Yes, I do Remember Your Sister's Cat's Name

Last night I watched season 1 episode 12 of Masters of Sex, an episode in which many events occur, but what stood out to me was one of the characters, Barton Scully, deciding to undergo electroconvulsive therapy (ECT) as a treatment for homosexuality. Now, of course, this did not leave me thrilled that in the not too distant past such measures (or any measures) were taken in an attempt to cure homosexuality, but what left me troubled was the discussion held between Barton and his wife about the memory loss caused by the procedure. I don't know how many sessions of ECT I have had, at a guess, I'd put it around 50, I've had 12 just in this admission. The conversation between Barton and his wife upset me because she was expressing her fears that he may no longer remember the important and pleasant events making up their marriage. This has happened to me, not with a marriage of course, but my entire life is patchy. Back in 2014, I had an assessment performed on my memory as I was very concerned about the volume of things I was forgetting, the conclusion was that while I had significant memory loss, it was a result of severe depression, not ECT. I can't argue with this as it is a fact that severe depression has an effect on the memory, but I do fear that it is indeed caused by ECT, in which case the most effective treatment for me is causing me to forget the name of a person I met five minutes ago, where I went last weekend, the plot of a book I'm half way through - but have had a two day break from, or today's date, even though I looked at it two minutes ago. I regularly find myself embarrassed by my inability to remember something; I pretend I know what people are talking about quite often, hoping they don't catch on that I've got no idea who or what they're referring to. I went to a kitchen tea yesterday; the hens for the same bride-to-be was three weekends prior, most of the same people were there and other than the few that go to my church, and so I see regularly, I recognised no one. Forgetting people new to me isn't uncommon and it makes me wonder what else I've lost from my memory, there are things I know I've forgotten because people have tried to talk to me about them and I can't, but what else is there? Are there some amazing events from my life that are just gone? I think there are. This may be a benefit, but I have few memories of my Dad, well lots of bad ones, maybe it would be less painful recollecting him if I had some good ones to balance the bad with.

I don't remember when I had my first course of ECT; I do remember just this snippet of conversation with my psychiatrist when he suggested it. "What! They still do that?!" and his response explaining that these days it's done under general anaesthetic and with a muscle relaxant. It's not like One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest. If you're interested here's a little documentary that I think is quite accurate, skip to 5min if all you want to see is the actual procedure. Having never seen it live I can't say for sure, but I've been told the muscle relaxant makes the seizure so minimal in the body that all you can really see is twitching in the toes. The set up here is different to where I go, and mine is a lot more casual and modern, but I think generally it's the same as this video. Despite all the memory loss, which I can't even know for sure is from the ECT I don't think I regret choosing that path, maybe even if I could still do maintenance I'd be on fewer drugs and in a better general state. To conclude this post. I just don't know.

Seven Weeks And Three Days

It looks like this is going to beat my longest admission of nine weeks. I'm now at seven weeks and three days in here, plus the six days I spent in the medical hospital.

I've had two courses of ECT - that's 12 sessions and unlike usual they did nothing to help. My doctor has put me on a new drug - Reboxetine (Edronax), I'm still on a fairly low dose, these things have to be increased slowly and also take a while for the results to become evident. I'm looking forward to seeing if it will have any positive impact on me on a higher dose and with more time.

I can't function at the moment; I'm spending the majority of my days lying face down on my bed hugging a pillow. I missed lunch today, but I went out for coffee and a muffin with a friend; that will be my activity for the day. By the end of the outing I was exhausted (If you're reading this K, I really did enjoy seeing you). All I could think of was bed by about the halfway point. Yesterday I remained in my pyjamas until about 4pm, maybe later. The most I did was watch 3/4 of an episode of Bob's Burgers, I could watch the rest now but writing this is taking all of my energy - so don't expect this to be a good read, not that they're ever fun!

Since my last post, many physical things have changed. It turns out my wrist was broken - well fractured - it was the pisiform. The GP here in the clinic said that in her 36 years of practice she's never seen a fractured pisiform. I had a month in a cast, but it's getting re X-Rayed tomorrow because we suspect it's not healed. I really don't want more time in a cast.

I had an ultrasound that found a large ovarian cyst that needs to be removed due to its size; often they can be left, but not this one. I think this will be my 6th surgery.

I had a chest CT scan because I was coughing so much I was vomiting and struggling to breathe, it was suspected to be a flare up of my asthma, but it doesn't look that way. Still, I'm on four inhalers for now. The CT came back clear.

I don't think I've felt this depressed for a very long time, not for long periods, there are always very short stints, but this is consistent. I can wake up and think " Oh thank you, I'm okay" and then as soon as I see the first person or hear a noise the flatness re-appears and the dark thoughts return. I've promised myself that I will never go back to a certain public hospital, which is where they send sectioned patients from here, so I have that motivating factor not to injure myself either in the hospital or while out on leave. I have suicide plans but the only one that will definitely work will traumatise someone else, so I don't want to do it. If I try one of the ones that may fail I could end up back in that awful hospital. So despite feeling intensely suicidal, I'm actually quite safe.

