Just a Stepping Stone

May 12, 2024

I did eventually find the link to the online ADHD assessment I mentioned.

I had to redo my Google research, but at least I managed to get there a little faster this time. Once I pulled it up again, I went through it carefully and did some fact-checking to ensure it was a legitimate diagnostic tool. Then, I left the browser tab open—for about two months.

I told myself I was waiting to get paid from a camp I taught at in mid-March. While it did take some time to receive the payment, I still sat on it for a few weeks after that. Then, a girlfriend of mine—who is both diagnosed with ADHD and a practicing therapist—asked if I had taken any steps toward getting assessed. As I tried to explain my fears about the cost and my discomfort with talking to my doctor, I realized I had been stalling.

The longer I waited, the more pressure I put on the outcome. The more time passed, the more I started to see ADHD as an explanation for all of my struggles and self-perceived shortcomings. The risk of being wrong began to feel heavier.

So, I booked an appointment with my doctor.

I realized that while I haven’t ever been particularly comfortable speaking to doctors, that wasn’t the real reason I avoided this step. And although the cost of some assessment options was definitely a factor, it ultimately wasn’t what was holding me back either. Even after I got paid and found a more affordable option, I stalled.

I stalled because of fear—fear of rejection, fear of judgment, and fear of making my concerns known to someone with the power to validate or invalidate me. And both outcomes felt equally uncomfortable.

But I’m choosing to move toward that discomfort now because the longer I wait, the more unbearable it becomes. Taking action now is an act of self-protection.

Unfortunately, I have to wait two more weeks for my appointment. So in the meantime, I’ll focus on self-care.

June 9, 2024

I saw my doctor last week, and it went about as well as I expected.

Thankfully, a few days before my appointment, I was provided with an ADHD self-report assessment form to fill out and bring with me.

My doctor didn’t ask me a single thing about my symptoms or why I was asking for this kind of support. She glanced at the self-report, acknowledged that I’d scored high, and said she would refer me to a psychiatrist for anything further. While I’m pleased she gave me a referral—and the wheel feels like it's turning slightly—I was really discouraged by how the rest of the appointment went.

She spent a significant amount of time lecturing me about marijuana use, claiming that it puts me at higher risk for stimulant addiction. She warned me repeatedly about the side effects of stimulant medications and ordered an ECG for my heart.

She asked how long I’d been seeing my therapist and whether I started therapy to deal with the grief of losing my mom. I said, “No, actually, I lost my mom when I was 12 years old and didn’t get therapy until I was 28.” 

She asked what I saw my therapist for—if it was to deal with depression. I said, “No, actually, I've never considered myself depressed. I saw my therapist to help with anxiety, relationships, work, trauma—many different things.”

She asked about my work as a personal trainer, how I worked for myself, and whether I was doing well at it. She commented on the economy.

She asked about my relationship—how long we’ve been together and how it’s going. 

She asked about my last pap and the regularity of my periods. I told her about my ever-worsening cramps and that I’d been off birth control for quite a few years. Then she asked, “If you get pregnant, will you keep the baby?” Seriously, that's a direct quote. I said, “Probably? …We aren’t planning for it right now.”

She reminded me—again—that marijuana use carries a risk of lung cancer.

She asked about my asthma and whether I’ve had any attacks. “No, never.”

She commented on my weight, my BMI and praised my active lifestyle.

She offered to refill any prescriptions and said, “I think you look great, you’re doing great, and I’m not worried.”

She ended the appointment by explaining the convoluted process of scheduling with the psychiatrist. Apparently, they’ll call me to schedule—but if I miss the call, I’ll need to ask my doctor’s office to resend the referral, then wait for another call. Every time I don’t answer, my referral goes to the bottom of the list again.

Needless to say, I kept a close eye on my phone—and now have an appointment booked for late next month.

I left the doctor’s office feeling discouraged. Although I am, ultimately, making progress, her lack of acknowledgment for why I was actually there didn’t make me feel any more comfortable asking for her help.

Upon reflection, I can see that I put a lot of pressure on this appointment. I came prepared to explain myself, to justify my reasons for being there—but after one look at my self-assessment, she didn’t even ask.

I thought we’d have a dialogue about my experiences, but it felt more like a lecture than a conversation. I thought somehow this one appointment would give me clarity even though, deep down, I knew it was just a small stepping stone.

I hoped she might approach me with compassion, considering how difficult it was to bring these concerns to her in the first place. But—like many of my experiences with medical professionals—I felt like a problem to be solved or to be passed off to someone else.

She did assure me I’d be in good hands at the clinic she referred me to, so I guess I’ll just have to trust her on that—for now.