Sometimes I imagine the Virgin Mary showing up at the inn, hours before giving birth to Jesus, and the inn keeper simply telling her, “err, well, sorry but we just aren’t a provider in your insurance’s network. Off you go!”
I basically just had the same conversation with one of the only TMS/ECT treatment facilities in Seattle. The woman on the phone was able to make it quite clear that people like me (on Medicaid) were not accepted at their facility. In fact, she wouldn’t even give me a figure of how much the treatment would cost without insurance. I felt like I had been marked in some way, as soon as she knew my socioeconomic status I was officially cut off from the prospect of hope.
This is an example of a relatively common conversation for me, and normally I wouldn’t complain, except that this woman had the audacity to go on and tell me that none of the other facilities I had listed to her would be interested in me either and I should just give up now. I told her that was excellent advice for someone currently going through a severely suicidal period and found myself missing the days of owning a phone I could bang on the receiver to signal my frustration upon hanging up on her.
While I am still making calls to other less convenient facilities (including the one I visited in this post and another that would require inpatient hospitalization during the full course of ECT treatment (yuck)), things are looking pretty grim on my treatment front.
To get you up to speed, my depressive shift after that manic/psychotic period a few weeks ago has gone from a walk down a hill to a rapid luge course at the Olympics. The speed and ferocity at which I am encountering extremely disturbing depressive symptoms is almost kind of impressive to me. Of course, I’d be more impressed if I wasn’t also watching it crack (not just strain) my personal relationships, my ability to communicate with friends and strangers alike, and all sense of self.
Part of me is hoping that the sudden intensity of this shift will also mean a rapid rise out of the pit once things have cooled off, but I already know that my mood-swing-predictor isn’t very accurate and in the situation where that doesn’t happen… this very well may be the biggest depressive punch I will have seen in a couple years.
I have unveiled all arsenal; special happy-feeling foods (donuts, cheese), sleeping when I’d rather not be conscious during the day, cuddling with my dog probably more than is healthy, The Muppets… but the depressive symptoms are progressing so quickly that they are almost near the point where none of my usual helpful coping skills are working.
Needless to say, a very bad time to be going separate ways from my psychiatrist of 5 years and my appointment with my new psychiatrist, although not condescending or bossy, did not go as well as I had hoped. She made it clear she didn’t really want to touch me with a ten foot pole and said that if she can help keep my symptoms from getting worse it was the best I could hope for.
If there was any time that seemed like revisiting the idea of ECT was a good one, this seemed like it was it. Unfortunately, now that I finally feel like I am at a point in my life where I welcome the idea of ECT (my mood swings being in the proper spot to warrant it), I have researched it thoroughly (including doing so while I was more rational and stable-ish) and the verdict in the psychiatry world is that I have pretty much exhausted all typical medication options… I’m having a hard time getting in.
I know that I can ride this the way that I always do. Hold on. Let my sense of self be stripped away completely. Check myself into the ER when things get too sketchy. Get agitated in the hospital enough for me to want to leave. Come home and continue to ride it out. Eventually it will get better. Eventually patch things up with my friends and family who haven’t heard from me in months. Hopefully the people around me can withstand it.
At any rate, if there’s no room for me I’ll just stay in the barn. Maybe if I close my eyes and breathe deeply the sweet smell of the hay will make me forget why I’m there.