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The Face of It

Page 24

by Rosie Williams


  ‘Ready for round two?’ Pamela said as they walked in. Paige smiled weakly. That was exactly how it felt. Like the very essence of who she was had been unwittingly transported into a boxing ring, and in the red corner there was Pamela with her clipboard. Paige had barely sat down by the time Pamela re-started the interrogation.

  ‘So, tell me about your family?’

  Paige stared at the wall and tried to work through her family tree as systematically as she could, starting with her grandparents. All of them had been wonderful, warm, and caring people. She remembered spending many a summer holiday with them, going to the beach or to local museums. Both of her parents worked, and her grandparents relished the time they got to spend with the grandkids, even though having four of them all running in different directions could be a little stressful. Paige talked about her dad and how he was like her, in that he liked routine and things being in their place. Her mum had tried to get him to be more flexible, but even after forty years of marriage, he still ate the same breakfast at the same time every morning. When Paige started the process of running through her siblings her voice hitched as she remembered that her niece and nephew had just been diagnosed. She didn’t know why, but she hesitated before telling Pamela this. She didn’t want to give the psychologist more ammunition, even though the whole reason she organised this assessment was because she thought she did have autism, not so she could convince someone else she didn’t. Pamela made copious notes about the similarities Paige recognised between herself and Cayden and Susie. She tried not to think about what Pamela was writing, and instead looked vaguely in Taylor’s direction and started reminiscing about their trip to the forest. How Susie had got a tiny speck of mud on her hand and started freaking out, until Taylor came to her rescue. How Brandon had called her a week later saying that Cayden refused to leave the house without his magnifying glass.

  Eventually Pamela swivelled her chair slightly so she could see both Paige and Taylor.

  ‘OK. Taylor, was it?’ Pamela said, looking down at her notes through her glasses, so close to the end of her nose they looked like they would fall off at any minute.

  ‘How long have you known Paige?’

  ‘Oh, just under a year now, I think?’ Taylor said, looking at Paige for reassurance. Paige nodded.

  ‘Hmm, not ideal, but it will have to do,’ Pamela said with a sigh. Paige stared at her with daggers in her eyes.

  ‘I’m going to run through some of the questions I asked at the beginning, and I want you to tell me how much you feel they apply to Paige, OK?

  For the second time Paige was listening to the same fifty questions being read out, the ones she herself had found months ago. This time, at least, Pamela didn’t give Taylor all of the possible answers for every single question. Taylor hesitated when answering a couple of them, such as ‘Does Paige think she’s been polite when you think she’s been a bit rude?’ Taylor looked across at Paige and fidgeted with her fingers on her lap. Paige gave her a small smile and a quick nod. At this point she was genuinely curious as to what Taylor’s answers would be; she wondered how Taylor saw her, and whether their answers would match up. Despite less talking from Pamela, it actually took longer for Taylor to answer all the questions, due to how uncomfortable they clearly made her.

  After Taylor answered the last question, the psychologist quickly moved on to asking about any social interactions Taylor had been part of with Paige, what she had witnessed, how she thought Paige had done. Once again Taylor was looking to Paige for reassurance.

  ‘I’m just going to go get another drink,’ Paige said standing up. She saw Taylor’s expression change from discomfort to sheer panic, so she placed a gentle hand on her shoulder before leaving. Paige hoped this would be over soon.

  Once in the empty corridor Paige dawdled as best she could. The blue carpet that she had seen in the waiting room seemed to run the entire way through the building, though this section didn’t have any haphazard repairs. She tried to smile politely at anyone she passed, imitating what she had seen Taylor do earlier. She filled up another one of those disposable plastic cups and took a sip of water. At the end of the corridor was a set of glass doors looking out towards a river estuary. Paige watched as birds swooped and dived in the sky, sometimes skimming the water, looking for food. She took another sip. Taylor had been so kind in agreeing to come with her today, even if Paige hadn’t managed to successfully communicate what it would entail. She was glad they were friends again.

