The Crux and The Aftermath of My Autism Assessment

Allow me to guide you through my autism assessment process—a saga with more twists and turns than an intricate tree system crafted by a caffeinated squirrel, where the temple of nuts remains elusive! It all began when I decided to undertake this adventure into a diagnosis of my neurodivergence, prompted by the egg to push me to find answers.

Before understanding how complex it is to get a diagnosis, I hesitantly visited my GP to seek some clarity. Unfortunately, the experience was as unpleasant as a root canal. After just a few minutes of listening, the doctor seemed only interested in prescribing antidepressants. Seriously? I was merely trying to see if they could provide answers, but instead, I ended up with even more questions.

While I may not have been familiar with the precise term at the time, I was confident it wasn't depression. I found it difficult to justify the possible side effects of such strong medications. They might be beneficial, but am I willing to take that risk? No, I'd rather continue my research and find a way to obtain a formal autism diagnosis on my own!

Subsequently, I turned to Google, and after an unhealthy amount of googling for answers in one sitting, I stumbled upon an autism assessment questionnaire and completed the test. The results indicated a 100% probability of being atypical (autistic/neurodiverse). Some statements in the questionnaire were so obscure that I revisited them to grasp the context and apply background information. Realising that overanalysing each statement wasn't constructive, I returned to the resources I had found on autism.

I contacted the NAS (which provides valuable information and resources on autism) for advice on obtaining an autism diagnosis. They recommended that I reach out to my GP for a referral. During this time, I tried to stay hopeful despite previous unsuccessful attempts to get assistance from my GP. To my surprise, the GP responded seriously this time, unlike before. I realised that they only take referral requests seriously if you mention having contacted the NAS.

Following the referral request for an autism diagnosis, there came the wait. Oh, the wait! It was like a suspenseful animation, where I was the character, just sitting there, wondering if the plot twist would be a revelation or a fluffy animated monster. I half-expected the monster to slide out and whisper (mindful of my sound sensitivity), "Surprise! You’re neurodiverse! Welcome to the land of quirky thoughts and amusing distractions, where every texture is soft and furry!"

The Nonsensical Fun of Autism Pre-assessment

As I completed the autism pre-assessment questionnaires, a deeper sense of fatigue began to creep in, similar to trying to breathe underwater. Trying to unearth the context of the questionnaires left me overwhelmed with self-doubt. Despite this, I kept reminding myself of the significance of this experience for gaining insight into this aspect of my identity.

During this time, I went through an ordeal with my lost optimism and a vortex of uncertainty—like being drawn with immense force into the gravitational pull of a black hole. I was questioning my ability to respond accurately and logically, due to the lack of specific context and scenarios for each of the situations. For example, deciding between going to a theatre or a museum raises the following questions: What kind of museum? Trains—definitely not! Natural science—yes, please! What is being showcased at the theatre? Musical—not interested! Standup comedy—absolutely!

When I eventually reached the qualifying stages, I discovered that the autism assessment process resembled a game show, with self-awareness and a mind-bending experience as the ultimate rewards. It involved doubting the relevance of the initial questionnaires—waiting, filling out more questionnaires but this time required detailed background—waiting, trip down memory lane—waiting, dreading the in-person autism assessments—waiting, undergoing observational interviews—waiting. All of which was to evaluate my behaviours, interaction methods, thought patterns, and overall functioning.

Basically, I interpreted the experience as an in-depth exploration of my brain using a metaphorical poking device and a failure detection machine that alerts when I struggle with an interaction or a task. Plus, the questions and tasks appeared to be designed by a team of ambiguity experts. It was crucial to remain positive about possible outcomes, even as I grappled with the complexities of autism diagnosis. This process is like an unwelcome guest who lingers too long, which made engaging in the assessment tasks especially difficult.

Observational Autism Assessment Equal to Mind-Bending and Unwanted Trailers

Finally, the big day arrived. As I walked into the observational autism assessment, the initial conversations with the specialists seemed like cryptic messages that were tossed into a blender. The relevance escaped me, and my desire to continue with the autism assessment is also vaporising at a rapid speed. I realised I had to muster my ability to hide my annoyance with the uncomfortable chair I was asked to sit in, despite there being a cushioned chair in the corner of the room, safely positioned against two walls, away from draughts, and with a clear view of the entire room and the best acoustics.

Meanwhile, the stiff chair is already digging into the back of my thighs, as one specialist was having fun confusing me with a children's book, and the other was loudly scribbling on a thin piece of paper on a clipboard, seemingly marking my failures. Each task instilled doubt in my intellectual abilities—wondering if they expected me to describe the children's book as a multiverse concept, which would demand much more context on the laws of physics or cosmological constants. However, the more questions I asked, the more I was dismissed with nonsensical responses.

