Dr. Grossman’s hands rest on Bunny’s file folder, and he says, “I’d like us all to go over everything together.” At the conference table, he and Dr. Fitzgerald are sitting directly opposite Bunny and Albie. “Bunny,” he asks, “are you comfortable having this discussion?”
In a whisper that is bracketed with whimpering, Bunny says, “I’m okay.”
Sounding exactly like a high school principal informing a parent that their fuck-up kid got busted smoking weed in the bathroom, Dr. Fitzgerald tells Albie, “You’re aware that your wife has refused medication.”
“Medication is off the table for now,” Dr. Grossman says.
Dr. Fitzgerald says she is well aware that medication is off the table for now, which could lead you to wonder why she brought it up in the first place.
“For now,” Dr. Grossman says, “Bunny has agreed to electroconvulsive therapy,” and Dr. Fitzgerald echoes, “Electroshock therapy,” which is not a precise echo, but it amounts to the same thing. Convulsive is the preferred word. Preferred words are not necessarily better words. If anything, the preferred word, however synonymous, can obfuscate rather than clarify. It’s the same truth swaddled in cotton, like how the preferred term for manic-depressive disorder is now bipolar disorder, which sounds like an Arctic expedition as opposed to someone gleefully pulling her hair out of her head. Although why electroconvulsive is preferred to electroshock is anyone’s guess. Both bring to mind images of mad doctors and the industrial revolution; the next step in medical science after bloodletting. But Dr. Grossman explains electroconvulsive therapy in a way appropriate to the twenty-first century. “Think of it like rebooting a computer. We perform the procedure under general anesthesia. The patient feels no discomfort.”
In response to Albie’s question about the side effects, Dr. Grossman concedes that some patients experience temporary short-term memory loss, but memory loss resulting from ECT does not compound the memory loss resulting from her depression. Memory loss resulting from depression is depression dependent. It’s more like forgetfulness that results from preoccupation, the depression being the preoccupation. All studies indicate that within six months, short-term memory loss is statistically nil. But Dr. Grossman does have to admit that the rate of success isn’t precise, in part because it can’t be quantified like blood pressure or tumor size. “But in cases of depressive melancholia with acute suicidal ideation,” he says, “my experience is that there is a dramatic improvement with the treatment.”
The way an echo reverberates from a distance, Albie repeats the doctor’s words, “Acute suicidal ideation?” It is unclear if Albie wants to console his wife, or is he expecting her to console him. Either way, Bunny just sits there, as if she were no more alive than an icicle before a thaw.
“Bunny,” Dr. Grossman’s voice has the effect of a hypnotist’s snap of the fingers. “Bunny, you have to pay attention, okay?”
Dr. Fitzgerald, however, seems not to be paying attention. She is doodling, three-dimensional cubes and stick figures and flowers that might be tulips, in the margins of her notepad.
Dr. Grossman is skeptical of reports claiming full recovery after a single treatment. “Twelve treatments is the usual course, three times a week for four weeks, but sometimes more are needed. Up to thirty-six.”
Before treatment can begin, should treatment begin, Bunny will need to undergo a thorough physical examination. Then, she’ll have to wait until there is an opening in the schedule. “A few days at most,” Dr. Grossman says, and from the breast pocket of his white coat he takes a ballpoint pen, which he clicks open before passing it to Bunny along with the consent form.
Despite that a person locked up in the psycho ward can’t leave until discharged by the doctors, that same person, apparently, is sufficiently compos mentis to agree to electroconvulsive therapy, in writing.
“Are you sure this is what you want do?” Albie asks, and Bunny asks, “What choice do I have?”
“Abilify,” Dr. Fitzgerald pipes in. “Abilify and Paxil,” and Bunny considers the possibility that Dr. Fitzgerald is concerned for her welfare; perhaps she knows that ECT is neither as effective nor as benign as Dr. Grossman contends. Wouldn’t that be something? It would be something, but it’s not. The expression on Dr. Fitzgerald’s face says it all: she has no respect for people like Bunny; the emotionally fragile, the psychically damaged—they might as well be fat, sexless, and dull.
And Bunny asks, “What’s the date today?”