  After about a quarter of an hour Paige made her way back to the consulting room, not wanting to abandon Taylor for too long. When she walked in, she saw Taylor sat with her arms folded and her legs crossed, her elevated foot bouncing slightly.

  ‘Ah, Paige, there you are,’ the psychologist said, putting her pen down for the first time. ‘I think we’re pretty much done here for today. Same time next week?’ she said, spinning around to her desk and opening up her appointment calendar.

  ‘You have to come back?’ Taylor said standing up. She had gone slightly pale.

  ‘Yes, but I can probably manage on my own.’

  ‘Not a chance’ Taylor said, leaning close to whisper to Paige. So close in fact that the gentle breeze of her breath made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. She shivered slightly and tried to re-focus her attention on Pamela, who looked like she was expecting an answer.

  ‘Err, yes, I can do the same time next week,’ Paige said, grabbing her hoodie from the chair.

  ‘See you then!’ Pamela said, returning to the sickly-sweet tone that she had had at the beginning of the appointment.

  Paige and Taylor looked at each other like naughty children who were about to bunk off school, before bolting out the door. They walked quickly back down the long corridor, having to press a small green button to be buzzed through each door, making Paige feel like they were in a jail rather than a medical facility.

  By the time they got outside it was around half past three and the local school had opened its gates. Dozens of children filtered past them in matching green uniforms, shouting and joshing about, one child even stumbling into the road.

  ‘Well...’ Taylor said, finally breaking the silence. ‘That was an experience.’

  ‘You could say that.’

  ‘Was she trying to help you or frame you for something?’

  ‘Both, I think,’ Paige said laughing. ‘It’s pretty much what I expected.’

  ‘You expected that! And still walked in there of your own volition?’

  ‘Yeah. I read a few blogs online of other autistic adults having similar interactions when trying to get a diagnosis.’

  Taylor stopped walking and just looked at Paige. ‘This must be really important to you, to knowingly put yourself through that.’

  ‘It is. My whole life I’ve been blaming myself for making social mistakes, for messing up, calling myself stupid for not understand the jokes that everyone else gets. It would be nice to stop.’

  ‘You don’t need a diagnosis to not bully yourself for things you have done in the past,’ Taylor said gently.

  ‘But, it would help,’ Paige said, honestly. ‘When you can vividly remember being seven years old and having no one turn up at your birthday party because they don’t like you and their parents don’t want their child associating with you, it’s hard to not blame yourself.’ Paige finished with a nonchalant shrug. It was a part of her life she had accepted for so long, it was normal to her. She saw Taylor’s arms twitch as if her instinct was to hug Paige. But, for whatever reason, she didn’t.

  ‘If there is anything I can do to make things easier for you, please will you tell me? No matter how “weird” you think it makes you.’

  Paige didn’t respond straight away, and Taylor reached out and gently grabbed her arm to stop them walking once more. ‘I’m serious.’

  ‘OK.’

  ‘Promise?’

  ‘I promise.’

  The two women walked back to Taylor’s car in relative sil
ence. Paige had used all of her mental energy for the week on this one day and wasn’t entirely sure she could get her brain to form words anymore. She was grateful to Paige for not trying to force pointless chit-chat. She laughed to herself, realising that was probably one of the things she should tell her about, to make her life easier.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Results

  Three weeks after that initial appointment, Paige was back at the Blue Forest Centre for her final appointment. There were more people in the waiting room this time, and the sun beat through the windows heating up the room. Paige sat quietly in her seat. She had decided this was something she needed to do alone, so Taylor was doing her research at the university, or supposed to be; Paige didn’t think she was concentrating on work with the number of texts she was sending her. Maya had called earlier that morning to check on her, and Brandon had texted her saying good luck. It felt more like she was going on trial for some heinous crime than getting a medical diagnosis - or not, as the case may be. All the extra people in the room created a background hum with their whispers, interspersed with the loud voices of a handful of children. The room vaguely smelt of cleaning fluid combined with dust, which seemed contradictory.