Before I could collect my thoughts and use rational thinking, the book was removed, and a new task appeared. I realised I needed to tap into my inner calm to maintain composure and not react towards the specialist for halting the activity suddenly. As I was striving to express logical reasoning for each task, the specialist was also uttering random emotions and asked me to describe those feelings while I tackled perplexing tasks to demonstrate I wasn't an idiot.

My brain seemed to be stuck in a traffic jam, and throughout, I tried to sooth my discomfort by discreetly circling my thumbs under the table, where a constant stream of tasks emerged to test my intellect. I could almost hear my brain shouting, "Excuse me, brain cells! Why are you letting me down? Why can't you work out how to logically solve these ridiculous children's tasks?!" Each task was brief, like an unwanted, mind-bending trailer, annoyingly loud and filled with irritating teasers.

I also didn’t realise the autism assessment process resembled an experiment to interrogate my past—challenging experiences, failed social interactions, odd behaviours and sensory vulnerabilities. It was like a psychological geocaching, but instead of finding coordinates, I was just collecting my own awkward moments.

Despite these challenges, I found solace in knowing that this autism assessment was a step toward greater self-awareness—like discovering the perfect seashell in the vast ocean to add to my collection. I focused on the potential to gain insights that could lead to more effective coping strategies and support in my daily life. This experience wasn't just about receiving a diagnosis; it was about peeling back the layers of my experiences like an onion, but without the tears. I was on a quest to embrace my neurodiversity like a dog learning to walk with shoes—one quirky step at a time!

This was certainly a challenging ordeal that tested my resilience, yet it turned out to be a crucial moment in my quest. The need for understanding carried me through this difficult path, leading to a deeper connection with my authentic self. Hello to the adventure of introspection—may it be full of laughter, insights, and perhaps a few more animations along the way!

The Mind Boggles at the Spectacle of Autism Post-Assessment

Upon being released back into the wild, armed with the repercussion of the observational autism assessment, I was hit with a tidal wave of questions—like a panel show where the reward is just more questions, far more than before I began this process. Going through different evaluations, observations, and tasks was not only extremely disorienting but also baffling. I had anticipated to gain clarity and understanding about my identity and how I navigate the world, but instead, I emerged with a sense of confusion and uncertainty.

The main takeaway from the observational autism assessment is that I could be an idiot, or lacking faculty in playing with silly toys. As my mind spun, I found myself down in a rabbit hole. I began to ponder how being labeled with an autism diagnosis might influence others' perceptions of me, as well as my life, relationships, and future goals. Questions about how autism supposedly affects my interactions, sensory experiences, behaviours, and emotional responses became more frequent in my mind. I started to question whether I was unintelligent or had missed a class on peculiar tasks, and whether I could ever truly understand the intricacies of my own brain and align them with the expectations of a world that often seems at odds with my inner world.

As I navigated this complex jungle, I realised I was unsettled after meeting the specialists. The initial expectation of having an explanation for my experiences was quickly overshadowed by the realisation that I was nowhere near the finish line—like finally finding the Wi-Fi password only to discover the internet was down! Instead of feeling empowered, I was overwhelmed uncertainty. It was like playing Whac-A-Mole, but instead of moles, it was uncertainties popping up, and I was armed with nothing but an origami hammer. Every time I thought I had one under control, another would pop up, waving at me like, "Surprise! Bet you didn’t see this one coming!"

This heightened state of awareness and introspection was just the beginning, and I was determined to navigate it—armed with a loaf of brioche, a sense of humour, and my fur baby for emotional support. After all, who wouldn’t want the cutest furry baby cheering them on as they encountered specialists determined to find flaws in their makeup? You’ve got this! Now let’s tackle that awkward minefield! Despite the uncertainty and the unsettling feelings that escorted me every step of the way, I forged ahead.

My Informant Fiasco: Make a Wise Choice or Face the Consequences

Following the observational autism assessment, I found myself in a delightful pickle. Apparently, the informant I selected was as suitable as a paper teapot. The paperwork stated that the informant should be someone close to me who has known me since childhood, ideally a parent or guardian. If that wasn't possible, a sibling or a long-term partner or friend would be acceptable. Simple enough, right? I mean, who doesn't have a lifetime supply of suitable informants just hanging around?

But alas, my choice was deemed inadequate—like trying to use a fork to eat soup. By this stage, my confidence in the autism assessment process is nowhere to be found. I dedicated a significant amount of time completing questionnaires and conducting autism assessment tasks, which were intended to unearth personal details and difficulties I encountered. Sharing personal aspects of my life is no easy feat, and when I did, I was met with indifference and misunderstanding about my experiences.

Identifying the ideal candidate who meets all the exact criteria is tough enough in normal circumstances, but toss in the fact that I was raised in another country. My tendency to ask countless questions resurfaced:

• What aspect of my background—such as not being originally from here—do they fail to grasp?

• Why would the clinicians overlook this critical detail? Am I supposed to put out a missing persons report on an unknown person?

• If they didn't read the questionnaires, how can they diagnose me accurately? Should I just send them my life story via carrier pigeon?

