I think that the most feared procedure that they carried out in my mental hospitals was E.C.T.-ElectroConvulsantTherapy-also referred to by its older name of Electric Shock treatments.
All of us had seen, or read, One Flew over the Cookoo's Nest, and had indelibly imprinted on our psyche the scenes of Electric Shock Therapy from the movie. We also have the vivid picture of Jack Nicholson, after having an emotion-stiffling, personality-deadening, lobotomy. We all understood that this was the final step if Electric Shock didn't work. Lobotomies; that was the greatest fear.
E.C.T. still has its uses in psychiatry, but is done infrequently and I believe they no longer do lobotomies; thank God!
E.C.T. was very different for me than the process shown in "Cookoo's Nest." I had a wonderful Psychiatrist who specialized in E.C.T., named Dr. Albala. While you were in your regular mental hospital, you got up in the morning-early-and did not eat or drink, but were given a sedative to make you drowsy. It was a very strong sedative and my only recollection of the procedure was of Dr. Albala's gentle eyes looking into mine as I slipped under the sedative. Once under the sedation they would put you in an ambulance and drive you to the one hospital in town that did E.C.T. There they would prepare as if you were going to have an operation and then rub a contact-gel on your temples and apply electric stimulus to one side of your brain. They usually did not do both sides at once, but gave you a greater number of treatments, on one side and then the other. As you can imagine, I had to be in the hospital for some time to complete all the treatments as they only did one or two treatments a week. When I opened my eyes, after they had taken me back to my hospital, I would always be looking into the compassionate eyes of Dr. Albala again. I'll never forget his eyes and the care and dignity with which he treated me. He made me feel like a human being of worth; not like an inmate who was crazy.
I had been given E.C.T. because I had become catatonically depressed-I lay on a bed and could not move, or eat, I was so depressed. With the E.C.T. I slowly came out of my depression and started to live again. I was discharged after my treatments and went back home to the mountains. There were side-effects. I lost three years of memories; of my children growing up and of some of my hospitalizations, and of some of my life experiences. They have not come back even after 25 years. Fortunately, I had taken a lot of pictures of my children during that period so I was able to build some new memories from looking at them.
I have always been grateful for the E.C.T. and the way that it was administered to me by my psychiatrists. I grew up a lot from the experience and started writing a book about living in an inter-racial family, and also some poetry. E.C.T. was a life-altering experience and certainly one to seriously consider if ever needed. The theory was that E.C.T. changed the brain chemistry in a positive manner; it did for me.
Tomorrow I will discuss self-mutilation: what causes this behavior; how it feels; and why you are under compulsion to do it when you reach a certain level of guilt and self-anger.
All of us had seen, or read, One Flew over the Cookoo's Nest, and had indelibly imprinted on our psyche the scenes of Electric Shock Therapy from the movie. We also have the vivid picture of Jack Nicholson, after having an emotion-stiffling, personality-deadening, lobotomy. We all understood that this was the final step if Electric Shock didn't work. Lobotomies; that was the greatest fear.
E.C.T. still has its uses in psychiatry, but is done infrequently and I believe they no longer do lobotomies; thank God!
E.C.T. was very different for me than the process shown in "Cookoo's Nest." I had a wonderful Psychiatrist who specialized in E.C.T., named Dr. Albala. While you were in your regular mental hospital, you got up in the morning-early-and did not eat or drink, but were given a sedative to make you drowsy. It was a very strong sedative and my only recollection of the procedure was of Dr. Albala's gentle eyes looking into mine as I slipped under the sedative. Once under the sedation they would put you in an ambulance and drive you to the one hospital in town that did E.C.T. There they would prepare as if you were going to have an operation and then rub a contact-gel on your temples and apply electric stimulus to one side of your brain. They usually did not do both sides at once, but gave you a greater number of treatments, on one side and then the other. As you can imagine, I had to be in the hospital for some time to complete all the treatments as they only did one or two treatments a week. When I opened my eyes, after they had taken me back to my hospital, I would always be looking into the compassionate eyes of Dr. Albala again. I'll never forget his eyes and the care and dignity with which he treated me. He made me feel like a human being of worth; not like an inmate who was crazy.
I had been given E.C.T. because I had become catatonically depressed-I lay on a bed and could not move, or eat, I was so depressed. With the E.C.T. I slowly came out of my depression and started to live again. I was discharged after my treatments and went back home to the mountains. There were side-effects. I lost three years of memories; of my children growing up and of some of my hospitalizations, and of some of my life experiences. They have not come back even after 25 years. Fortunately, I had taken a lot of pictures of my children during that period so I was able to build some new memories from looking at them.
I have always been grateful for the E.C.T. and the way that it was administered to me by my psychiatrists. I grew up a lot from the experience and started writing a book about living in an inter-racial family, and also some poetry. E.C.T. was a life-altering experience and certainly one to seriously consider if ever needed. The theory was that E.C.T. changed the brain chemistry in a positive manner; it did for me.
Tomorrow I will discuss self-mutilation: what causes this behavior; how it feels; and why you are under compulsion to do it when you reach a certain level of guilt and self-anger.
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