  The heavy door swung open and Pamela appeared, smiling her sickly smile straight at Paige, aiming for a bullseye. Paige grimaced back and got to her feet. For the third time she followed Pamela down the long corridor, watching her ankle-length skirt sway from side to side. For the third time, Pamela did not say a single word until they reached the consulting room. Paige wondered if this was some kind of policy to deliberately try and make patients feel uncomfortable, or whether the psychologist left her voice in her office every time she left, marinating it in sugar.

  The consulting room hadn’t changed. The only difference was a fresh box of tissues in the middle of the table, its white tongue sticking straight up into the air, blowing raspberries at anyone who looked at it. Paige sat down on the chair and stared at the side of Pamela’s desk; a piece of wood she had become quite familiar with over the last few weeks. Instead of the usual clipboard, the psychologist had a thick envelope in her hands, almost taunting Paige to ask her about it. Paige uncrossed and re-crossed her legs, waiting for the judge to pass down her sentence.

  ‘So, Paige, how have you been the last couple of weeks?’ Pamela asked

  ‘Fine,’ Paige said, wanting to move the conversation along as quickly as possible.

  ‘It’s alright to feel more worn out or sad than usual, the assessment can take its toll on people, especially those on the spectrum.’

  ‘I’m OK.’

  ‘Right, well, let’s get down to business,’ Pamela started before pausing, as if a reality television show presenter trying to create drama and suspense. ‘I can say with a high degree of confidence that I think you are indeed autistic,’ she said slowly. Paige drastically sucked in air as if she hadn’t taken a breath in days, before exhaling. Her neck, shoulders and jaw un-tensed and she uncrossed her legs. She wasn’t entirely sure how she was supposed to feel right now.

  ‘Under the old system you would have been diagnosed with Asperger’s Syndrome, which means it doesn't affect you that badly,’ Pamela continued. Paige folded her arms and felt her hackles rise. Who was this person to decide how much she was affected? She wasn’t inside her head. Pamela had known her for literally four hours before today. Paige scowled.

  ‘But as that is no longer a term we use, the diagnosis is autism. But that’s OK, you’ve still achieved so much!’ Pamela said patronisingly, as if congratulating a child for tying their own shoes. ‘The world would be so much more boring without people like you,’ she said, lifting the idea of Paige up onto a pedestal for everyone to gawk at. ‘And it’s important to remember, it’s not a DISability, it’s a DIFFrability; you’re just different!’ At this point Paige felt like she was drowning in a vat of molten sugar while the psychologist poured baby toys in as if that would make it better. Pamela had taken her patronising tone to a whole new level after pronouncing Paige autistic.

  ‘In this folder I have the full report, detailing the reasons for the diagnosis. I would suggest having someone read through it with you.’ Why? No one knew Paige better than she knew herself, she did not need anything explaining to her. Paige held her hand out for the envelope and detected a slight hesitation in Pamela before she handed it over. Paige eventually snatched it out of her hand.

  ‘Are there any resources or groups or anything I can access now?’ Paige asked, still staring at the side of the desk.

  ‘Erm, well, there is this website,’ Pamela said, writing down a web address. ‘I’m sure there is some information on there?’ Paige did not have much confidence there would be anything useful, and when she saw the address she realised she had already read everything on that website.

  ‘Right,’ she said, staring at the slip of paper.

  ‘Do you have any questions?’ Pamela asked stickily. ‘Is there anything you don’t understand?’

  ‘No. Can I go now?’ Paige said, not trusting herself to bite her tongue for much longer.

  ‘Yes, of course, if you think you’re ready?’