A few weeks' ago a minister from my church and a man from my small group came to take communion with me; I was very touched by that. I value communion greatly; I find it to be a physical reminder of what Christ has done for us and a physical way to connect to the church, not just your own, but the entire Christian church. It also forces prayer and reflection prior to taking it, both being things we can cast aside due to other things in our lives. I have plenty of time to pray, but I spend it feeling so caught up in how awful I'm feeling that often the best I can manage is "God please forgive my sins and please help me"; sometimes even just "God I need your help". I know God would rather us acknowledge we need Him than try to do life on our own, so I try not to feel too guilty about my lack of prayer life, but I would like it to be more substantial.

That's all I've got to write now.

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Bye.

Not Quite The End

Almost two weeks' ago, Sunday the 4th of September I took 231 Seroquel 100mg tablets (23.1g). I wasn't planning on waking up, but I did. After taking them I sent a message to my doctor, not asking for help, just to thank him for looking after me for 5 + years. He immediately called me, and I answered. I wasn't at home as I didn't want my housemates to find my body, he talked me into telling him where I was, and he called an ambulance. I really did want to die, so I know I shouldn't have answered the call, but I also didn't want to be alone. I spent the next five days in an unconscious / semi-conscious state with lots of hallucinations. I had a few falls because I kept trying to get out of bed when I couldn't really walk due to the drugs and a seizure brought on by the drugs. My arms are looking more normal now, but they were very bruised, and there is a bone in my wrist that was suspected broken in one of the falls, but the X-ray came back fine.

I've been in my usual psychiatric hospital since Saturday; I was very lucky that they were able to get me a private room the morning after discharge from the medical hospital. I just flatly refuse to come into a shared room no matter how urgent it is, it's not therapeutically beneficial having to tip toe around, and I don't like being in complete silence, so I usually have music playing, something that a roommate wouldn't be too fond of. Because I had no medication for the whole five days I was in the medical hospital (I also didn't eat until the Thursday night) there have been some alterations to my usual meds, the biggest being I'm totally off Seroquel, and they halved my Lithium. The Lithium is being returned to its normal dose as of tonight, thankfully! A few years' ago my doctor tried to take me off Lithium and it was a disaster, I went a little wild. At the moment on the lower dose I'm very flat and don't want to do anything at all, I've spent most of today lying on my bed listening to music either staring out the window or at the wall depending on which side I'm lying on.

I've had all the preliminary tests for ECT done, so I can start at the end of next week if my doctor approves it. He's in London at the moment so I won't see him until Wednesday. I like the doctor who's filling in, but it's not the same as having the opinion of someone who knows me so well (and probably saved my life). Usually when I have ECT I'm severely depressed, which you'd think I am at the moment given that less than a fortnight ago I tried to end my life, but it's not quite that despondent feeling I'm experiencing, it's more so just flatness and profound hopelessness; still I think ECT would be beneficial, so I will be asking for it and if he says yes we can go straight ahead.

I sent off an enquiry about getting a therapy dog today. The restrictions on me getting just a regular dog are that I spend so much time in hospital so it's unreasonable to ask my housemates or Mum to look after it for me. Also I'm renting, and though my current landlord would probably approve a dog it would restrict future houses I could apply to rent (ours is being demolished next year). A therapy dog is allowed anywhere, including hospital, and landlords can't say no. I'd benefit from a constant companion, someone to talk to (even if it can't necessarily talk back) and the responsibility of taking it for walks and generally caring for it. My housemate, R would be concerned about the safety of our chickens with a dog, but I think it would be well trained and not likely to eat or chase the chickens.

New

I’ve been out of hospital for eight days, and they’ve been very good days. Last Monday I moved into my new house and I couldn’t ask for more. My housemate and I get along really well, it’s close to nearly all my friends and I can walk to places. There’s a nice creek with a path a couple of streets to the South and in three minutes I can walk to a very nice café at the end of my street, where there’s also lots of other shops. I’ve never lived within walking distance of anything like this, as a kid there were some shops you could walk to, but nothing special and not this close. And trees! I have trees that haven’t just been planted everywhere I look.

I’m a little worried this arrangement won’t last, but I’ll enjoy it while it does. My housemate and her husband own the house. He works in Brisbane and only comes down when the flights are cheap. She’s going up there for 6 weeks in November / December for work, it’s not a permanent job but if they like her and a job comes up I imagine she’ll take it to be with her husband, and since they own the house I can’t just take over the lease.

