I was listening to the news the other day when an announcement made my stomach drop: a 14-year-old boy from Bunbury, Western Australia – not far from where we live – had . His mother said she felt that if her son had been able to get ADHD treatment, he would still be alive, but the waiting time to see a paediatrician was 18 months. Her popular, happy boy died before he could get the help he needed.
I know her pain, because I’m in a similar situation.
My 11-year-old son is a mostly happy kid: he has lots of friends and loves nature. But a few years ago, he started to have trouble concentrating at school. Halfway through Year 1, his teacher told us he was easily distracted. “Even a fly distracts him,” she said.
At the end of Year 2, when my son was 8, his teacher suggested he be tested for dyslexia as he was struggling to focus and read. A psychologist assessed him and recommended we see a paediatrician to confirm a diagnosis of ADHD.
He wept in silence while his friends kept eating and watching the movie, oblivious to his pain
Last year, to celebrate my son’s birthday, we had a pizza and movie night at home with his friends. During the movie, my son’s gaze found mine across the room. Even in the darkness, I could see his eyes were pooling. He was trying to keep his struggle with noise sensitivity from his friends, but as the sound of their munching increased, he was unable to hold it in any longer: he covered his ears and came to me, burying his head on my chest. He wept in silence while his friends kept eating and watching the movie, oblivious to his pain.
We live in Margaret River, a semirural region in Western Australia. The few paediatricians in our region qualified to diagnose ADHD were already heavily booked. Despite a series of phone calls and emails, we couldn’t get onto any waiting lists. Just like the mother of the Bunbury boy, we were learning the hard way of the shortage of psychologists. The federal government is meeting only . One in three psychologists and in regional areas the situation is more dire. My husband and I were concerned if our son missed the window for treatment, things would become so much harder for him.
The federal government is meeting only 35% of its psychology workforce target. One in three psychologists have closed their books to new patients, and in regional areas the situation is more dire
I grew up in Sao Paulo, Brazil – a city of about 20 million people. Three generations of family lived in my home, with other aunts, uncles, cousins and grandparents nearby. Brazilians are close-knit, big-hearted people: we love fiercely and don’t hold back our emotions.
When I met my Australian partner, it was love at first sight. We spent almost a year in Brazil where he got to know my family, then we applied for a visa so I could live in Australia. We eventually settled in Margaret River, and I became pregnant not long afterwards.
While we waited to get an appointment with a paediatrician, we tried neurofeedback therapy, making the six-hour round trip to Perth for EEG (electroencephalogram) scans. Electrodes were attached to my son’s head while he watched a movie of his choice. When “undesirable” brain waves were detected, the screen dimmed in an attempt to train his brain.
While we waited to get an appointment with a paediatrician, we tried neurofeedback therapy, making the six-hour round trip to Perth
My son’s anxiety seemed to improve for a while. In hindsight, I wanted to believe it made a difference because we had no other options.
Through the neurofeedback clinic, we heard of a very good developmental paediatrician. I called, hoping for the best.
“A one-year waiting period?” I was crestfallen. But I added my son’s name to the list as I didn’t know what else to do.
I feel lost and abandoned by the health care system in Australia. My family back home find it hard to believe our struggles to see specialists here.
After almost a year of waiting, we were finally able to see the paediatrician
After almost a year of waiting, we were finally able to see the paediatrician. He was knowledgeable and patient, answering our many questions. At the end, my son turned to me and said, “This doctor is very smart, isn’t he? He can see inside my brain.”
The doctor confirmed my son’s ADHD diagnosis (inattentive type). Surprisingly, instead of medication, he recommended cognitive behaviour therapy as soon as possible.
CBT is a type of psychotherapy that aims to change negative thoughts that lead to low self-esteem; it also helps with focus and managing distractions – very common in people with ADHD. My son can be quick to give up on activities he initially enjoys. Although he loves the water, when he remained on the same level at swimming classes for a few terms, he decided he hated it.
Margaret River has many psychologists, some of whom treat children. But finding one who takes new clients? Forget about it. They must be hiding from this pushy Brazilian mother who hadn’t ruled out travelling 30 hours by plane to get CBT in her home country.
Finally, after months of waiting, on a beautiful sunny morning, I received the message I was waiting for
Finally, after months of waiting, on a beautiful sunny morning, I received the message I was waiting for. “Our psychologist has reopened her books and her next available appointment is in a few weeks.” I cried, laughed, hugged my dog and told anyone who wanted to hear that my son was finally, finally getting CBT.
Even though the sessions are online, the first appointment went well. The psychologist and my son got to know each other and talked about thoughts and how they shape how we feel. She gave us exercises to practise as a family. Although it’s still early days, I’m hopeful we’ll see positive changes in my son’s life through CBT.
It has taken almost three years to get an ADHD diagnosis and treatment – far too long for young people and their families to wait. But I feel like I’m one of the lucky ones: I can still hold my son and hear his laugh every day.
Francisca Silva is an emerging writer from Brazil based in Western Australia.
*Names have been changed
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