Page 65 of The Happiness Blueprint
Look at yesterday’s failed calendar entries, a rare sight, and call it a day. One of those days when all I’ve achieved is writing an email that will never be read.
KLARA
What actually is autism?
Google Search I’m Feeling Lucky
I have booked an appointment with a psychiatrist who’ll be able to start the assessment process. Once I made my mind up, I couldn’t bring myself to hold off until I was back in London, and anyway, there are waiting times on the NHS.
“I can’t have both diabetes and autism.” I say this to Saga as she is, inspired by the surge in followers, finally taking over work on the website and social-media account so that Hanna can focus on tackling the surge in customers we now have. I offered to help following her revelation of an on-the-blink home life, but her response was that my Instagram handle name immediately disqualified me from any social-media role. I’ve also been inundated with emails and calls asking for quotes. I’ve added something to the company, which Mateusz and his gang can never compete with.
“You are not being very scientific, now, are you? You think one condition protects you from another? Plus, autism is not an illness, it’s just how you are, a difference in how you see the world.”
“If Harry gets diagnosed that will hand him extra challenges,” I say, suddenly feeling very protective and emotional. I love Harry. We have common interests such as Lego-building (my preference is the blue pieces) and literature (The Gruffalois very suspenseful with the ultimate twist). I don’t want my nephew to feel as strange and different as I have. I say this to Saga.
“Knowing will help him. He won’t have those challenges to the same extent, don’t you see that? Diagnosis is a good thing.” I’m still not convinced.
“People may treat him differently. I don’t want people to feel sorry for him—orme. Or telling him—orme—their random neighbor’s niece has autism. It’s enough with the constantmy aunt has diabetes,” I say.
“So don’t tell people. Make a judgment. Do I benefit from this person having this information about me? If yes, then you tell them. If no, you don’t.”
A thought that brings light into my soul appears.
“I’ve always felt like something was different about me. If it’s just autism, that would mean there is nothing wrong.”
“There is nothing wrong with you. Never has been and never will be. I would be proud if my son is like you, Klara,” Saga says, and my chest swells like dough rising.
I walk fast as if I can’t wait to get there. Three steps and a door with a brass sign that saysDr. Svensson,Dr. HultgrenandDr. Hadidand their various areas of practice. There is no receptionist, so I walk past the desk to the waiting room. Then I stop in the doorway, half about to turn around and—Alex. Why is he here?Alex looks at me and smiles. I look at him too, but I don’t smile. This is a matter of wrong person in the wrong place, and I am awfully aware that I will not handle this encounter well.
“Hi,” he says.
“Do you come here often?” I reply.
“It’s not exactly a bar, is it?” This is true. It’s not a bar. But my experience of waiting-room small talk is nonexistent, and I struggle to find something else to say.
“Yes, I do come here often. Less so, recently.”
I wonder what’s happened recently. If it were a bar, I’d probably ask, but the receptionist returns to her desk and gives me a nod. I walk over to her.
“I’m Klara Nilsson, and I don’t come here often, but I have an appointment at three thirty.”
She hands me a bundle of documents on a clipboard. I would like to sit next to Alex, but there are nine seats and two of them are occupied. If I choose the one two chairs from him, it will be an even pattern, and I find this difficult to ignore. I sit two chairs away and place my bag on the floor, balancing the clipboard on my thighs, on my tiptoes to bring it up higher. It’s only later that it hits me he may think I’m avoiding him because of the disastrous calendar entry last night. And partly I may be, but not fully. I like him too much to ever manage to fully avoid him.
She is wearing a pink sweater and a big smile when I step in through her open door. She has no name tag, but I assume that she is Dr. Svensson.
“Hi, Klara. Do come in. It is good to meet you.”
“Thank you, you too.” I sit down in a chair with red faded dots, and I wonder if this has been furnished by the same team that did the public hospital. I move the chair slightly as it’s angled strangely. The room is hot and stuffy: no Swedish properties are prepared for spring heat waves, very few even have air-conditioning. If you have waited all year for eight weeks of summer, then you grin and bear it, sweat it out, as they say. We are also collectively too frugal to spend money on a system that would only be operated a sixth of the year.
“Is the temperature okay for you, Klara? I know it’s quite warm, but if I open the window it may get noisy.” I smile. I don’t want the noise. I notice that there are no posters on the wall behind her; in fact, it is soothingly bare, and I feel welcome.Understood.
“I’m here for your professional opinion,” I say. I have now had two full days to consider the fact that I may be Autistic and have collected enough supporting evidence. The issue is that it is all contradictory. For example, the online description states that someone with autism likes repetition and may choose the same parking spot every time, becoming annoyed if it is not available. I, on the other hand, have no problem parking on the even side of the road. I figure if all the spaces on the odd side are taken, it means the odd ones have made friends and have a busy life and don’t need me. And even though I prefer to make a turn to the left, I absolutelycandrive to the right. Which is a totally different thing and shows my flexibility, if anything.
Another example: an autistic adult may become obsessed with their love interest and show clingy behavior with and adoration of their partner. This does not fit me at all. If it had, I would not have broken up with Tom that easily. The only obsession I seem to have lately is Alex, and he is not my boyfriend.
“Of course. I know that you wanted to explore the possibility of an autism diagnosis. Am I correct that a close relative has recently been diagnosed?” I had hoped for ayesornoanswer—those are my favorites—but I realize that I won’t be getting one and that this will be a long conversation.
“He is currently being assessed. I would like to find out about myself as well. My nephew resembles me a lot.”
