These are ICD 9 codes: used to identify particular disabilities, psychoses, and other oddities in people. I use these at work. One or more is assigned to each kid that goes into the electronic system.
Perhaps you're wondering why I wrote those codes on my hand. Those are my codes. If I was in their system, each would be attached to my file, along with basic statistics like age, sex, address, etc. Just that. Nothing about my deep and abiding interest in people and the world. Nothing about how music is intrinsic to my being. Not a word about my chainmail hobby, my ability to fold an origami crane with my eyes shut. Just those codes. Just "what's wrong" with me.
The ink on my hand will fade, but it feels like it's etched into my hand. Or maybe into my forehead, so I can't hide it.
Should there be a code for "enjoys computer games?" One for "favors blue in clothing?" I understand the system has to be impartial and impersonal, particularly in light of HIPPA laws, but it still stings. All the kids I dealt with in the system today, they were people, not just names. They had favorite colors, things that made them happy, triumphs and failures. They're not just cold numbers, sterile diagnoses devoid of any actual information about the kid.
299.0 is autism. I have that diagnosis, but no consuming special interests like many of my peers. I'm not mind-blind. Quite the opposite, really... The deluge of what other people are or might be feeling can be overwhelming.
The people at my particular workplace are all about getting to know the kid for who they are. And that is of great comfort to me, thinking about this. But I know not all of the workplaces in the company are like that. There isn't enough time to get to know the people, or sometimes no real desire to do so. Just a job to pay the bills. Understandable, maybe, in this economy. Nowhere near ideal.
Like much of the autism and neurodiverse world, it seems.
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