After months of waiting, the authorities still haven't granted my GP the necessary permission to prescribe dexamphetamine, so a couple of weeks ago I went back to the psych who diagnosed my ADHD for a top-up from his prescription pad. He's a delightfully charming and intelligent young man, so despite the expense, I wasn't entirely heartbroken about this.
As would any self-respecting hypochondriac, I took the opportunity to ask further questions, including whether he he could recommend any resources to help manage ADHD.
He just gave me a blank look, as though he didn't understand the question.
He's such a sweetie that I didn't want to embarrass him by pressing the point, so I moved on to complaining about other maladies.
It's far from the first time a medical person has given me that "What? You have the pills. The biochemistry is sorted. What more is there for me to do?" response. I concede that the pills are indeed remarkably effective, but I can also testify that after half a century of ineffectual dithering about, getting a grip on the practicalities of life remains a daunting challenge.