The psychiatrist I was referred to by my primary care physician’s assistant told me that all I needed do was say I was an Aspie and that would be sufficient to access services and benefits protected by the ADA (Americans with Disabilities Act). That isn’t true, and I knew it wasn’t true when she said it. The problem for me became why is this woman, who appears to be descended from the Indians from the subcontinent, telling me lies to my face? Does she really think I’m this stupid while she tells me how smart I am in that smarmy, condescending tone other Indians have affected with me. I try very hard to not give in to my prejudices, but I admit to having problems with Indians. At first, it was only with the males, but as I meet more and more women with superior attitudes, I’ve become wary of them, too. Dr. V. Malholtra is to blame. He would regularly compare students from my commuter college negatively with his USC students. Such a schmuck. Then, a four-month sabbatical on the subcontinent heightened my sense of distaste for many of those people. Full disclosure, you know.
Anyway, I visited the Department of Rehabilitation and told them I had AS. Of course, and as I expected, they requested proof. I told them I had none, have been trying to get a diagnosis since 2009, and that I have an appointment to request a second opinion coming up soon. I’ve also put in a call to the Disability Rights group for advocacy assistance. SOS all over the place.
I wouldn’t do this if certain things weren’t going terribly wrong in my life, things I seem unable to manage. I admit I’m not drooling and rubbing feces in my hair, but I am having difficulties that require intervention. Thought the Affordable Care Act was supposed to address these issues.
What I observe is that everyone is supposed to fit a predefined criteria. Individuals are not seen as individuals, but as interchangeable cogs in the healthcare machine. If you don’t have Cadillac insurance, you’re screwed. And it seems that even Cadillac insurance is no safeguard against being treated like a cog. Maybe a little more comfortable, but still not adequately taken care of.