My time in hospital went well. I was there three and a half weeks, two of which were for ECT. ECT works very well for me, better than any medication, but without maintenance it won’t last. I feel guilty wishing my dad was still alive purely for my own convenience, but I really need him for this (bringing me home from maintenance). There is my brother but he’d do it very begrudgingly, if at all

I re-gained some trust from my psychiatrist while I was in hospital. For the first time since the tall building and police incident he let me out on leave by my self for walks and coffee etc. Time in there goes much faster when you’re not trapped. I had what I’m pretty sure is the biggest room in the ward - unlike last time where I hardly had room to store my suitcase. I was worried that because I spent a night in ICU someone else would get my room, but they kept it for me.

A friend and I have an agreement to start writing in October, her a Bible study, me a novel. Don’t judge me by this blog, I’ve never really found a style for it; I’ve just wanted to let people see the reality of severe mental illness. I’m worried about my punctuation; I just guess where to put things. I think I’ll be fine with character and plot. I’m curious to see what comes out.

ECT On The Morrow

I just read over my last post, wow, what a mess! Ever heard of a paragraph?! I think it was indicative of my state of mind at the time though.

I’ve been here a week today, one night of which was spent in ICU after apologising to a nurse in advance for the likeliness of her finding my body. I’m grateful to my doctor for not leaving me there any longer than one night; it’s pretty awful. The nature of it means there has to be little privacy, but it could be greatly improved by a fresh coat of paint and something to do other than watch TV or colour in mandalas. My inner bitch came out to play and I was quite unkind to the nurses / captors.

My doctor has decided to give me a round of ECT. I’m a bit unclear on how he reached the decision, but I think it’s because we needed fast improvement given how bent on killing myself I was. I say was because I’ve told him I won’t try it in hospital, it would be difficult and if I survive I’d be banned from the hospital and probably dumped as his patient.

I’ve written in the past about how much ECT (Electroconvulsive Therapy) has affected my memory, but I was mistaken. A couple of months ago I had a neuropsychology assessment – a 5-hour test on memory among other things. It was determined that my memory issues are due to severe depression, which can impair recollection and creation of memories. The type of memories I’ve lost don’t correlate with ECT memory loss and my depression was rated at the top of the scale they used.

Although I know about my memory I am still a little anxious about losing more. I have no fear of the procedure, the first of which is tomorrow morning, just the memory side of things. I think this session will take me into the 30s for ECT. It’s so high because I’ve had maintenance sessions where you come in once a week as an outpatient. I probably need to do that again but my Dad is dead and he played a role in me being able to come. Mum would drop me off before work (I had to be here early) and then later Dad would pick me up; he worked for himself, so he had the freedom to do that. Now it would mean Mum missing half a day of work once a week, and I can’t catch a taxi home because you have to be accompanied after the treatment. Anyway, I won’t be living with her.

I’ve been introduced to a friend of L’s who is in here at the moment. It’s nice to have someone to talk to, still in the getting-to-know-you phase, but there’s at least someone here I can say hello to (and raid hard drives!)

I Can Fly

Day two not on any antidepressant and I haven't killed myself yet. That pretty much makes me a superhero. I assume it's still in my system though, we'll see how the next week goes.

Just out of boredom and because it helps my memory I was reading through my blog a few nights ago and discovered this gem written May 25th last year:
"My doctor (G) came to see me this evening and he had some interesting news, my genetic medication test finally came back. I think I wrote about it but I'll refresh you; it's a test to see how I metabolise drugs, whether I hyper metabolise, don't at all or if I'm normal. There are several categories the drugs fall into, I metabolise all but one normally, the other category I can't metabolise and lucky me - Cymbalta is in that. G said that explains why I'm having side effects even at a very low dose and that he'd like to take me off it and start me on another one as soon as possible."
Cymbalta is the drug I've just quit - again! He put me back on it a few months ago during my last admission, obviously forgetting about the testing and of course I didn't remember, thanks to ECT I'm lucky I can remember my own name, no no it's not that bad, my name's Maureen, right?

ECT and Memory Loss

I read an article yesterday regarding memory loss caused by ECT; the writer was severely affected by the procedure, experiencing an uncommon level of memory loss. The further I read the more I related to her, it seems the amount of damage I am experiencing is not the norm. I struggle to remember the names of people I’ve spent significant amounts of time with, I can’t remember what I did the previous day, there are huge chunks from my life missing. My friends all know that my memory is patchy but I don’t think any of them really ‘get’ the severity of it and I find myself pretending to know what’s going on, nodding along as they talk about things we did together last year and trying to hide the embarrassment I feel as I attempt to bluff my way through these social occasions. I feel lost and scared, I don’t know what I’ve forgotten and I worry, well actually I know that I’ve lost some special memories; though I do mourn for the more mundane ones as well, for they are part of what makes me me. Maybe it’s good that I’ve forgotten so much, my identity isn’t really something I should value as it’s so messed up, but I do value it and I want the memories back; I don’t want to fake my way through conversations or have to give up and admit that I have no idea what’s being discussed. I want the knowledge gained from my time at uni back. I want to be able to make new memories.

I won’t be having any more ECT, it has caused me more harm than good and formed a bit of an addiction to general anesthetic  - which I am only just admitting to myself.