Pre-warning: I’m in “Babble Mode” so please bear with me 😂 (I get very animated, even when typing, when something has riled me up… But I’ll do my best to edit, re-edit and edit again so that it ends up somewhat coherent. I promise!)
I finally made it to my appointment to discuss an ADHD diagnosis 🥳
However, as I’d feared, it didn’t go well. I’d tried to prepare mentally for this — having seen so many others struggle to get diagnosed, I knew it wasn’t going to be easy — but it was still a massive gut-punch to find that the journey to diagnosis would, indeed, be just as difficult for me.
It was an appointment with the Mental Health nurse at my doctor’s surgery. (I’d asked to see the female nurse but hey-ho!) So I sat down to speak to the male nurse who’d been allocated to me.
We discussed my overall mental health/anxiety and switched some meds around. Then I raised my request for an ADHD diagnosis. Readers… I kid you not… I saw the man’s eyes roll. Actually roll. Without even asking me anything, he said “oh, well whatever you’re experiencing is probably just because of your anxiety…”.
Great. But fear not. He gave me the forms “anyway” (his words) because he’s not the one who diagnoses. Well, that’s awfully kind of you, sir… 🙄 (note: sarcasm…)
He also said that I’d definitely need input from my parents (something I know isn’t true from various sources) otherwise they wouldn’t have enough information to go on…
What I should have said in response was “all they’ll need to do is speak to me for 10 minutes — which will turn in to 90 minutes because I ramble and forget things, then remember and forget again… Then they’ll know, won’t they?” in a lighthearted, yet serious manner. (I also realise in doing so they’d pick up on other non-verbal things, but you get what I mean… I hope!)
But of course I didn’t. I just smiled and nodded. Said I’ll just have to ask a childhood friend. He said that might do, but information from early years is also recommended.
My early years, up until the age of 22, were spent in and out of hospital. I was that unwell they weren’t going to notice any other behaviours anyway — and didn’t. Understandable, yes. But as I’ve mentioned in a previous post, I found out that children born with my condition should have been receiving mental health support throughout due to how traumatic it is to be constantly in and out of surgical theatres/hospitals. Something I didn’t get. Maybe if I had they’d have noticed? We’ll never know.
So off I went, trying not to cry, with hope that at least getting the forms submitted would get me to the person I actually needed to speak to. I went to my childhood friend’s house so she could help me with some of the questions but damn… Those forms? In my opinion, they’re absolutely horrendous!
Repeated questions worded differently (spotted a typo in one of them, too!), information required from childhood that’s impossible to get if you don’t have parents who are able to assist (mum is AWOL by choice, dad is in a care home with late-stage Parkinson’s and early-onset Dementia.)
The spaces they expect you to write in are tiny, so even the few examples I had couldn’t fit in to the boxes properly (which made it look messy and drove me up the wall, because all I wanted to do was re-write it...)
A spreadsheet type thing about addiction with overly complicated boxes to fill in (or tick? Or both?!) What 😫 How do people DO this?!
Cue negative thoughts:
I’m sure I’ve messed it up.
I’m not likely to get a diagnosis if I can’t even fill the forms in properly.
If they don’t have the information they’re asking for what will they have to assess?
Will talking to me even help? Or will they not even bother if the information is missing?
I finished the forms to the best of my ability and dropped them off down the surgery the next morning (and can I just say — GOLD STAR FOR ME — I never do things like this quickly. I guess Hyperfocus Mode was switched on that morning 😂).
Disheartened by the fact that I couldn’t remember so many things until after I’d dropped them off I drove home and sobbed. Again.
Since then I’ve had time to think and reflect; it’s not the nurse’s job to diagnose me — so his opinion should be of no concern to me.
The psychologist/psychiatrist is the person who’ll actually do the diagnosis and even if that doesn’t happen for a while, at least I’ll have a proper chance to get it confirmed.
Just because I’m not diagnosed doesn’t mean it’s not true. Many, many people have been mis-diagnosed, or not at all, over the years because ADHD hasn’t really been taken seriously until quite recently.
It’s always been seen as a ‘naughty schoolboy’ thing, which couldn’t be further from the truth. Even now people don’t really understand just how much of an impact having this condition can have on someone’s life, unless they have it or know someone who does.
So there’s still a lot of work to be done to raise awareness. Something I’m hoping to be able to do by writing about my journey.
I’m also hopeful again, thanks to the support of my friends, the encouragement I’ve received from those I’ve met here on Medium and my awesome housemate, that I’ll get there in the end.
I’ll keep you posted, as always! And if you’ve made it this far — thank you very much for sticking with me ’til the end 😂
Until next time,
KD x