ECT (Electroconvulsive Therapy) humor is dark, sick, and a great coping mechanism for severely depressed patients and their caretakers. Last night, I met the funniest, most clever and least depressed-looking ECT patient in the sweltering holding area of Lenox Hill Hospital’s ECT unit.
I came to the hospital at 6:30 with my dad, totally prepared for the endless wait, with a tote bag filled with the following: an interesting book, four cinnamon ruggelach, two clementines, a peach Snapple, my ipod nano and my daughter’s ipod touch, loaded with several good movies. I ended up hooking my dad into the ipod to watch The Bucket List, while I observed the couple sitting across from me. “D”, a 48-year old graying nice looking man, was playing with his blue mesh hospital head covering, pulling it over his face as a bee keeper, making a cookie-monster puppet with the hat draped over his hand. I felt like I was in a comedy club, and began throwing out improv possibilities. We were bonded instantly by our ability to laugh in the face of depression, and the conversation that ensued was fascinating.
After a bunch of ECT references of being ‘fried’, ‘plugged into a socket’ and a few ‘zzzzaps’ later, “D”’s girlfriend, “S”, a tall, slim 37-year old with blond short hair, began to share her own heart-wrenching experience growing up with a depressed mother who blamed her for her depression. And as if that wasn’t enough, her grandmother also blamed her for her mother’s depression. Two things stood out from our conversation: a) how damaging parents can be and b) how resilient humans can be in spite of our parent’s best efforts to damage our self-esteem.
“D”’s history involved depression all over the family map, some medicated and some not, some in denial and some dealing well. The most tragic story was of his father coming to accompany him during his last hospitalization for a suicide attempt. On the way over, his dad had a fight with him. You would think if your son just tried to kill himself, it is not the best time for an argument. But that would be logical only if your dad had his mental health intact. And boy, can I relate to skewed logic and bad parenting by a depressed father!
“D” is a very high functioning depressed guy, and you would never know of the depths of his depression by speaking to him or observing him. But the depression is deep and resistant to medication, thus this first round of ECT for him. He came out of ECT smiling and happy, hopeful that this treatment will be the golden ticket to his happiness.
I wished my new friends good luck, and on the drive back to my dad’s apartment, he ate his sandwich in silence. I was glad to see that his appetite was healthy, a good sign that the depression is not that severe. He was grateful for the time I spent to take him to his treatment, and expressed his gratitude as I kissed him goodnight. This, too, is a good sign that he is not just consumed with himself, as he is when he is devastatingly depressed.
Depression stinks, and it can be an allusive, confusing, treatment-resistant disease. It is hard to find the right Psychopharmacologist or Psychologist with the magic cocktail or therapy that will work. The ability to laugh when the cards you are dealt are not the ones you hoped for can be a saving grace. If I couldn’t laugh, I would be crying a lot more. And I would much rather laugh. Even if it is about plugging my dad into a socket for his shock treatment. Sometimes I wish he came with a plug. It would make life so much easier!
What’s the hardest thing in your life that you have used humor to cope with?
