Thursday, March 10th, was my consult with a psychiatrist who does ECT. Shawn was with me and I never could have made it without him. It was a long appointment, almost 2 hours of just talking. Talking about my history and more about my history and more about my history. Then, the talk of the actual ECT. The benefits, risks, and how it all works.
I came home with lots to read, tests I have to have done, swabs for my mouth to send off samples for genetic testing which may reveal some things about my fucked up brain chemistry. All of these things are still sitting on the kitchen table.
This psychiatrist isn't sure if bipolar depression is the right diagnosis, but he's not convinced major depression is it, either. It seems like, because of this, it may make me a better candidate for ECT. But there is so, so much for me to process about all of this.
This shit is real. It's no joke. I won't be able to work; I won't be able to do much of anything; I won't even be able to be left alone. This could mean more than 2 weeks without working (believe me, I don't love my job, but I don't get paid time off, so this will suck). The doc actually expects for someone like me to need more than 2 weeks of treatments. But, not only does this impact me and my work, I also have to have a babysitter. How is that all going to work? Especially if I end-up on the longer end of things, like 5-6 weeks.
On top of everything there is to consider and understand, there is simply me, my reality; my shame; my wanting to be okay with this; my wanting to raise awareness in others so stigma can be removed; my struggle; my desire to be "normal".
Here's some info from a reputable hospital: