Cartwright-Karlsson herself has been using telehealth to access her ADHD medication during the pandemic. Getting to an in-person appointment would be onerous, requiring a three-hour round-trip journey by car, and she’s concerned about the safety risks. “While I have access to transportation and high-quality masks, not all of my clients are as fortunate,” she said. “I’m angry because as someone who has ADHD with physical health disabilities, under this proposal I would have to navigate additional barriers to secure medication that I need to function effectively and efficiently simply because my brain functions differently than others. It feels discriminatory and ableist.”
Raffael Boccamazzo, a clinical psychologist in the Seattle area who also has ADHD, also had trouble finding a prescriber for his condition. “I’m a psychologist with 15 years’ experience navigating the health system, who lives in a major metropolitan area, has reliable transportation, health insurance, and a flexible schedule at my job, but I couldn’t find an available, adult ADHD prescriber within 15 miles of me who took my insurance or who didn’t already have a six-month or longer wait list,” he said. “If I—with all of those advantages—couldn’t find a prescriber easily, how much worse is it going to be for others?”
But as Morcelle suggested, it could get much worse, as the DEA’s proposal would “deepen already unconscionable health inequities.” People who rely on these medications, who are often disabled or struggling with chronic illness, already face structural barriers to access care. “This is particularly true for Black, Indigenous, and other people of color, women, LGBTQI+ people, immigrants and their families, people in rural communities, and people with low incomes with these conditions.”