My Diagnosis 5: The Result

Those new to autism may not be aware that we have our own way of testing just how autistic we are. It’s called the AQ test and it’s sort of like the Olympics for nerds. You get asked questions like whether you enjoy socialising with friends (presumably without first using mind-numbing drugs that turn you into a drooling zombie), or whether you would talk to someone if he or she was the last person on the planet following a nuclear holocaust. That would be ‘no’ on both counts, obviously.
The Professor went through his own, slightly idiosyncratic, version of the standard AQ test. I wondered if he thought that I had been researching the questions (and the possible answers) beforehand and this was a way of catching me out. Scurrilous accusation but spot on, Professor. I reasoned that I’d rather know before the consultation whether I was likely to get a positive diagnosis or not and this would help me relax through the process. It didn’t but it was worth trying.
So we went through a list of questions where the Professor asked me something, I answered, and he then repeated it back to me. I felt I was talking to a parrot. In this way, we covered a lot of ground.
At the end of it, the Professor mumbled something about Aspergers and quickly moved on to list all my positive attributes, assuring me I was special – at least in terms of needs. Whoa! Slow down there, Professor. My mind was expecting another question at that point, not the diagnosis. If you must change the subject at whiplash speed then at least warn me first, otherwise my mind will expect a question and, when it doesn’t get one, it will revert back to a dormant state. That means I can’t hear what you are saying. Or rather I can hear it but I can’t understand it. So have I got the damn condition or not?
I could have asked him to repeat the diagnosis I suppose but that’s not how I tend to do things. You get one shot with me. If you blow it, you blow it. So the Professor was telling me how great I am and I’m wondering if I have the bloody syndrome or not.
He then posits that a social interaction programme might be helpful. I asked if he meant for him or me. He said that a group of Asperger people meet locally and all stand about looking at their shoes and checking their watches to see if it’s time to leave. Would that be helpful to me? Er…no.
In his later report, the Professor wrote (and here I quote) "I could detect no enthusiasm for this". Enthusiasm? Professor, I couldn’t have been less enthusiastic if you’d recommended that my testicles need massaging once a week by a gorilla. I’ve got Aspergers for goodness sake. A room full of people is like the seventh level of hell to me. Of course I’m not enthusiastic.
But at least that indicated he thought I had Aspergers in the first place. If only he hadn’t dealt with the diagnosis bit so quickly, I might have known for certain. Why he didn’t labour the point and repeat it several times in succession, like any reasonable person would do is beyond me – that’s how I approach my explanations. As it was, I bugged Vanessa for two weeks afterwards, checking that he really did think I had the syndrome and whether, perchance, she’d changed her opinion in the several seconds since I last asked her. The Professor could have spared us both the agony of those two weeks.
In the end, I accepted that I had Aspergers and this is what the Professor was imparting to me in the twenty seconds that I zoned out. He later confirmed it in a written report, stating that I have "Asperger Syndrome without doubt". Those last two words struck a nicely ironic note.
So that’s how I was diagnosed. The whole affair has probably left me with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder but I think we’ll just let that lie on file. I don’t think I can face another consultation for a very long time. A very long time indeed.