• What is the purpose of this process only to be met with dismissal? Like being caught with your pants down!

• Why specify "a long-term partner" as an option, only to reject my choice when presented?

So, let me just clarify: the reason I couldn't present the ideal candidate in their eyes for the interview wasn't because I was slacking off. Oh no, my friends! It was more like a cosmic joke played by the universe. You see, the timing of my autism assessment was about as well-timed as the Kool-Aid Man from Family Guy, especially since I was already navigating the treacherous waters of the building project at home.

During this hunt for an ideal informant, I thought, "Hey, why not chat with my mom about the autism assessment?" Spoiler alert: that was a terrible idea. I approached her with all the confidence of me trying to swim in the ocean, and she swiftly brushed me off, saying, "Don't waste your time, everyone is like that." Then, quickly proceeded to telling me how well Andy Lau drinks water. Thanks, Mom! I guess I can now add "expert in universal human behaviour and watering drinking" to your CV.

And let's not forget about my parents' ability to provide meaningful insights. I mean, they weren't exactly around to witness my quirks. Instead, I was raised by my grandparents, who probably thought my quirks were just part of my unique charm, loving me despite my many wacky ideas. Like how some children have a talent for dancing, while others excel at making people question their sanity.

Sadly, my grandfather has passed away, and my grandmother is at an age where I'm uneasy about letting these indifferent clinicians interrogate her. The complication is that she speaks a specific Chinese dialect that even Google Translate would struggle with! It would be unrealistic to expect a translator for a virtual call, which she usually finds difficult due to her hearing problems.

As for my sibling, if there were an Olympic sport for sibling jealousy, my brother would have a collection of gold medals and multiple sponsorship deals. So, when it comes to him discussing our upbringing, I’m not sure if I should expect fictional tales or a dramatic reenactment of play the victim. I can just see him now, pulling out a presentation titled "Why I Was Just Preparing You for Life."

While the other family members include my two aunts and an uncle, as a child, I was passed around to whoever had a little bit of time to spare in their busy lives—like a game of Red Light, Green Light. Although I am extremely grateful for their involvement, I'm uncertain if they are the best choices for the interview.

The Surprise Judgement Day of Autism Assessments

The moment we've all been waiting for is finally here—the informant interview! This is the one where I had to perform verbal gymnastics to defend my decision, choosing someone who knows me better than anyone the clinician insisted from my family. Honestly, this guy has seen me at my best, my worst, and experienced my quirks.

Why Him?

• He is a colleague who understands that my professional persona is the most authentic reflection of who I am. In my career, which revolves around facts, knowledge, and data, I can concentrate on my special interests, be completely unfiltered, and still be rewarded with promotions for being painstakingly meticulous and detail-oriented.

• He is a close friend who has patiently endured my lack of response when I'm focused, my sudden disappearance from social events, my reluctance to engage in small talks, and my awkward bluntness—clearly a sign of true loyalty.

• He is my partner, which means he’s either incredibly brave or has a very high tolerance for my quirks.

• He has plied my childhood stories straight from the source—my family. Let’s just say, some tales are so wild they could be a Netflix series. "I Love Being an Adult from the Age of Five" is a working title.

Here we were, about to start the interview where I might need to entertain small talks, and he'll likely be holding back laughter at my professional facade.

I was surprised by how superficial the interview was, especially since the clinician emphasised the supposed trauma and insisted that we needed more time to discuss it in detail. They call it "trauma," but I think, "Who else gets a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to learn how to be an adult from the age of five? Nothing will ever faze me!"

Towards the end of the session, the clinician dropped a bombshell that was like winning the lottery—turns out, they already had my results! Cue the silent fireworks! Based on the information pack, I was mentally preparing for another lengthy wait, complete with a side of difficult chat with yet another stranger who would without a doubt ask me to divulge more awkward details. Instead, I got a one-stop shop for my results! Yay!

Breaking News: The Diagnosis is Here! It's confirmed: I have been diagnosed! I have received the prestigious label of "Autism Spectrum Disorder (ASD)," although I prefer the term autistic.

What’s Next?

• Celebrate: Throw a party! But make sure it’s in a quiet room with no balloons, confetti, or surprised guests. We wouldn’t want to scare the cheesecake away!

• Educate: Time to hand out books on "How to Identify as an Autistic Women Who Has Been Misunderstood All Her Life!"

• Embrace: Get ready for a lifetime supply of quirky conversations and the ability to notice every tiny detail!

None of that happened; instead, I found myself descending into the abyss of injuries, pain, and a dangerous home without any relief from symptoms. Nonetheless, let’s raise a cup of something warm and calming—because who needs excitement when there's breaking news? Here's to the newly diagnosed version of me! Here's to embracing the quirks, the laughter, and those moments of awkward humour. Cheers to being uniquely me! May my journey be filled with quick recovery, more chuckles than chatter, and may my tea always be just the right amount of hot!