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similar to those of an ordinary epileptic fit. During this time the patient must be held down by attendants to prevent injury from the violence of the contractions. Even so, there are records of fractured spines, jaws, arms, and hips.
    Well, I would soon have firsthand knowledge of the whole thing—the first jolt, whether there is any memory of the convulsions, and the sensations afterward.
    The doctor called in four attendants, two male and two female. I looked them over carefully, wondering whether they would be stout enough to hold me down when my limbs started to flap all over the place. I noticed that they regarded me with complete indifference; this was just another distasteful, routine job to them. I only hoped that they would not continue to ignore me once the electricity went on, I was asked to he on a flat, narrow table; then the doctor placed a pillow, not under my head but under the small of my back. He asked an attendant to remove my shoes, and then he smeared some paste over my temples to insure the electrical contact, after which he strapped a belt-like gadget around my head. This, I knew, held the electrodes against the temples.
    The rubber mouthpiece was jammed into place. I braced myself and waited for the impact of the first jolt.
    B UT IT NEVER CAME . The next thing I recall was looking at two attendants, who were still just as bored and disinterested as regulations permit. I looked at the woman, then at the man. I’m not sure that I knew, at that first moment, who I was. I still wish that someone had quizzed me at that point so that there could have been a check on just how much of my memory had temporarily lapsed.
    Again I looked at the woman, then at the man. By now they were the only two left in the room besides myself. The doctor had just left. They watched me get off the table; as soon as they saw me in action they walked out too. But the woman turned at the door as though she had forgotten something and shouted back, “Do you know where you are?”
    Since I was aware of the table and the shock apparatus and the general hospital accouterments, I somehow managed a stumbling bit of deduction: “Yeah, I’m taking a shock treatment.”
    Even though she wore the same cold expression, that answer must have satisfied her; she wheeled around and went down the corridor, leaving me all alone. Believe me, I was confused. I knew who I was as soon as I had answered her question concerning where I was. But that was just about the sum total of my knowledge.
    I reached into my pocket, looking for anything that might serve to fill in the blanks for me. I pulled out a letter. From its date I oriented myself to some degree; and from the contents of the letter, which concerned a current business project, I learned more about myself. Enough, at any rate, to venture forth into the hall.
    I bumped smack into the busy doctor, who had apparently forgotten all about me by this time. “Oh, hello,” he said. “How do you feel?”
    “Fine. This is Saturday, June twenty-first. The time is 3:15 P.M., and I just took a shock treatment for experimental purposes.” The time had come from the clock in the therapy room, and the remainder of the dope had been wrung from the letter.
    I expected the doctor to break out in applause at this fine performance. But he merely nodded his head and rushed on.
    Wandering out on the hospital grounds, I kept piecing together the balance of the puzzle. When I finally remembered how I’d got to the hospital I found my car and drove home.
    Within three or four hours my memory was back to normal. But I must admit that during these hours some of the questions I put to my wife, who did not at that time know about the treatment, had her watching me out of the corner of her eye. When I asked, for instance, whether my father was in town and what college my brother attended, she began to grow a little concerned. But she became downright alarmed when she found me trying to recall what she had served