  Paige did not respond, but simply got up and left, grateful she would never have to hear Pamela’s overly sweet voice ever again. She walked quickly down the corridors, impatiently pressing the green buttons at each set of doors repeatedly, annoyed at the amount of time it was taking for the unknown security being to buzz her through each set. The envelope burnt in her hand. Her desire to devour its contents almost overwhelming her; but she wanted to be somewhere private before she opened it. Eventually she made it back to her car and couldn’t wait any longer. Ripping the envelope open she pulled out a thick wad of paper; her entire personality and history splayed over the white pages. She speed-read the report, and words like ‘deficit’ and ‘difficulty’ jumped out at her, along with ‘socially isolated’ and ‘cold’. There was very little reference to any of the positive things that made her, her. Her incredible memory for dates that had served her so well throughout her education and subsequent career. Or how the many systems she used to organise her life were so efficient that even her parents and siblings asked her for help when facing any organisational task. Or how she saw every detail in every situation, noticing the smallest change in others, often making her the first to realise when something was wrong. Though she did admit to herself she didn’t always know how to try and make them feel better, and that unless she had been through something similar, she had no idea how to put herself in their shoes.

  About three-quarters of the way through she got to the section where Pamela had written about Taylor’s responses to questions. The psychologist had written a caveat at the beginning, saying that Taylor’s opinions were biased due to her relationship with Paige. But it also said that Taylor thought that maybe Paige’s brain was just wired differently, and that that didn’t have to be a bad thing. Paige smiled for the first time that day.

  In the last quarter of the document there were all the results of the various tests Pamela had conducted on her. On all of them she had scored highly, well above the cut off for ‘clinical significance’. Paige did not understand how, if she had scored at the extreme end of all of these tests, Pamela could say it didn’t affect her that much. It seemed like a contradiction. But which was wrong? The psychologist or the tests?

  Paige roughly closed the report, threw it onto the passenger seat, put both hands on the steering wheel, and leant forward until her forehead rested on the fake leather. She felt like all of the energy and light had been siphoned out of her. Her phone started ringing and she didn’t even take it out of her pocket, letting it go to voicemail. She took a deep breath as tears started slowly trickling down her cheeks. She had no idea what she was feeling; sad, happy, relieved, angry... she just knew she was intensely feeling. Her phone buzzed again, indicating a text message. She reluctantly sat back upright to check the message; it was from Taylor: ‘How did it go? X’ Paige guesse
d the phone call had been from her too.

  ‘It was hard. Got the Diagnosis. I think I hate Pamela.’ she texted back, putting her phone in her lap and wiping her eyes, taking a few steadying breaths.

  Taylor texted again: ‘Meet me at the pub later for drinks, loooooots of drinks. I’m buying.’ Another text came through quickly, stating, ‘If you want to and are up to it of course. No pressure.’

  Paige laughed and texted back saying she would meet her at seven; for now, she just wanted to go home and sleep.

  The pub was packed by the time Paige got there. All of the booths were full to the brim, with many people standing around tables in groups, bumping into each other and sloshing drinks everywhere. The landlord had opened the French doors out into the beer garden where many people lounged in the chairs, their noses and ears red from the sun, inebriation preventing them from feeling the burns. Taylor sat on a stool at the bar, gingerly leaning away from a group of men who didn’t seem to understand what personal space meant. She had managed to save the seat next to her for Paige. As soon as Taylor saw her friend, she jumped down off the stool and wrapped her in a tight hug. It was the most physical contact they had ever had, but Paige found she didn’t mind. In fact, she melted into the hug, squeezing Taylor tight, finding comfort in being squeezed back. Eventually they pulled apart and took their seats, Taylor blushing slightly and Paige not quite meeting her eyes.

  ‘What are you drinking?’ Taylor asked, pulling out her purse.

  ‘Gin.’

  ‘And tonic?’ Taylor asked.

  ‘No. Just gin.’

  ‘Coming up.’ Taylor got the bartender’s attention and ordered Paige a large gin, and herself a lemonade. Paige took a large gulp, the alcohol burning her mouth and throat as it went down. She finally felt able to breathe again.

 

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