You take what you can, don’t you? My late-in-life ADHD diagnosis came as no surprise, but what did come as a surprise, and shouldn’t have, was that in terms of the NHS there is nothing for me. Zilch, nada, nowt, bugger all. My GP, who I have dealt with for many years but has now retired, still helps out as a locum in the health centre, called me back to discuss the diagnosis, a copy of which had been sent to them. It is clear that in this modern day NHS, there is no facility to actually see a GP. It’s via Ask My GP and maybe, if you’re lucky, you might get a call. I got a call and I was grateful for it.
The private company that I used for the assessment recommended several actions going forward, one of which was medication. Everything would cost and, as this is making money from illness, it would cost a lot. “Which package would you like, Sir? I recommend the ‘Gold Package'”. And in their view, I needed meds, too. So I ran these things by my GP.
For starters, meds are not recommended because of the other medication I’m on. As with many elderly folk, I am on meds for high blood pressure and the meds recommended would increase my blood pressure. Great. MY ADHD might be more manageable, but I’m more likely to drop dead from all manner of conditions stemming from high blood pressure. And anyway, meds are not a cure-all, or a cure-anything. Just a fix. For some reason, the private company that recommended meds and knows about the meds I’m on neglected to mention that bit. I’m sure – and I do mean this – their desire to put me on meds supplied by them had nothing to do with bumping up their profits regardless of what they did to me. I reckon they simply didn’t realise.
My GP was very helpful in offering me solutions, although none of them appear to come from the NHS (although they are researching that with their parasitical private run-for-profit ‘partners’). In the meantime, there are charities that can offer specific ADHD therapy for a mere £800. I’ll tell you what: it doesn’t pay to be a bit weird in the neurological department. To be honest, I’m so desperate I might even sell a kidney and pay for it. My only concern is this: what if it doesn’t do anything? I have always avoided privately paid for therapy because I resented rich people getting richer at my expense and, more importantly, spend a shedload of money for something that made no difference. There’s a lot of things I could spend £800 on that would, albeit temporarily, make my life better. For me, the master of indecision, decisions don’t come easy.
If my head wasn’t already in a spin, my phone rang regarding a CBT project to which I’d put my name forward. Confused, I thought at first this was something to do with my GP surgery and my ADHD referral, but eventually I remembered what had actually happened. A different GP from our health centre had asked whether I’d like to be a guinea pig in a project being run by Bristol University to try out new forms of Cognitive Behavioural Therapy (CBT). As part of the gig, you get to trial the new ideas. Well, you take what you can, don’t you?
It involves much of the therapy being conducted on-line and my quarter-witted question was, “Do we know whether on-line treatment work as well as face-to-face?” If the Bristol Uni person had replied, “Are you thick? Did you not listen to anything I just told you?” I wouldn’t have blamed them. “That’s what the project is about.” D’oh. The upshot is that I’ll be contacted next week by an eager student and then I’ll find out whether I’ve been accepted. At least my clinical depression might be eased, if not my ADHD which is the same as it ever was.
Confused? Yes and no. As the great bard Jake Burns put it, Here we are nowhere, nowhere left to go. That, I’m afraid, is where I’m headed. I had a go though, didn’t I?
