This is how my hairs look when I take off the beanie I have to wear during my current bipolar-management treatments. The short version is this: I am doing a 36-
session treatment regimen of Transcranial Magnetic Stimulation (TMS). It is also known as “shock therapy, lite,” but instead of the seizure-creating electrodes of ECT, I get an electromagnetic coil attached to my beanied noggin. The coil creates a magnetic field that shoots pulses into the “mood control” area of my brain, to hopefully stimulate feelings that are more level than the extremes I experience. But let me tell ya loudly and clearly: “Pulses” is the wrong word. I’ve never before experienced any kind of “pulse” that repeatedly pecked and pounded like a mini jackhammer at a tiny section of my hairs, skull, and brain– resulting in bigly pain. I might as well buy a woodpecker and duct tape it to my left shoulder, so it can attack the side of my head. It would certainly be a lot less expensive than TMS. I receive one treatment per weekday. 3 treatments down, 33 to go.
I wore my superhero lightning bolts Bow Tie o’ the Day to this morning’s TMS appointment. I figured it will keep me safe and aid me and the electromagnet in my fight for a pair of level-colored glasses. I placed my saddle purse (Purse o’ Every Day?) directly in my line of sight, so no one could pilfer it. Plus, I got to stare at the purse’s adorable-osity. Gazing at my purse got me through my pesky, pecky session o’ “pulses.”
