Episode 1 - I Find Out

I think this speaks for itself really, don’t you?” said my GP, kindly. What he was referring to was a large file I’d placed into his hands. It contained the results of several different online self￾diagnostic tests for autism that I’d completed over the previous month. What spoke for itself, I wondered? The fact that every single one of them had come back with what might as well have been a giant flashing neon sign bearing the legend “YOU ARE CLEARLY AUTISTIC”, or the fact that I’d carefully catalogued, colour-coded, plastic-walleted and befiled said results. Probably both. I nodded mutely and stared at the floor.

“So, what would you like to do next?” he gently enquired.

An open-ended question. Eww. I don’t like those.

I opened and shut my mouth like the proverbial goldfish.

He got it. (and I swear I saw him tick a box!)

“Would you like to pursue a formal diagnosis?” he asked.

A yes or no question. MUCH better.

Or was it?

A simple, closed question it may very well be, but one that in this case felt very loaded. DID I want to pursue a formal diagnosis? What would it mean if I did? Would I need to tell my superiors at work? Would my students need to know? How would my then-husband react? My friends? My mum? Would I get a disabled parking badge? A sunflower lanyard? Help? Support?

A pat on the back? Did I actually want any of those things?

And what would it mean if I didn’t? I’d survived 39 years without a label, hadn’t I?

No. Wait. Hang on. I HAD been labelled. I’d been labelled for most of my life. I’d been labelled “the weird kid”, “too sensitive”, “odd”, “problem child”, “drama queen”, “just making a fuss”, "just seeking attention”.

Could I somehow replace all of those derogatory labels with the explanatory one; “autistic”?

Yes, I decided. That was exactly what I wanted to do.

Let’s rewind a few months and see how I eventually ended up in my GP’s office, clutching a colour-coded lever-arch file containing clear evidence of my peculiarities, peccadilloes, quirks,

faux pas, foibles, and (some would say) failures to function as a ‘normal’ person.

As a musician and music teacher, I’m part of the Musician’s Union. One of the benefits of that is that we are sometimes offered access to training courses and seminars. The one I’d most recently been offered was concerned with making a teaching practice more inclusive to

neurodivergent students. At the time, I estimated that around 10% of my students could either be described as, or would identify as, some form of neurodivergent. (I now think it’s quite a bit

higher than that.) I signed up for the training, thinking it would probably be useful. It certainly was, but perhaps not in the way I’d imagined. As part of the research section of the training, we

were encouraged to familiarise ourselves with some different online diagnostic tools for autism.

So that’s what I did, and it didn’t take any major brain power to fathom where the results had taken me.

Now, back to the GP’s office and my highly organised catalogue of material that suggested - should I pursue a diagnosis for autism, I would surely be given one.

My lovely, calm, mild-mannered doctor explained to me that I would need to self-refer, and told me how to do it. (This varies by area so always check with your local health provider if you’re going to go down this route). I followed his instructions, and was told I’d certainly be eligible for

assessment, but I was probably looking at an 18-month wait unless I wanted to go private. That would cost money I definitely didn’t have (around £400-£600 being one example), and NHS waiting lists are a whole other discussion. However, I was in no rush, so I joined the – extremely long – queue. 12 months later (not 18 – hurrah!) I had apparently reached the front, and the diagnostic process began. I’ll talk about that next time.

But Rach, you’ve still not told us about the relevance of sparkly unicorns!!

All in good time, gentlefolk. All in good time.

Love and sparkles,

Rach xxx