“In the old days, diagnoses were more for boys.”
The first came just before her twenties when she arrived at the hospital by ambulance after being attacked in a bar. “There were girls who threw themselves at me, she shouted a name that wasn’t mine, they had the wrong person.” Maïka was in shock.
“I was angry, I was rocking back and forth. The doctor wrote that I had borderline personality disorder [TPL]I learned it later, by chance, at an appointment with my family doctor.”
She long believed she had BPD, a diagnosis that is sometimes confused with the autism spectrum disorder, ASD.
Her second diagnosis came in her mid-twenties, attention deficit hyperactivity disorder. “I went to TikTok for tips on how to manage my ADD, and I was looking to see if there were things I could do to help, and I came across videos of autistic people describing what they were like, and I wondered. I recognized.”
Like a copy and paste.
She made public representations to be evaluated, to no avail. She was able to turn to the private sector thanks to the help of the Arc-en-ciel organization to pay part of the bill. She went to the Autism & Asperger’s Clinic in Montreal, which specializes in the field. “I took lots of tests, I answered several questions. I was diagnosed with level 1 autism spectrum disorder. Before, we said Asperger’s.”
She said to herself, finally, I’m going to get help.
She quickly qualified to obtain services from her CLSC as part of a program specially designed for people with a diagnosis of autism. Everything was going well until she went to the Saint-Georges de Beauce hospital because of her anxiety and the psychiatrist on duty, in about fifteen minutes, removed the diagnosis of ASD from her file.
Poof, gone.
The clinic’s evaluation report no longer counted, nor did the other evaluation that Maïka had done to get a second opinion.
He confirmed the first.
Maïka Huard would like to have access to a program for autistic people. (Maïka Huard)
But no matter, for almost two years, Maïka has no longer been able to work, she is no longer entitled to any service to help her manage her symptoms. Among the lot, his anxiety, which gives him a hard time.
“You can’t treat my anxiety if you don’t treat autism, the two are linked. I need to be able to work on both.”
— Maika
Maïka has many dietary peculiarities, a common trait among autistic people. Among other things, sriracha, this famous hot sauce, which she puts everywhere. “When there was a shortage three years ago, the taste changed. “I can’t cope with the new taste. I order old bottles from Amazon for $15. Sometimes I’m hungry, but I can’t eat, I have a lot of blockages. I’m afraid it’s going to turn into an eating disorder.”
She also has sleeping problems.
Although she made numerous requests to the CLSC of Saint-Georges, nothing helped, we now ignore the diagnosis that we had recognized from the outset.
In the CLSC’s refusal letter, the presence of other diagnoses linked to mental health is cited, as if one could compartmentalize one’s brain. “I know someone who also has mental health diagnoses and who is followed in the program called DITSA, for intellectual disability and autism spectrum disorders.”
Yes, I know, acronyms are heavy.
Maïka is so desperate that she and her boyfriend are actively looking at housing offers elsewhere, including in Saint-Hyacinthe where members of their family live. “But rents are so expensive, it would cost us three times the price to have accommodation equivalent to what we currently have. We are happy here, we would like to be able to stay.”
The most ironic thing is that in Saint-Hyacinthe, the 28-year-old woman would be admitted to the same DITSA program that she is refused in Beauce. “I sent them my assessments and they told me I could start the program as soon as I got an address.” With this program, she would, among other things, have access to a social worker, a specialized educator, occupational therapy, physiotherapy and a host of other professionals.
The only services she currently has, if we can call them services, are two video meetings per month with autistic people, organized by the Arc-en-ciel organization.
She can’t afford to go to the private sector.
“We are told to call for services, but when we ask for them, there are none.” She would like to start working again, but first she must control her anxiety and find a job in an environment where she can function and feel useful. She needs a helping hand.
Maïka’s story reveals the absurdity of a bureaucracy that gets bogged down in petty nonsense, and also the power that a single doctor can have who, in about fifteen minutes, can deprive a person of services who would have them. much needed. Maïka is not asking for the moon or special treatment, just the services provided to those who are like her.
At CEGEP, she did not have services because she did not have a diagnosis.
She has it now, and she’s at the same point.
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