Finding Humor

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 when TJ and Emily entered the room, I was flabbergasted. I asked where Aaron was (my ex-husband. We had been divorced for 7 years when I started ECT)
• I had the same conversation with a friend (and fellow ECT survivor) 3 times. Neither of us remembered this, and at least twice she had to remind be that we had met in the psychiatric hospital. 
• "New carpet" (I believe I mentioned this previously). We had a flood shortly before my hospital stay, and it took a REALLY long time to get the carpet replaced. I forgot, several times, that the carpet had finally been replaced. I came home from many treatments, shocked to see the carpet.
• When waking up from anesthesia, the medical staff had to make sure I was aware enough to be sent home. Jason loves telling me that I often couldn't remember his name, just kept saying he was "honey" and "my honey" with a goofy love-struck teenager expression on my face.

It took time to laugh about this. But to be honest, it was also humiliating. I have seen the Facebook post where I asked if anyone needed one of the extra dresses I had purchased. I had no memory of the event until I saw the FB memory, and it brought tears to my eyes. Somehow, I remembered how upsetting that was at the time; admitting that I had forgotten (more than once) what I was doing.

I am grateful that we were able to find some humor. It is one of the best things that came out of this whole mess.