This is a picture taken at an electro-convulsive clinic just outside of Boston, Massachusetts. I’m a little over a half an hour away from a session where they will administer a shock to my brain and thus compel me to have a grand mal seizure. This is done to treat major depression, and perhaps by people who enjoy that sort of thing for no good reason at all. I highly doubt that. If that were a mental illness, how would you treat that? I wonder. I’m bald not because of anything to do with ECT, I’m just cultivating a look. The look of a man who made a mistake with an electric razor and had to cover it up.
I like this shirt.
This morning, what is making me less depressed based on circumstances is the defeat of Donald Trump, and the possible victory of Bernie Sanders, at the Iowa Caucus. Depression is defined by the way it exists for no reason, and is unspeakably horrible, yet oddly boring. It is beyond sadness and/or grief, but that shouldn’t be news to anyone who reads this ‘blog, or just knows anything.
The waiting room is packed, as usual, with both patients and people waiting for patients. Waiting for a patient takes a lot of patience, as these sessions are almost three hours long from soup to nuts. The electronic devices must help a lot, I so rarely have one. This is my brother’s computer, actually. Don’t tell him I took it out to McLean Hospital.
Sometimes, they let a person in early. They conduct the procedure every 15 minutes, and there are now two procedure rooms. That would mean every 7 and one half minutes, but my careful math. It’s 10:33am, and my appointment is in 12 minutes, so I should wrap this up. I’ll continue to write to my many readers after my possible headache.
… And After …
I’m sitting in the recovery room and just took a picture, seen below. At the moment, I’m impressed at how intelligent is the level of conversation around me, some of it by nurses and some by other patients who have just had ECT. Pretty impressive for us who were just administered Brevital for an anesthetic, and a current blazing through the
Is that a Mondrian behind me?
My mind wanders. Is this all worth it? There are certainly quite a few aspects of life of which I’m fond. Sex is good, as is letting Annie off of her leash to dash through the snow, watching a good move, and talking to my brother. Coffee is also a fine thing, indeed. None of it, any of it, can be enjoyed when depressed. So if it takes this, then yes, the answer is a clear, “Yes, it’s very worth it.”