my meds, let alone what dose I was on or how they were working. I had no emotions, I was zombie mom, so I couldn't talk about how they were working or not working. During my ongoing treatments, I remember asking if we could space out treatments. I asked if when they thought I could stop. We tried talking to the staff. My dad, Jason, my friend Came, and my first-born, ...

For 21 months I averaged one treatment per week. Sometimes there were 2 or 3 treatments per week, and I think the farthest I got between treatments was 12 days. This was stressful for my kids, my parents, my husband, and myself. I was tired of burdening someone to drive me to and from each treatment. I was tired of sleeping most of my weekends away, unable to function after a treatment. I hated that my kids were ignored or neglected. But most of all, I hated that I was "zombie mom" (a term Vanessa, who was 13 when I started treatments, coined after I stopped ECT). I was barely functioning as a human. Let alone being the mom my kids needed (and deserved). At the time, I couldn't find anything funny or entertaining about the situation. It took a while to laugh at some of the things. Some examples:  I bought the same dress for my daughter 3 times.  I woke up one terrified of Jason. I didn't remember him, let alone marrying him. He pointed out we had 2 kids together, and ...

In my previous post, I mentioned how the doctor promised ECT would be a permanent solution. He told me all side effects were minimal and temporary. There might be a little bit of memory loss, but it those memories would easily return once treatment stopped. They LIED. They had no reason to believe this was true.  Some of the things they didn't tell me (or Jason):     Not only do you receive anesthesia for treatment, but a paralytic. You will actually be unable to breathe on your own, and your heart actually stops for several seconds. Even when my family watched a treatment, they didn't know this was happening. The doctors and staff are very careful to keep it hidden.     Your memories will not return     This is not a permanent cure     The treatment center will never stop scheduling treatments. They want you to keep going forever.     There are cognitive impairments that you will need to work hard to overcome, and that will only ha...

 After about a week in the hospital, I wasn't improving. I was still severely depressed. The rest of this blog post is based on my journal entries, and a couple memories from Jason: A doctor came to my room and discussed trying something more extreme or drastic to treat my depression. The "normal" or "traditional" methods didn't seem to work for me. They told me they would find out what insurance was willing to cover, but I was a good candidate for either treatment. The first suggestion was TMS (transcranial magnetic stimulation) where they put two magnets on either side of your head and send tiny electrical currents through your brain. It was only a few minutes at a time, minimal side effects. (To this day, I wonder why I didn't take this recommendation) The second suggestion was ECT (electroconvulsive therapy). For this treatment, you will be given anesthesia as they place electrodes on your head and send enough electricity through you to cause a seizu...

I don't remember a lot about specifics. Some of these memories will be based on what others have told me, and what I have read in my hospital journal. But here's the beginning of my ECT story. June 29, 2018 I gave birth to my 7th child. For several months I was in that "new baby euphoria". I struggled with PPD every time I had a baby, but usually the cuddles, therapy, and ESPECIALLY breastfeeding got me through it. This time, the depression slowly got worse instead of easing off. Emily was our 12th child in a blended family. Blending our family was hard, as you'd expect.  I was used to younger kids that still thought I was the best mommy ever, (mostly) and I was used to very specific routines for bedtime and dinner and homework and chores.  Jason was used to just getting whatever time he could with his kids, no matter how chaotic or stressful it was. He was used to them talking back and being disrespectful, as teens are.  Where I wanted to pray and ready scripture...