I Was Sick, Not Difficult: Being Neurodivergent in a Hospital

Hello besties, 

So today we are getting a little heavy but sometimes that is needed. Today we are going to discuss surgery, hospital stays, procedures, and new diagnosis. 

Okay, can we talk about hospitals for a second? Because wow. If my nervous system had a “do not disturb” sign, hospitals would sprint past it, rip it off the door and turn on the fluorescent lights at full blast. 

Hospital stays hit different. Not in a cute, quirky way. In a “why is everything so loud, bright, pokey, and unpredictable” way. You go in already scared or in pain, and then your senses get absolutely body slammed. The beeping machines. The scratchy sheets. The smell that somehow always smells like “hospital.” The lights that never turn off. And the constant parade of new people who all want to touch you, ask you questions, or wake you up when you just finally fell asleep.

Surgeries are their own special flavour of chaos. I know they are meant to help, and I am grateful for modern medicine, truly. But the process? It is like handing over control of your body and brain and hoping everything goes fine. The waiting. The forms. The instructions that somehow feel both overwhelming and weirdly vague. The fasting (rude). And then waking up afterward feeling like your brain has been put in a blender and poured back in slightly wrong. 

Add sensory overload to anaesthesia hangover and… yes. Not my favourite experience, 0/10, would not recommend, but unfortunately necessary sometimes.

Then there is the whole “new diagnosis” thing, which is emotionally a lot. On one hand, having a name for what is going on can feel validating. Like, “Oh. I am not just being dramatic. There is an actual reason I feel like this.” On the other hand, it can be scary. New terms, new possibilities, new fears unlocked. You start Googling (never a chill activity), spiralling about worst-case scenarios, and trying to mentally prepare for a future that suddenly feels uncertain. 

Even good or manageable diagnoses can mess with your sense of stability, because change, even helpful change, can feel like your brain being shoved onto a new track without asking first.

One of the hardest parts for me is communication. Hospitals are big on “just tell us if you’re uncomfortable,” which sounds great in theory. In practice, I am often overwhelmed, exhausted, in pain, and trying to decode social rules while also advocating for my needs. Do I seem “too sensitive” if I ask them to dim the lights? Am I being difficult if I need things explained again? 

Am I allowed to want quiet? Yes. I am. I am allowed. Self-advocacy when you are already overloaded feels like trying to give a TED Talk while your brain is buffering.

But here is the gentle part of this rant: it is okay that this stuff is hard. It is okay if hospital stays wreck your routine and your nervous system and your sense of safety for a bit. It is okay if you need extra recovery time emotionally, not just physically. Being autistic in medical spaces often means you are doing this invisible extra labor, managing sensory input, anxiety, social expectations, and uncertainty all at once. That is real work. That is tiring.

If you are going through hospital stuff right now, I see you. If you have been through it before and still feel a little tender about it, I see you too. You are not weak for struggling with environments that are objectively overwhelming. You are not broken for needing things to be calmer, clearer, and kinder. You are just human, with a nervous system that is trying its best in a world that is… not exactly gentle.

And no matter what you are going through here is a virtual hug from your autistic bestie!

Next week is one of our favourites here it is book week!! And we will be discussing the grand place of booktok so make sure you are there for that.

Love,

Your autistic bestie 

Book of the week: Layla by Colleen Hoover