my diagnosis

The film industry has been shit lately. The writers strike is still having an effect as swathes of projects are still not fully approved or green lit, couple that with the streamers, Netflix and Amazon, now focusing on quality not quantity, in search of competition beating programming to draw audiences in.

There is a lot. Life is a lot. The never ending treadmill we’re on with kids is taking its toll. It’s slowing down, but then gets faster, and then slows down, and the gets faster again. Never ending, filled with pockets of joy, but relentless.

With the enforced time off, my partner suggested looking at a private diagnosis, as I’d been on the NHS waiting list for over a year. I investigated, and found someone. And booked it in.

The Dr called me when I was driving home, probably about a week after I’d enquired about an appointment. I’d been initially told I’d have an appointment within a week, but that obviously wasn’t the case as the Dr was only phoning now. He left a message, as I didn’t recognise the number. I pulled over and immediately called back. He needed to see if it was Autism and not ADHD. I answered a few questions and he confirmed that it probably wasn’t ADHD. He texted me two tests to complete when I got home that night and to send back to him. I did. The first was revealing. It was the RAADS-R test. I scored 145. The threshold was 65. I felt like I’d been diagnosed there and then. The other was a less meaningful AQ, where I scored 45.

I submitted the results and the Dr recommended I book as soon as possible. So I did and the sate was set. I have no impression of what would happen, he only mentioned I would be sent a series of questionnaires to complete and then I would have a 90 minute appointment. At this point it’s two weeks away.

I received an email confirmation, with 4 tests to complete, RAADS-R (which I’d already completed informally), AQ, ASRS-v1.1 and WFIRS-S. If you’re new to the world of Autism, expect a lot of acronyms. (I personally hate them.) I also had to complete a further document, with questions (that didn’t make much sense) and also a document for someone close to me to do (ideally a parent, but in my case it was my partner.) I sent it all back a few days before the assessment.

Assessment Day arrived. I didn’t know what to expect in all honesty. I was attending a private mental health hospital, somewhere I’d never been before. It was a 20 minute drive. I listened to some calming classical music on the way.

I arrived. I didn’t know where to park, as there were few signs. I parked in the first place I saw. The hospital was in, what looked like, an old religious building. The receptionist checked me in, gave me a badge and asked me to wait in the cafe to be called in. The Doctor was running late. I sat, still listening to the classical music. Several members of staff came in to the use the knackered old coffee machine and fill up their water bottles. A normal looking family came in; mum, dad, two kids, a boy (probably around 10) and girl (probably around 13-14). I wondered why they were there. Then the DR arrived.

I followed him into a small room, with a small window. He sat in front of me, with a laptop. He typed as he asked me questions. As I explained and sometimes struggled he finished my sentences, it was as though I was meeting with the first person who’d ever understood me. The 90 minutes flew by. It finished with. “So yes, you’re a level 1, High Functioning Autistic. Give us a couple of weeks do write up the report. Bye.” And with that I was sent on my way.

I called my partner. She had a million questions that I couldn’t answer. I went home, and I told her what happened. We didn’t really think about what it would mean to have the diagnosis. Now we were going to find out.