Welcome to your latest round-up on all things universal credit. Grab yourself a cup of tea or something stronger and get ready to find out more on the mind-fuck that is applying for universal credit.
Last week, I had my work capability assessment. I had a bit of an anxiety meltdown the morning of the assessment, basically crying because if the assessment doesn’t go my way, I am royally screwed. I think a lot of my fear stemmed back to validation and the fact that essentially, my future financial security, sanity and hopes were pinned on the decision of a stranger, who had never met me and that decision would overrule any made my medical professions, who are involved in my on-going care. As a result of my meltdown, my mum offered to come with me to the assessment, but would stay in the waiting room. This eased my fears slightly and off we trekked to the assessment centre, in the pouring rain, with me feeling like I was going to vomit. Plastic bags were packed just in case, although vomiting everywhere would only have strengthened my case.
The waiting room was typically British, only with more mobility aids and a smell of damp because we all resembled drowned rats. Everyone was moaning because the assessors were running late: two people lost the will to live and rearranged their appointments and the children belonging to the family who (I can only assume) thought that a trip to a health assessment centre was akin to a day out at the zoo, tried to pretend that their lives hadn’t ended during the hours waiting for their dad to finish in his assessment.
Anyway. I was eventually seen and was in and out within half an hour. I was asked how my disability impacts on my day to day life, was told that I looked tired (no really?!) and was then asked if I could perform various movements: reaching up, making fists and then touching the floor. Hypermobile me excelled at this – my shoulders popped in and out as I reached up and I freaked the assessor out with how easily I could touch the floor, with my palms flat.
And that was it. I went home, got into bed and slept a solid 14 hours before rolling out of bed and going to a GP appointment.
Fast forward to today and I had the unenviably fun task of going to the job centre and handing in my latest fit note. I thought that it was going to be a simple case of handing it in and then leaving, but oh no, today I had the added fun of not only meeting a new work coach (I think my last one binned me off, can’t think why…) and then going through all my work commitments. Now, at this point, I would like to remind you of the phone call I received a few weeks ago, whereby I was told that all my work commitments had been switched off because I’m not fit to be working or searching for jobs. It would seem that my joy over someone having some common sense was short-lived: my work commitments haven’t been switched off and actually, I am still meant to be spending at least two hours a day job searching and keeping my CV up to date.
I am so bloody confused.
Things got even better when my new work coach asked me if it was “just sickness” that was stopping me from working. Oh how I laughed, because that is properly funny. I explained in very simple terms, that even a halfwit could understand, that gastroparesis means paralysis of the digestive system and symptoms include but are not restricted to sickness and nausea, extreme bloating, pain and heartburn. The consequences of gastroparesis include being malnourished, which I am. Due to malnourishment, I am so exhausted that I frequently cannot stand up without my legs giving way, I’m constantly freezing cold, my skin is an attractive creamy-grey, my eyes have bigger bags that I knew was possible and I have bald patches where my hair as fallen out. Not to mention how much this is impacting on my already fragile mental health.
Apparently, I should find out within four weeks what the outcome is from my work assessment. I’m really apprehensive about it and it shows how broken the system is when the opinion of someone who has had a twenty minute conversation with me and then asked me to show off some of my EDS party tricks outweighs the opinions of my GP who has known me ten plus years, my physio who is specialised in chronic conditions, my gastro consultant who is the top consultant at the hospital and my therapist who has known me for three years. How is that right? Or fair?
Today I was told that the job centre would have a supportive role, regardless of the outcome. Thus far, their input has not been supportive, it has made me more unwell, stressed, anxious, depressed and I have been so close to giving up.
I mean, should the result be that I need to be in work, I could appeal but I’m now getting to the point where I’m really losing my fight. I know that, deep down, I have to keep fighting this, for me and everyone else caught out by a completely unjust system, but right now, I feel so defeated. I don’t even feel angry regarding my appointment today, just sad and exhausted.
Forcing someone into work, against the advice of professionals, isn’t supportive. This system is not supportive. This system is failing.