Boy, am I nervous, and I mean really nervous.
It’s odd really as the reason for this anxiety lies a couple of weeks in the future, and I’m not usually one to worry that far in advance. In fact, if anything the accusation has been made my faire lies a little too much on the laissez (or should that be lazy) side of things. Comparisons to a particularly chilled out and perhaps only semi-conscious sloth may have occasionally been mentioned.
That being said, this is a biggie. A real watershed moment.
I Got Mail
The expression ‘Red Letter Day’ is one that resounds in my mind, even if the letter that triggered these elevated stress letters was in an omnious brown envelope. It should probably have been a clue.
I’ve received a few such envelopes in the recent past and they are usually either bills, hospital appointments, or benefit related. None of these varieties have historically proven to supply much in the way of fun. Upon tearing said envelope open this particular specimen proved to be of the third kind.
Not A Jelly Dog
To make a growing story a little shorter, the letter in question was to inform me that an appointment had been arranged to assess me for Employment & Support Allowance, a benefit I have been claiming for the last couple of months at the basic ‘assessment’ level. Queue collywobbles.
Since my diagnosis of MS and the subsequent decision to give up work, it probably comes as no surprise that money has become a little tight. Going from a wage of over twelve hundred pounds a month, to a benefit payment of under eighty pounds a week is, well, a bit of an adjustment.
It has meant cutting our cloth accordingly, and then cutting again, and then just a little bit more, until there’s not an awful lot of cloth left and any further cuts might need to be made with a pair of nail scissors and a magnifying glass.
It’s also meant that my lovely wife, Tina has had to try to pick up some more hours at work, just eighteen months after suffering a (partially stress induced) Functional Stroke. This is, as you can possibly imagine, is somewhat less than ideal.
The Confidence Trick
The aforementioned missive, therefore, was one which we had been awaiting with bated breath. It starts the process of reviewing my case, of deciding if I can still claim that all important money, and if there is any more that might be due to me (a back payment would come in handy, not that I’m holding my breath). It really is a defining moment in the near to medium term future and will be something that has a huge impact on our lives. It makes the face to face assessment extremely important.
This is where my ability to work will be tested. I’m not sure what to expect from it, although I have heard the horror stories that I’m sure a lot of you will be familiar with. Tales, for example, of people with no legs being passed fit for work because they can get up stairs on their hands, or tales of people with terminal conditions being given the all clear and subsequently succumbing to their illness within months. It does not fill one with confidence.
The No Job Hunt
I’m lucky, in a way (a really, really, horrible and perverse way) that my Spina Bifida is immediately identifiable. Any assessor need only give a cursory glance to the bloke in the wheelchair with the wonky, golf-club-like, legs to know all is not right with that individual. My Multiple Sclerosis too, is something that, once in possession of the relevant scans, you can actually point to. The lesions on my brain showing up like a heat map of an explosion in a firework factory. What is less clear is how this actually affects me.
What I’m going to have to do, is to put aside my normal reaction of downplaying the things that affect me most. I need to stop being a brave little soldier, and be honest about how hard it can be just getting through a day. The assessment is, if you think about it, a bit like a job interview, except this time I’m showing why I’m the worst candidate for the job (or any job). I’m showing that I don’t have the right stuff to be a success in the workplace (as three failed probation periods attest.). To this end my medical history is my C.V, but I’m still going to need to state my case and show how the abiding weariness, the lack of concentration, and the less than perfect state of my eyes, make work something I really just cannot handle at the moment.
And It's Harrow From Me
I’ve received a few such envelopes in the recent past and they are usually either bills, hospital appointments, or benefit related. None of these varieties have historically proven to supply much in the way of fun. Upon tearing said envelope open this particular specimen proved to be of the third kind.
Not A Jelly Dog
To make a growing story a little shorter, the letter in question was to inform me that an appointment had been arranged to assess me for Employment & Support Allowance, a benefit I have been claiming for the last couple of months at the basic ‘assessment’ level. Queue collywobbles.
Since my diagnosis of MS and the subsequent decision to give up work, it probably comes as no surprise that money has become a little tight. Going from a wage of over twelve hundred pounds a month, to a benefit payment of under eighty pounds a week is, well, a bit of an adjustment.
It has meant cutting our cloth accordingly, and then cutting again, and then just a little bit more, until there’s not an awful lot of cloth left and any further cuts might need to be made with a pair of nail scissors and a magnifying glass.
It’s also meant that my lovely wife, Tina has had to try to pick up some more hours at work, just eighteen months after suffering a (partially stress induced) Functional Stroke. This is, as you can possibly imagine, is somewhat less than ideal.
The Confidence Trick
The aforementioned missive, therefore, was one which we had been awaiting with bated breath. It starts the process of reviewing my case, of deciding if I can still claim that all important money, and if there is any more that might be due to me (a back payment would come in handy, not that I’m holding my breath). It really is a defining moment in the near to medium term future and will be something that has a huge impact on our lives. It makes the face to face assessment extremely important.
This is where my ability to work will be tested. I’m not sure what to expect from it, although I have heard the horror stories that I’m sure a lot of you will be familiar with. Tales, for example, of people with no legs being passed fit for work because they can get up stairs on their hands, or tales of people with terminal conditions being given the all clear and subsequently succumbing to their illness within months. It does not fill one with confidence.
The No Job Hunt
I’m lucky, in a way (a really, really, horrible and perverse way) that my Spina Bifida is immediately identifiable. Any assessor need only give a cursory glance to the bloke in the wheelchair with the wonky, golf-club-like, legs to know all is not right with that individual. My Multiple Sclerosis too, is something that, once in possession of the relevant scans, you can actually point to. The lesions on my brain showing up like a heat map of an explosion in a firework factory. What is less clear is how this actually affects me.
What I’m going to have to do, is to put aside my normal reaction of downplaying the things that affect me most. I need to stop being a brave little soldier, and be honest about how hard it can be just getting through a day. The assessment is, if you think about it, a bit like a job interview, except this time I’m showing why I’m the worst candidate for the job (or any job). I’m showing that I don’t have the right stuff to be a success in the workplace (as three failed probation periods attest.). To this end my medical history is my C.V, but I’m still going to need to state my case and show how the abiding weariness, the lack of concentration, and the less than perfect state of my eyes, make work something I really just cannot handle at the moment.
And It's Harrow From Me
The next two weeks will see me preparing for the assessment. I need to collect doctors notes, evidence of my varying conditions and I need to mentally prepare myself for what I’ve built up in my mind as a harrowing process.
Hopefully it wont be as bad as I’ve painted it. Hopefully it’s all going to be worth it. Hopefully the cards fall in my favour and life becomes, if not what it once was, certainly a more manageable and less frantic ball of stress. That’s a lot of hopefully but that’s all I can have right now. Once it is all over... And given a favourable result, I can put that away, along with the stress, the worry, and the nerves. Maybe I can even get back to that laissez-faire attitude. It might be nice to be a sloth again.
Until next time...
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