Diagnosis on the line
The moment of ADHD diagnosis finally arrived and like everything else on the journey it was rife with acronyms
I sat alone in a room that was reflective of the 90-minute conversation that would follow. It was what it was designed for - four walls, a window and a table with some chairs. There was no added extras, no colourful Chaise Longue in the corner to look good draping yourself across or interesting coffee table books to flick through that you'd never buy for yourself.
The psychiatrist who appeared was a mirror image of the room. Dressed plainly, he spoke calmly, asking only clinical questions with facial expressions that gave nothing away. If it seems harsh to judge him on his appearance, in the official report sent through afterwards from his office he described me as "a casually dressed, very pleasant gentleman". Just two pleasant gentlemen chatting, commenting on each other's appearance.
The only difference being that this gentleman was nervous that this was the moment I'd either find out I had ADHD or be unmasked in a different way and found out to be a fraud. My nervousness resulted in me trying to inject humour into the situation many times.
He combated my attempts at bon mot the same way most people treat a fly buzzing around their head - swatting it away without really acknowledging that it ever existed.
I've no idea why I thought I'd be found to be fraudulent. At every step of this journey I've known deep down that I am definitely a member of the ADHD tribe. That didn't stop me second guessing myself. Every question he asked, I strained to get some sense of what he was thinking. My brain wanted to skip the hour and a half and get straight to the point.
Why isn't everything in life like the fucking room, simple, plain and to the point?
His unwavering state of impassiveness only seemed to break when something I said was important enough to be put to paper before reverting back quickly.
Shit, what did I say? Is that a good thing? Is it bad thing? I can't even remember what I just said.
The questions were making me feel nauseous. The whole experience was like the early scene in Once Upon a Time in America where a phone rings 24 times. There's clearly a purpose to that part of the movie – to make the audience understand the feelings experienced by Robert De Niro's character. I remember watching it the first time and wanting to reach into the screen and answer the damn phone.
If you've not watched the movie, here's the phone ringing scene for your pain/pleasure
Just like that scene allowed an audience to connect better with the (very long) story, I knew this conversation was a major part of getting a diagnosis, but it was just as irritating as that phone ringing incessantly.
Suddenly the questions stopped and the slow pace quickened as he read out a bunch of numbers that reflected I scored very highly on all the scales. An 81 out of 100 for WURS, 6 out of 6 for ASRS. There were others that I couldn't write down quick enough because my brain was trying to process that he'd casually dropped in that he was confirming my ADHD diagnosis.
The official report, which came through a week later, has the clinical diagnosis of "Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder, combined presentation type DSM V 314.01". More words that don't do anything for non clinical people. DSM 1, Plain Language Group 0.
In that moment, none of the details really mattered. As someone I spoke to this week said - it means everything and nothing at the same time. I got what I came for, a diagnosis. Someone had finally vocalised what I've only come to realise about myself very late in life.
I am an ADHDer.