Episode 2 - Digging Around In My Brain

So – fast forward (or at least slowly plod forward) to around 12 months after the conversation with my GP. I was told that “the next step” to diagnosis was now available for me should I wish to take it. This, it transpired, involved having an extremely in-depth assessment over Zoom (shades of Lockdown, anyone?). I’d already filled in a shed load more assessment forms, similar to the ones I’d done myself in my innocent little “let’s fully experience this training seminar” box-ticking exercise.

Funnily enough, the results hadn’t changed. The assessment scores that came back were practically screaming “For goodness sake, how have you gone approximately four decades of existence with nobody spotting this??”

(I’ll attempt to answer that one in a later episode, btw.)

For now, back to my online assessment. The clinician could not have been kinder or more lovely. But bless her, she already had to contend with my absolute HORROR of making eye contact (another future episode) and the fact that I’d rather drink fermented tarantula spit than talk to someone I don’t know (another future…………..oh, you get the idea!)

I reminded myself that dealing with people who have these and similar behavioural differences was literally her job. She’s there to help you, Rach. It’s ok. You’ve got this.

We chatted about my childhood experience. Actually, “chatted” is probably a stretch. She asked me questions and I did my utmost to splutter at least semi-coherent answers. Then she produced a childish-looking picture book. My task, she explained, was to examine the pictures and see if I could deduce the likely storyline. I’d first read Shakespeare at the age of 10, so I was pretty confident that a picture book that looked like it belonged in a nursery would present no great challenge.

“It’s a story about frogs,” the lovely lady informed me, and in we went.

“What do you think might be happening in this picture?” came the calm, warm tones of Dr. Whatshername (I’d already forgotten).

“Well for a start, they aren’t frogs,” I said, flatly.

“Erm………….I’m sorry?”

“They aren’t frogs, they’re toads.”

“But what about the story?”

“You said it was a story about frogs. Those aren’t frogs. They’re toads.”

There was a pause. And, I imagine, a box was ticked.

Ok ok, come on Rach. Focus. What are the TOADS getting up to?

It looked like they were leaping about in someone’s garden, hopping around in the laundry the homeowner had left on the washing line. This made no sense. Why on earth would toads, frogs, or any other amphibious life forms be having a grand old adventure in some poor bloke’s thermal long johns?

“It’s 4:33 am,” I announced.

Dr. Whatsername’s eyebrows attempted to climb into her hair.

“Erm……pardon?”

“It’s 4:33 am,” I repeated, enunciating very clearly this time. Perhaps the connection was glitchy and she hadn’t heard me.

“Sorry………….WHAT’S 4:33 am?”

“In the story. It’s 4:33 am in the story.”

“Why do you say that?”

“There’s a digital clock in the picture.”

Another pause. And, I’m sure, another tick.

Moving on from toads with freshly-laundered knicker fetishes.

My next task was to collect some random items from the room I was in and put them in a bag. Ok, simple enough. My location was my music studio, so some of the items I grabbed were fairly standard teacher fayre (stapler, ball of blu-tack, odd pen lid, coaster), others less so (a plastic figure of Minion Dave, a small model piano, and a large quartz crystal).

I was to choose three and make up a story about them.

And so it came to pass that poor little Minion Dave got a large quartz crystal dropped on his piano.

How did he feel about that, Dr. Whatshername wanted to know?

He definitely wasn’t happy. I wouldn’t be happy if someone dropped something large and heavy on MY piano.

HA! SEE??? I DO have empathy!!!! Screw you, autistic stereotype!!

Pause. Tick.

After a couple of hours of this and similar tasks (and a lot more pausing and ticking), the assessment was over. Dr. Whatsername would be in touch to discuss her findings, but she doubted they would surprise me.

While I was pleased to have completed this step in the process, I felt extremely mentally tired. It seemed as though someone had been digging about in my brain. Which, figuratively speaking, they had.

Thanks for reading, gentlefolk.

Next time I’ll tell you about why I was a really rubbish baby.

And I promise I’ll get to the relevance of sparkly unicorns. Soon.

Love and sparkles,

Rach xxx