ECT - What did I Forget?? A LOT!!!!

What exactly constitutes a nervous breakdown?  For me, it was when I became so deeply depressed that ECT,  Electroconvulsive therapy, seemed the only option left.  It is hard to remember just how long or how severe I was depressed.  When a person is that depressed, your memory is not intact.  I know I had been sliding down and battling with the miseries for months.  You just can't look back and "see" clearly where you were, what your life consisted of, the details of day to day are not only gone but so are the BIG events too.  For example, I can't remember going to my son's high school graduation.  My memory of the months before and after the ECT is very sketchy.   And a weird part of not remembering is that you don't know what you do not remember.  Does that make sense?  An example - When I came back to work at UAMS there was a nurse who "friended" me on Facebook.  I did not have the foggiest idea who she was, only that she worked in labor and delivery.  Turns out she began working there shortly before I left.  I have no recollection of her.  We worked together for two months. 
I had six ECT treatments over a two week period.  I remember broken fragments of those days- getting to Bridgeway early in the morning when it was still dark outside.  Sitting outside the nurses station with half a dozen or so other patients, like cows going to slaughter.  Getting our IVs started, then just waiting.  Next thing I remember was being wheeled into the little room and the mad hatter there to do his evil deed. 
The next thing I remember is sitting in a plastic recliner, IV out, and my head was in a vice grip, on fire and pounding unrelentlessly.  Eventually, after a specified time had elapsed, either Chuck or his parents would take me home.  I would sleep the rest of the day because of the excruciating headache.  The whole process took at least four hours and they had to wait in this small glass room, with nothing to do but wait.  And wait they did.  I can't express how thankful I am to Clara and Charles for taking care of me. 
I was working weekends at that time in my life. My last ECT was on a Thursday (I think).  Out of some absurd sense of duty and also an overwhelming need to get back to work so I could keep our family afloat, I wanted to get back to work that first weekend.  Immediately after ECT, I couldn't tell you what I had for breakfast by 9 o'clock.  But damnit, I didn't know any better, because I didn't know I couldn't remember anything.  I WAS GOING TO WORK!   Chuck finally relented and said if my psychiatrist would give me a release to work statement, then I could go back.  Of course, no doctor would do such an idiotic thing.  Wrong, mine did.  So the fight was on.  Right or wrong, I have won just about every fight we have had.
I can remember some bits and pieces of that horrible Saturday.  A doctor would give me an order and I wouldn't remember to do it.  The other nurses must of figured out something was wrong with me pretty quick.  The ADON was called in.  I talked to her like nothing was wrong (for all I knew, nothing was wrong, I COULD NOT REMEMBER ANYTHING, even that there really was something REALLY wrong with me!)  Somehow I managed to make it through the day.  When the shift was over, and it was time to go home, I had a slight problem.  I couldn't remember where I parked my car. And it was parked on a five level parking deck.   A very dear nurse, Kristine, took my hand,  found my car for me and had me follow her home to my door (because I forgot how to get home).  That was my last day to work for a year and a half.