Day 5

So here we are, nearing the one week mark of TMS treatment. I daresay, it’s almost starting to feel routine. I clock out at 1:30, drive to my appointment, sit for 10-15 minutes with a magnetic coil against my head, then return to work.

I realized today that the pulses into the right hemisphere sound like a leaky faucet. The left hemisphere still reminds me of a woodpecker. The faucet is supposed to calm down my anxiety, the woodpecker is for depression. My tech told me that we are slowly inching our way up to the full…dose(?) Anyway, this image pretty much summarizes how I feel about the treatment so far:

I’ve noticed my clinic is in very close proximity to a women’s health clinic. I now see anti-abortion canvassers almost daily (this is Texas), and I’m not really sure what to do when I pass them.

Once I waved (turn the other cheek). But usually I press on. I pass one of them holding a sign that says “God Loves ALL babies” Another holds a rosary. And I’ve composed at least ten counter-arguments in my head. Want to say it’s not political or black and white—it’s gray. And it’s not simple.

Then I drive back to work, full of self-blame. How do you raise a feminist fist with a touch of honey? I want to say: and He loves their mothers.

There—gray.

All of this takes place near a nondescript set of beige stucco offices, peppered with accounting firms and a wealth management practice. The TMS and women’s health clinics are so close, there has to be some kind of irony.

The outside of my clinic is adorned with sharp chunks of jewel-toned glass, and I always imagine how they would make good weapons.

In an parallel universe, the sign holder turns into a giant aardvark and breathes fire. I rally. Yay!

To be honest, this post has turned into more of a weird commentary on feminism than on mental health. Or maybe it can be both. Such are the turnings of the human brain.

Day 6

I’ve spent the last six days painstakingly assembling a rapport with my tech.

In one day, The Conjuring 3 comes out. That’s going to open a whole new set of doors (she likes horror movies too). Sidenote, Patrick Wilson is…Patrick Wilson. 

Aside from Patrick Wilson, I really hope treatment helps. Still another three weeks or so until I (may) start to notice a difference. Until then, I’ll count my earnings of tiny victories: (almost) asked for tape from the supply closet, moved into a new space at work, did not drink—all while facing a newfound fear of driving, one TMS appointment at a time. One boulder at a time. Cheers!

Day 7

I’ve finally learned that my “dose” is referred to as the therapeutic amplitude, and we reached it yesterday. No canvassers today. At this point, the woodpecker sensation has gotten pretty unpleasant. It’s starting to remind more of a jackhammer, but for the purposes of this blog, I’ll keep referring to it as a woodpecker.

I don’t have a whole lot of new updates, other than this week has been challenging since we made a full-time return to the office. And being in an office all day is…uncomfortable. It hasn’t been fun to feel like a raw nerve in every social interaction.

But for now, all I can do is remind myself to practice patience while we wait for treatment to (hopefully) work. Until next week~