Did you know they still use Electric Shock Therapy?

In the summer of 2020 I had the worst manic-psychotic episode of my 16 years dealing with Schizoaffective Disorder. I went from full blown manic to catatonic (the most severe symptom of depression). It happened in less than 72 hours, something that is theoretically impossible. My husband was faced with a terrible choice. He had to apply for temporary-immediate guardianship to allow him to consent to a treatment that I had told him I never wanted. ECT or Electroconvulsive Therapy was used for many years unethically in things like Gay Conversion Therapy. It was once famous for its controversy, perceived as brutal and is depicted in the movie One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest as torture.

While in the hospital, I hadn’t made a sound in eight days when my husband convinced my caseworker to let us FaceTime. I remember in my madness I recognized him but I thought he had his hair styled in Cornrows and I was looking at him through Tinder. I remember laughing at the sight of him (a white guy) with hair like that and I tried to swipe left. My laughing, was the first and only sound I had made in those eight days. My caseworker almost dropped his phone in shock.

My husband was terrified I would suffer memory loss or permanent brain damage from the procedure, risks that were explained to him before he gave his consent. He was told that since all other treatments had failed, ECT was my only option to break the catatonia. He vowed to himself that if I forgot him (which was a real possibility), he would just have to make me fall in love with him all over again. I started talking again after the first few treatments. I was actually pretty pissed off when I found out how I had gotten better, but also happy because it worked really well. I started going to treatment three times a week, then once a week, then every other week, and now I go monthly.

Every month we go out on a nice date the night before my treatment. I’m allowed to eat up until nine pm and have fluids until ten pm. We get up at 4:00am always on a Friday and drive for 45 minutes to Banner Del Webb Hospital in Sun City West. We check in with security and my husband gets a visitor’s badge. We go upstairs and pick up a red phone to be let into the Cath Lab. I don’t know why but no matter what time of year it is, it's always freezing in that area of the hospital. Thankfully they provide heated blankets. The cold is honestly the worst part of the whole ordeal. We sign the consent for treatment and then I’m assigned a bay. It’s just a bed with three walls and a curtain. They confirm a negative pregnancy test, then I put on a gown and no-slip grip socks.

They take my weight, blood pressure, temperature, and do an EKG. Next they put in an IV. I’m given a drug called Reglan twice, once in a drink that tastes both sour and bitter and once directly in my IV. Thirty minutes later, I’m taken back to the procedure room. I’m given a bite guard and an oxygen mask. The anesthesia burns my lips as I breathe in and go under.

The entire treatment takes less than 15 minutes. When I wake up I feel tired but I have an eerie feeling that no time has passed. They always ask me if I know the year, month, and what day of the week it is. I’ve always answered them correctly. Then they ask me if I know that I’m in a hospital. I always try to make light of the situation by saying something like, “Yeah, the decor kind of gives it away.”

They do four sets of vitals on me every 15 minutes. My husband brings me back breakfast from the cafeteria and sits with me while I’m being monitored. He pulls the car around as I’m brought downstairs in a wheelchair. I go home and sleep for a few hours but I’m always up by 2:30 for my writing class.

I’ve accepted that even though these treatments are time consuming, inconvenient, potentially dangerous and tie me to Arizona indefinitely, I’m healthier now than I’ve ever been. I spent six years hospitalized every summer just to be switched from one bad drug to another. I can’t speak for everyone, only from my own experience, which is to say ECT gave me my life back and there’s nothing scary about it.