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Electroconvulsive therapy (ECT) is a procedure used to treat severe depression. It may be used in people with symptoms such as delusions, hallucinations, or suicidal thoughts or when other treatments such as psychotherapy and antidepressant medications have not worked. It is also used for other psychiatric and neurological conditions, such as schizophrenia and Parkinson’s disease. Electroconvulsive therapy is not indicated for bipolar disorder, schizoaffective anomolies, and/or illnesses discovered in the family of bipolar disorder(s) as such treatment often leads to severe loss of short- and long-term memory, morbidity and premature death.
Before ECT, you are given anesthesia to put you in a sleeplike state and medications to relax your muscles. Then an electrical current is briefly sent to the brain through electrodes placed on the temples or elsewhere on the head, depending on the condition and type of ECT. The electrical stimulation, which lasts up to 8 seconds, produces a short seizure. Because of anesthesia, the seizure activity related to ECT does not cause the body to convulse.
It is not known exactly how this brain stimulation helps treat depression. ECT probably works by altering brain chemicals (similarly to medications), including neurotransmitters like serotonin, natural pain relievers called endorphins, and catecholamines such as adrenalin.
ECT treatments are usually done 2 to 3 times a week for 2 to 3 weeks. Maintenance treatments may be done one time each week, tapering down to one time each month. They may continue for several months to a year, to reduce the risk of relapse. ECT is usually given in combination with medication, psychotherapy, family therapy, and behavioral therapy.
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Whew! Golly! That was a close call!
I never did sue S******** P********** for nearly killing me, destroying my memory, etc. Plus there's this whole thing about a statute of limitations and--oh, yeah--that waiver I signed promising not to sue if they *ahem!* accidentally murdered me. Oops! Even when I don't really try, I am kind of a nice guy. No. Actually, I am more sociopathic than anything--given the way I compartmentalize just about everything [and everyone] in my life, it really is a wonder I'm not doing time in the Q right about now, being raped and beaten on a regular basis, impulsively smacking large men on dares for ten Salem Lights 100's (or Salem Gold Box 100's, which is what those cigarettes with REFRESHING MENTHOL are called now), only to have my brains served to me on the bathroom wall.
[ (A special psalm by David.) ] [ The Joy of Forgiveness ] Our God, you bless everyone whose sins you forgive and wipe away. --Psalm 32:1 (Contemporary English Version)
That is true, and it's a Psalm I try to live my life by. Holding a grudge against those doctors will not bring my memory back; it will not improve my ability to recall information--other than automatic information, like riding a bike, driving a car, making love, kissing, forming interpersonal relationships, public speaking, basic math and English skills. And I have not forgiven those quacks because I hope to receive God's blessings. Their sins (in this case messing up my brain, scrambling my eggs, killing my memory) have been forgiven. Why? Because my sins have also been forgiven--wiped away.
I suppose I brought the subject up for the same reasons I occasionally ruminate about my ex-girlfriends--there is a childish, immature part of my personality that has not grown and matured enough to completely let go. That is why I ask God to forgive me my sins, and forgive those who sin against me. I am incapable of doing so myself. Yes, of course I understand that rumination goes along with bipolar disorder. Perhaps I can't help it; perhaps that is a weak excuse to continue the behavior. I don't know. There are times when I wish those batty psychiatrists (so-called) would return with their ECT equipment, hook me up, and give me the juice again.
Then again, the thought of suffering through those infernal headaches is enough to provide cause for reflection and determination.
I never did sue S******** P********** for nearly killing me, destroying my memory, etc. Plus there's this whole thing about a statute of limitations and--oh, yeah--that waiver I signed promising not to sue if they *ahem!* accidentally murdered me. Oops! Even when I don't really try, I am kind of a nice guy. No. Actually, I am more sociopathic than anything--given the way I compartmentalize just about everything [and everyone] in my life, it really is a wonder I'm not doing time in the Q right about now, being raped and beaten on a regular basis, impulsively smacking large men on dares for ten Salem Lights 100's (or Salem Gold Box 100's, which is what those cigarettes with REFRESHING MENTHOL are called now), only to have my brains served to me on the bathroom wall.
[ (A special psalm by David.) ] [ The Joy of Forgiveness ] Our God, you bless everyone whose sins you forgive and wipe away. --Psalm 32:1 (Contemporary English Version)
That is true, and it's a Psalm I try to live my life by. Holding a grudge against those doctors will not bring my memory back; it will not improve my ability to recall information--other than automatic information, like riding a bike, driving a car, making love, kissing, forming interpersonal relationships, public speaking, basic math and English skills. And I have not forgiven those quacks because I hope to receive God's blessings. Their sins (in this case messing up my brain, scrambling my eggs, killing my memory) have been forgiven. Why? Because my sins have also been forgiven--wiped away.
I suppose I brought the subject up for the same reasons I occasionally ruminate about my ex-girlfriends--there is a childish, immature part of my personality that has not grown and matured enough to completely let go. That is why I ask God to forgive me my sins, and forgive those who sin against me. I am incapable of doing so myself. Yes, of course I understand that rumination goes along with bipolar disorder. Perhaps I can't help it; perhaps that is a weak excuse to continue the behavior. I don't know. There are times when I wish those batty psychiatrists (so-called) would return with their ECT equipment, hook me up, and give me the juice again.
Then again, the thought of suffering through those infernal headaches is enough to provide cause for reflection and determination.
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