Oddities and Soddities

I'm not entirely sure I know where to start really ...  okay - most important thing to do is to say how much I appreciate the love and support of my best friend Rachel.  Without her, I'd probably have ended up in the cells.  So, dear heart, thank you, yet again, for your friendship.  I also want to thank those lovely friends I already have, and those I have yet to meet,  for their good wishes. 

So, almost a year after the refusal of my second application for disability living allowance, we ended up in the Magistrates Court today for the appeal to the Tribunal.  This Tribunal, we were told several times, is completely independent of the DWP and it cannot take into account the state you are in at this moment.  You have to cast your mind back to how you were when you first applied.  In my case that was a year ago.

But I jump ahead of the proceedings.  We got to the court with one minute to spare.  I was trying not to look neither, vulnerable to any passing baddy, nor,  like I was an appropriate candidate to be appearing before the beak for say, oh! let's try - benefit fraud shall we?  The security guard did recognise us as tribunalists - I pretend it's because we look like, well decent folk, but actually I suspect it was the presence of Percy, my walking stick, that gave him the clue.

A previous recce of Court 5 had served us well.  We knew where the special lift was and what's more, Rachel remembered how to operate it!  One of the side effects of being host to the Bad Back Monsters is the frequent loss of control of, how shall I say this, waste products.  When the Clerk to the Tribunal informed us that we would be likely to be in the hearing for 45 minutes I asked for directions to the nearest loo.  The Clerk apologetically explained that, actually, it was back on the ground floor. 

This caused us some consternation, not least because it would now put us late appearing before the tribunal.  There are two toilets:  one which you can access via an upwards staircase; or a toilet for use by the disabled accessible via a downwards staircase, or, via a special lift, one that can accommodate a wheelchair.  However, to do so, you are required to find someone who has a key not only to open the lift, but also to unlock the toilet.  Fearing that a) my bladder would struggle to wait much longer, and b) conscious of the ticking of the clock and wishing not to offend the panel further, we opted for the upstairs toilet - just as slow as finding a keyholder but fooling me in to believing I had a measure of some control over the situation. 

It took 15 minutes in total.  What I fail to understand is the design decision making process:  did it go like this?  

'I say!  we need somewhere to hear disability living allowance appeals.  I know!  Let's schedule all the hearings at the top of the building in the Magistrates Court!  We will need to install a lift; factor in the travel expenses of visiting Judges and panel members, subsistence allowances will need to be made available and appropriate rooms provided for panel members.  Now, what have we missed?'

Er, actually you have missed the bloody fact that people who claim to be disabled generally have MOBILITY problems!  Some of them have weakness in the areas below their waists which are difficult to control and you thought it was a good idea NOT to make a toilet available to them adjacent to the court in which they would be heard???  I wonder if the panel members have their own private toilet facilities contained within their suite?

Anyroadup, we settle before the panel:  The Judge looked like an accountant; the doctor looked well fed and watered with a pinkish glow about his face and the member with 'care need experience' sported a fetching pair of sunglasses, through which, she reassured me, she was quite capable of seeing me.  Ooooookay!

I will never, ever put myself through that again.  The expert doctor questioned me closely about my various difficulties.  Explaining the Bad Back Monsters was not difficult, fairly straightforward really and he appeared to understand the story.  Bad Belly Monsters were a little more tricky as he appeared to be fixated with a particular form of faeces and didn't appear to understand that I thought one particular medication was for emergencies only.  The most distressing for me was having to give details of my 'stepping off the world episode'.  I made a fool of myself; I cried, I tore at tissues, I wiped my snotty nose on my cardigan sleeve.  Rachel said the doctor was visibly shocked when I recounted the Dickensian history of my childhood.

At last he had finished and the 'care expert' took over the grilling.  Again and again I was reminded not to reply with today's medical condition in mind, but how I was a year ago.  This is probably where I will have lost the appeal.  I have difficulty remembering to attend scheduled appointments, take my pills, remembering not to attend appointments I don't have, remembering to be bothered to eat, therefore, trying to recall how I was, how I felt 365 days ago, is a bit of a challenge.  Half was through her questioning I began to feel incredibly tired, drawn out and I just wanted to go home.  It had begun to feel such a waste of time; a waste of money, a waste of resources and I felt the outcome was inevitable.  It means nothing at all to them that my back was screaming in agony; it was the process and the process had to be followed.  The appropriate boxes had to be ticked, I had to fit into the criteria set by some faceless civil servant.   The Judge had no questions.  We left the panel to their decision. 

Outside the court I wept and wept and said that I would never, ever put myself through that again. Rachel too was in tears and was so angry on my behalf.  The Panel were doing what the Panel had to do, for which by the way, I have paid in contributions for the past 45 years.  The Clerk came out to explain that it was not possible for the Panel to give their decision verbally;  I must understand that a) we started late b) my hearing had taken longer than anticipated/predicted and c) the Panel were entitled to a break before they dealt with the next case.   If I had been capable of jumping up and down in rage, I would have but I smiled wanly and said of course I understood and that I hoped the Panel were not cross with me.

Budget cuts mean that the decision needs to be fed back to Leeds so that someone there can type it up and post it out to me.  It will probably take about 7 days but, hey!  I've already waited a year so what's one more week to be told no.

If I had realised how instrusive, how bloody pointless, how degradingly difficult it would be to explain to strangers my most personal, most intimate and embarrassing difficulties, I would not have embarked upon this road seeking help from the State. 

If government don't want people to have assistance, then take the offer off the table;  to catch the few, the many have been sacrificed in order to meet unreal criteria.  One's ability to bathe, to clean surroundings, to shop, to indulge in hobbies is absolutely discarded.  So, if you can open a tin of beans, wipe yourself with a baby wipe, refuse to take morphine because you want not to become a zombie, I urge you NOT to seek help from the state with either care or mobility.  It pains me to say that MY Country is careless not only of its most vulnerable children, its weakened and dependent elders, but it has simply stopped caring at all. 

I am ashamed to be English tonight, I am sad to be English tonight and no! not just because of the rollercoaster that I, personally, have been through during the past two and a half years.  But the damming report issued today by Ann Abraham about the so called care of the elderly in my Country should make us all hang our heads in shame.

With the benefit of hindsight, I would love to travel back to my 15 year old self as I started work in service; I would tell me to guard well my earnings, my health and to invest in a health and care plan where I would not have to beg and plead for assistance but could purchase help like any other commodity.

Ah well, I shall allow myself to wallow in self pity for a little longer and tomorrow THE Purple Fairy will resurface to shake her wand at the world and spit in its eye!

Take care of each other, take care of yourselves, and most of all, learn to love yourself for the amazing hooman bean that you are!

Love and Peace
THE Purple Fairy xxx