Volume 2, #4, October 2003

It is said that people with AD/HD are risk-takers, but here the understanding often stops. Thrill for its own sake doesn’t seem to be the goal. No, people are more likely, it seems, to do the daring or dangerous because the thrill (and the adrenaline it produces) provides what the brain does not on its own do; that is, focus. It’s perhaps why it seems so many able Emergency personnel have AD/HD, from ambulance drivers and rescuers and ICU nurses, to ER doctors and fire fighters.

It’s been posited that reporters who like to go to “hotspots” around the globe to report on battles and body counts are of the same ilk; and the same has been said of teachers of the behaviourally outrageous among our nation’s children. Intuitively this rings true; what the actual numbers are, we do not know. It’s a little hard to imagine – or, when one does imagine, the pictures that come are not confidence-evoking -- how they make it through the down times, when they are waiting for the next siren, or stoppage of breathing, or foreign outbreak of something terrible.

But though the diagnostic category AD/HD bears the reputation of the boys on whose behavior the first – and still most – research was done, we are learning how it is likely that as many girls as boys suffer from the symptoms of AD/HD, if more subtly to the less sensitive eye and ear. One is led to think that for every thrill-seeking hyperactive/impulsive person, there may be a counterpart who is inattentive, or a combination of types, and who is of a more timid nature, obtaining all the adrenaline she needs, and more, from contemplating the next social engagement, or telephone call to make.

There may be quite enough “thrill,” thank you, in making one’s way through a world one cannot make out particularly well without cognitive grounding, or markers along the way; which can be sufficiently disturbing that one’s activities are curtailed, and one could never, with any accuracy – if being compared to peers -- be called a risk-taker. Not when a walk alone into the store feels, subjectively, so unnerving.

Both groups, especially once diagnosed and treated with effective medications and some competent counsel and/or coaching, will have to consider what they will do for fun that is not too risky (but still fun), and not too tame (and fun). There’s always dancing. Or singing. Children are expected to try out new things all the time, and to like it, too. (And then, to be graded upon it, in terms of performance, willingness, degree of cooperation… ) Oh, we’re going to start tumbling next week in PE; are we? How fortuitous (not), especially for the neurologically quirky. And the week after? Power tools in shop! For the people sensitive to noise, this is a nightmare come to life by day. And algebra; foreign languages; reading aloud for the whole class; advanced studies of any kind – when is the last time that kind of thrill was placed like a yoke upon your shoulders?

Yes, there are exceptions. When one is such an exception, and has done well in school and in areas of performance often poorly executed by the stereotype AD/HD image held in the mind of a relative with insufficient knowledge, or of one’s very own physician wielding a prescription pad and an outdated knowledge base, this can be like a gift that stopped giving at some unknown time one can’t quite pinpoint. At such times the temptation to disavow one’s own successes and strengths grows dangerously attractive.

But for everyone else, the unremitting newness of growing up can be revisited in adulthood, and that yoke, if it is placed voluntarily, might feel pretty different; I recommend it to you. For those women reading who have been diagnosed in recent months or even – yes – years, recreation interspersing the cleanup of the debris of a lifetime is important. Doing new things for anyone stuck in a rut with spinning wheels is obvious; and for those always flitting about, planning to do something unusual and interesting (and not getting around to it) might be the difference that makes a difference. Heck, for some of us, going to bed at a reasonable hour would be a novelty!

You needn’t sign up for the eight-week yoga class; try the three-hour workshop. The same goes for the Celtic knots – a two-hour bit to see how you like the detail work and how well you’re able to stop when it’s time is a better choice than the three-month commitment you may well break. No computer classes; hire, for one hour, an expert who speaks plain English (or your native language) to come and teach you exactly what you want to know.

And if it’s dancing you want? Grab your partner, find a class, a teacher, a free night at the local recreation hall. A baby step outside your comfort zone can be a leap of grace and beauty and exuberance.

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