Piece of Switchbacks...

This is a small segment of my essay, "Switchbacks"

I do not want to be here again. The treatments have stopped working, and I hate that we’re wasting more time and money on a lost cause. But I lie down on the bed anyway, because I promised my brother that I would try one more treatment, for him.

I look up from watching the anesthesiologist at my arm and look at my brother. He came to the first treatment, and he is here again, for the last one. I know that he hopes this will work, that this will not be the last one because the ECT will work again and maybe I’ll be happy like I’ve only been for a week and a half in my life, but I know better. My body has betrayed me, and I refuse to allow myself to hope again.

My brother smiles at me and waves.

“Hey, Jill,” he says.

“Hey, Bill,” I reply. My body doesn’t respond at all when the anesthesiologist inserts the needle. I’m getting used to it. The needle has gone into the same spot each time, and has left a small round mark on my flesh. The vein isn’t hard to find anymore. They just have to do what they’ve been doing weekly for two and a half months.

The nurse cuts across my vision of my family and walks over to the anesthesiologist. I follow her with my eyes and watch as she tries to help him. They twist the needle, and I am immediately more aware of what’s happening in my left arm. For the first time, they have missed my vein.

They only twist the needle once, and then they know that they have to try somewhere else. The anesthesiologist removes the needle, and the nurse puts pressure on my punctured skin. He pokes me again, lower down on my arm.

“I love you, Jill,” my mom says.

“I love you, Mom.” I give a tight smile, but don’t really look at my family. The needle isn’t that painful, but I am frustrated. This is the best anesthesiologist at UNI, the psychiatrist is the best in the nation, the ECT treatments here in Salt Lake City are sought out by people from various places in the country because of their effectiveness…and here I lie, broken.

They cannot find a vein here. The anesthesiologist removes the needle and begins to feel around for more. My wrist, the side of my hand, the back of my hand, the other arm, shallow veins at my left arm again, and finally a few centimeters over from the original poke.

To make sure they actually have the vein, they let the blood run down my arm. I don’t think it’s necessary to let streams of red pour across my skin. I wish they’d clean it.

The tourniquet has made my arm numb and cold, and my blood seems strange. I can tell it’s on my arm, I can see it, and I can feel the path it’s tracing. But the blood feels cold. Not natural.

This small detail, of something else on my body being abnormal, nearly breaks me. But I don’t want my family to see my despair. I give a tight smile to my mother and brother, and feel hot tears fall from the corners of my eyes. I don’t want them to see the tears, but I can’t stop them from falling. I clench my jaw and feel the veins stand out in my neck as I try not to sob.

“I love you, Jill,” my mom says.

I want to answer her, to let her know that I love her, that I really do appreciate her, that I didn’t want my mind to betray either of us, that I didn’t ever intend for this to be such a waste of money, that I didn’t mean to give her hope that her child would be happy and then just tear that away…but I can’t unclench my jaw, because I know that if I do, my voice will betray me, and I can’t bear to have another part of me out of control. I have to have control.

They have the IV in now. I feel the plastic tube slide into the vein they’ve been trying to find for so long, and Dr. Bushnell finally stands up and comes over to me.

He doesn’t ask me if I’m ready. He knows I will never be ready to go through this again, so he just nods to the man who has made me bleed. I feel the burning in my veins. I feel my head start to spin.

Uselessly, I try to fight it. I don’t want to go under again, so I try to keep my eyes open, but the room is spinning and turning black.

“I love you, Jill,” I hear my mom say.

I want to let her know, just in case. Who cares if my voice gives out? Maybe it’ll keep me awake. I don’t want to submit to the darkness.

“Mom,” I whimper.

A final pull of darkness and I am forced into the black swirl of anesthesia, a tear still sliding down my face.