The Girl He Used to Know(62)
“It’s okay. I got through it.” It seems almost silly now, the extent of my heartbreak. The hours I spent listening to songs that reminded me of Annika. Her pillow that traveled to New York with me and that I laid my head on every night, missing her. The blond girls on the subway that all looked like her.
“I did call you back, but it was years later and whoever answered said you were no longer at that number. I probably could have tracked you down by calling information, but even Tina couldn’t help me figure out what I wanted to say, so I didn’t. I focused on what I’d accomplished by then, living independently and my job at the library, but I missed you terribly. When I ran into you that day at the grocery store, I was so happy to see you again.”
“Seeing you was like seeing a ghost. I wasn’t sure it was you at first.”
“I knew right away it was you,” she says. “And I’ve been grateful ever since.”
34
Annika
CHICAGO
SEPTEMBER 2001
I’m meeting with Tina today to tell her about the results of my evaluation. I took Jonathan’s advice about getting tested and when I told Tina I’d finally decided to do it, she referred me to a neuropsychologist named Dr. Sorenson. Tina said autism is a developmental disorder and not a mental illness, and diagnosing autism-spectrum disorders is something neuropsychologists specialize in. When I called to make my appointment, I learned that testing would take four or five hours but that they would split it up over two sessions. They would also mail me a multipage questionnaire that I would fill out in advance and bring to my appointment.
Dr. Sorenson’s office was nothing like Tina’s. The furniture was stiff, the lights were bright, and there was a lot of chrome and glass. I kept catching my reflection on the shiny surfaces, and every single time I’d startle, wondering who the other woman was. Finally, I just looked down at my hands, which were folded in my lap, and tried not to flick my fingertips.
The tests were grueling and they exhausted me, but I felt good afterward. Like I’d finally confronted an issue that had plagued me my whole life. When I speculated about the results of my evaluation, my nervousness returned. What if the fears I shared with Jonathan were about to come true? What if there was nothing wrong with me and I really was just a weird girl whose childhood tormentors had been right on the money?
When I returned for my follow-up appointment to hear my diagnosis, Dr. Sorenson sat down behind his desk and opened a folder. “The testing shows that you fit the criteria for someone who has an autism-spectrum disorder. You’re very high functioning and likely employ a number of coping strategies and work-arounds, but there are things we can do to make it easier to manage your everyday life. I believe you’re also suffering from a generalized anxiety disorder and that it’s causing more difficulty for you than being on the spectrum.”
“I have an anxiety disorder too?”
“They often go hand in hand. My point is that you don’t have to go through life feeling this way.”
What I learned that day in Dr. Sorenson’s office made me feel peaceful. Hopeful. I had known for a long time that my brain worked differently, but to hear it confirmed provided immense relief.
I wished I’d sought an official diagnosis years ago. If I’d known then what I know now, I might not have spent so many years convinced there was something horribly wrong with me. I could have developed better coping skills at a much younger age. With the knowledge I gained in Dr. Sorenson’s office, I might have excelled instead of merely gotten by.
I certainly would not have been so ashamed.
* * *
“Dr. Sorenson also prescribed an antianxiety medication,” I tell Tina after I fill her in on everything I learned. “He said it might help calm the chatter in my brain. Make my thoughts clearer.”
“And has it?” Tina asks.
“I haven’t been taking it for very long and he said it could take up to a month before I see the full effects, but I already feel different. Calmer.” I was starting to not second-guess everything I said and did. I felt more confident in my interactions with other people. Or maybe I just wasn’t as worried about saying the wrong thing.
“Have you shared the results of your evaluation with Jonathan?”
“Yes. I told him everything, and I told him how happy I was that he encouraged me to go through with it. I wish my mother had had me evaluated when I was younger.”
“Knowing what I know about your mother, she more than likely tried. There were fewer resources and there was even less awareness of spectrum disorders back then. I think your mom did the best she could to prepare you for the world.”
“I should have pursued an evaluation when I first started seeing you. Why can I only see that now?”
“Because hindsight is a wonderfully illuminating thing.”
“There’s a woman I work with at the library. Her name is Stacy. People smile at her in our staff meetings and everyone’s always wandering into her office to chat or offer her cookies they’ve brought from home. I’ve been trying to make friends with her since she started working at the library a few years ago. I always tried to copy everybody else’s behavior, but it never seemed to work when I did it. The other day, when we were in the break room, I felt so much calmer that I just said hi while I waited for the microwave to heat water for my tea.”