Transcranial Magnetic Stimulation (TMS)

TMS is still considered "investigational therapy" by insurance companies (or at least my insurance company) because insurance companies apparently prefer to spend thousands of dollars on hospital care, psychiatrists, therapists, and drugs rather than risk money on something that conceivably might help you after everything else has failed.  At least the insurance industry keeps the employment rate from sinking even further by following this policy.  The original idea was for me to have 26 daily treatments (Monday through Friday), although this was cut short after events I'll tell you about in another post.  The following is an extremely unscientific view of my impressions after my first two treatments: 
     While I was getting the TMS today, I decided it felt and sounded like a very robust woodpecker pecking my head, which is protected by a thin, tight, tin colander minus the holes so the beak doesn't actually go through.  I don't really have a colander on my head; I just had 37 minutes to think about it and decided that was the best comparison.  It's very loud; I have to wear earplugs.  The way they find the initial site is the tech starts shooting these magnetic pulses at your head.  When your thumb jerks, they've found the right place.  It can't be your index finger, just your right thumb.  If your whole hand jerks, then it's set too strong.  Next, they look at your skull as if it were surrounded by a webbing and they have to aim the pulse at the tiny space in between the webbing (which are actually nerves).  If it hurts, then they aren't in the right place.  The first day took an hour and a half, but then they can lock in your settings, so today was no big deal except it's hard to remain perfectly still for 37 minutes.  They put tape around your forehead and then from your forehead back behind your head and then this spongy thing against your right ear holding your head still.  The woodpecker strikes your head for 4.7 seconds (but he gets in about 20 very rapid pecks during that 4 seconds) and then you have a 23 second respite before it starts again.  Let me just reiterate this is a quite burly woodpecker who has been in training for a half marathon for months.  I asked the tech if other patients compared it to a woodpecker and she said, "A woodpecker on steroids!"  But it doesn't hurt; it's just annoying, and I haven't had any side effects.  Doesn't this sound sci-fi?  Maybe I can get them to take a picture so I can scrapbook it for posterity.