A new chapter

Yesterday morning, I emailed the information email address of a private counselling clinic in Sheffield, near to where I live. The clinic offer a Developmental Disorder Assessment for those who suspect they have an Autism Spectrum Disorder. The man behind both the clinic and  assessment is a very well respected psychotherapist and professor, which ultimately helped give me the confidence to write.

I was concerned as to whether a GPs referral was strictly necessary, so in addition to giving a short(ish) background about myself, I stated my concerns and asked I what needed to do to get the ball rolling. As I was emailing a generic address at the clinic, I didn’t get my hopes up of a quick reply, but to my immense surprise some forty minutes later, a reply was sitting in my email inbox, not from the clinic administrator, but from the good professor himself.

A GP referral was necessary, and perhaps for the first time, I appreciated why. A diagnosis doesn’t necessarily come unaccompanied. There may be recommendations for further treatments to feed back to my doctor following the assessment.

So, after lunch, I phoned my GPs surgery and asked for an appointment. Here, things didn’t go to plan. My usual GP, it seems, has retired. Oh. Thinking on my feet, I realised it just meant that I’d need to explain a little bit more history. An appointment was offered, with a woman doctor that I’ve not met before. For the next morning. I wasn’t expecting that – next day appointments are usually like gold dust, and a wait of several business days is not at all uncommon. I was a bit phased by this, and accepted the morning slot. I booked a double appointment, just to be sure that I’d have time to explain myself, without feeling rushed.

It was only after I was off the phone that it hit me that I was going to go and ask for a diagnosis the following morning. All of a sudden I was filled with doubt and thoughts of cancelling – after all, I wouldn’t have the time to prepare what I was going to say, and to print out supporting documentation. My wife came to the rescue. She told me that I didn’t need any supporting notes and that I knew what I was talking about. I’d be fine. I knew she was right. It’s how I tend to approach job interviews – I don’t prepare as fully as I might, instead relying on an ability to pull the knowledge I need out of my head when asked.

I slept well. Amazingly.

This morning, as the minutes passed, I grew more and more nervous and anxious. My mind was full of questions and of trying out answers. I made it to the surgery ten minutes early and then sat and tried to calm myself. I remembered the seven-eleven breathing technique I’d been taught when I went for counselling to help my anxiety. It didn’t feel to be helping at the time, but I’m sure it did in reality.

Whilst I was waiting, the doctor appeared in the waiting room, and grumpily called someone. Uh oh. That didn’t sound good. I tried to calm myself with the observation that the doctor had rung her intercom bell to alert the receptionist that she should send in the next patient, but that the receptionist hadn’t responded. Just maybe that was why the doctor was grumpy – she’d had to come and find her next patient herself.

All of a sudden it was my turn. I wandered dazed down the corridor containing the consulting rooms, and at first I couldn’t find the right room. It turns out that they are numbered in a strange order, and after a short false start I found the door I was looking for.

The next twenty minutes passed in something of a blur.

In short, the doctor was sympathetic and listened carefully both to my concerns and to the descriptions I gave of some of the ways in which AS affects me. After about fifteen minutes, she made it clear she wa happy to refer me for a diagnosis, but at this point she stumbled at little. She realised that she had no idea where she could refer me to. This was my cue to chip in and say that I’d found a clinic in Sheffield, which went down well. She then wondered out loud if the clinicians did NHS work, and explained that they could put a case forward for me to be seen on the NHS out of area, if the clinic or those working there undertook NHS work. I explained that I was fully prepared to meet the cost of the consultation privately, and thus the NHS and special cases wouldn’t be needed – so long as she was happy to do the referral. She agreed – she’d write to the clinic to refer me early next week.

I let out a very audible sigh of relief, and felt close to tears. The doctor smiled.

I realised that in many ways I’d been working towards this moment for a year. If you count the time I spent understanding my anxiety then the road to here has been more like two years.  To be sitting with a doctor who has just said that she understands how Asperger’s affects me and is happy to refer me to get a formal diagnosis was just wonderful.

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This, of course isn’t the end of the story, by any means. It is the start of a new chapter.

Assuming the diagnosis goes the way I expect, there will be a whole new set of realities and challenges for me to face. The doctor mentioned the possibility of more counselling, perhaps as a couple with my wife, and maybe to help with my parenting skills too. There will also be that small matter of having a disability on my medical record to face up to and deal with, and the devising of strategies of when and if I need to let people know.

Of course there is still that tiny little doubt in the back of my mind that the diagnosis will not return what I’m expecting. That too would take time to re-adjust from. I’d be fibbing if I said that it didn’t worry me just a little.

Overall though, I’m feeling very positive about the whole experience and about what the future holds. A large part of this huge weight I’ve been carrying feels to have gone.

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