Appeal

Last month I had my own medical assessment with ATOS. Despite clearly showing my fear and discomfort around people, I was found to be fit for work, and placed in the Work Activity group. I appealed in writing, of course. My counsellor provided me with several copies of a letter to support the appeal - she's good that way. However, I was dismayed to discover that my GP had left the practice I attend, and that I had to discuss my appeal with another doctor.

He was thoroughly unpleasant. There was no bedside manner of which to speak, and he barely made eye contact with me. However, he presented Leo with a near-twenty-minute tirade about governmental policy, ATOS and the DWP, which went straight over my head, both figuratively and literally. He declined to lend his support to my appeal, telling Leo - not I - that my counsellor's letter would be quite enough, and that the decision makers never read the supporting material anyway. When he was quite finished, I asked him about an unrelated blood test. He mumbled something about referring me to haematology at the hospital, and sent us both on our way.

Outside, Leo called him a meat puppet. I called him a sexist meat puppet.

Aside from his poor attitude, I was disturbed by his eagerness to being politics so directly into our - well, his and Leo's - discussion. Whilst it's true that more and more doctors are dealing with patients' appeals against ATOS decisions, is it really prudent for general practitioners to launch into such diatribes in the surgery? We're there for health reasons, not political opinions. A simple "no, you have enough supporting evidence already" would have been perfectly acceptable as a response. Instead, I was left feeling very uncomfortable and considering whether I should move to another surgery to avoid this awful man.

The appeal is still ongoing. The DWP have written to me to say that they have received the appeal and that a decision is imminent. Meanwhile, Leo and I are struggling financially again. Worse, for reasons related to the state of our local mental health service, I have been unable to meet with my counsellor for three weeks. I feel suspended, helpless. Once again, my biggest problems are those beyond my control. Only time will tell.

Assessment

On July 30th, two separate yet very revealing documentaries were shown on television regarding ESA, the Work Capability Assessment, and the company which carries them out: Atos. If you don't know much about the current incapacity system or the real impact it has on our lives, I can highly recommend that you watch them both.

Dispatches: Britain on the Sick

Panorama: Disabled or Faking It?

Unfortunately, these issues became all too relevant to Leo and I just a few days later. Leo had attended a WCA at the end of June, and received the results over the telephone. He had not been scored high enough on his WCA, and his ESA benefits were being withdrawn. The person he spoke to said that Leo had the right to appeal, and that if he managed to appeal within the next few days his benefits might be reinstated without a noticeable break in payments. As of writing, Leo is still waiting for the appeal paperwork to be delivered to our door.

Now, Leo and I deal with similar conditions. He doesn't have the agoraphobia that stops me from leaving the house on my own; my physical ailments are nowhere near as chronic as his. Yet the way our cases have been treated have been like chalk and cheese. I was never asked to attend a WCA. On my paperwork alone, the DWP assigned me to the support group. Leo, however, has had to provide countless sicknotes whilst his original paperwork was assessed, has had a very unpleasant person from the DWP come into our flat to make sure that we weren't living as a couple (we aren't), and has had to attend the WCA on top.

I was handed ESA straightaway, no further questions asked. Leo has been through the wringer trying to obtain his, only to be denied. Tell me the system isn't flawed, I dare you.

Leo is now more angry and depressed than ever. He and I both told the DWP that there was no way I could provide him with financial support should he be denied ESA, but how can I not? I have no legal obligation to support him, but I certainly have a moral obligation to him. He is my closest friend, and he has saved me from the brink more than once. What sort of monster would I be if I sat and watched him starve? I am putting myself at risk to help him, so instantly this decision affects not just Leo, but myself too. One person's ESA should not be stretched to two people, yet this is the outcome that Atos has forced us into, with their terrifyingly flawed system of scoring patients, meeting targets (or "statistical norms", as Benefit Scrounging Scum pointed out), and supposedly trying to save the government millions by weeding out fraudulent claims. There is just no way that Leo and I could manage long-term in this state. If he were to go back to the Jobcentre, what right-minded employer would hire him in the state he's in? Yet if he is unsuccessful in his appeal against Atos' decision, what choice does he have?

Atos care only for financial costs, not for human costs. The extent to which they ruin lives seems to suggest that they do their poisonous job with gleeful abandon. I can only conclude that the WCA guidelines were written by a group of people who have never been physically or mentally ill in their lives. There were clearly no healthcare professionals involved, just statisticians and bankers.

Shame on them all.

Click

Leo has stormed off into town after spending all morning on the phone with the DWP. In an uncharacteristic display of worry - usually that's my department - he called to find out when his ESA back payments are due to arrive. Their answer delivered no surprises, just the usual hopelessness: the Jobcentre "forgot" to close his JSA claim, so any ESA payments owed to him will not be released until this mistake is corrected.

Please note that this is the Jobcentre's mistake, yet Leo has to take responsibility for its correction.

I didn't expect an easy road when circumstances forced me into starting an ESA claim, closely followed by Leo a few weeks later. The initial lack of resistance surprised me, giving me a false sense of hope that this time, this time, everything would run smoothly. Yet the Jobcentre remained true to disappointing form, and failed at the bureaucratic stage.

These are not complex procedures at which they have failed. Operating a fax machine is not difficult, yet between the Jobcentre reception desk and the fax machine, my original medical certificates were lost. Clicking the "close claim" button on a computer screen seems pretty elementary to me, yet because someone didn't take the fraction of a second to do what they said they would, Leo's claim remains in limbo.

Perhaps I'm being too presumptuous. I have an NVQ in Business and Administration, so perhaps things like mouse clicks and fax machines would seem elementary to someone in my lofty, educated position. It makes you wonder why I spent almost a year on JSA whilst some Neanderthal in the Jobcentre was staring blankly at a computer screen, wondering how to make the "magic" happen.

Mistakes like these would never have been made on my watch - and you know why? I have the common sense to know that silly little errors like these have massive repercussions on other people's lives. Because that mouse click was never made, Leo and I now have to stretch an already difficult budget to another week - which means more late payment charges on our household bills, and less food in the cupboards. I have the sense of social responsibility to see how the ripples spread out from that single drop in the pond, how that one small failure becomes catastrophic further down the line.

The Jobcentre is the public face of a government department responsible for the welfare of those who find themselves in the position of being unable to provide for themselves. It is meant to be the hallmark of our advanced society and its responsibility to protect even the least of its members. So why does it constantly fail?

Certificate

If the British benefits system is broken, then my local Jobcentre is surely the San Andreas Fault. If you are unlucky enough to be within its catchment area, anything that can go wrong with your benefits claim most certainly will. Its staff seem to straddle the fence between having their hands tied by red tape and simply not caring anymore; several advisors there are quite openly hostile to their customers. So when my doctor first told me that I would need to be signed off, naturally I was quite concerned. Making the change from a Jobseekers' Allowance claim to an Employment and Support Allowance claim didn't sound remotely simple. I had heard horror stories about Work Capability Assessments and how stringent the system had become in order to kick spongers back into work.

Imagine my surprise, then, when my opening gambit was immediately accepted. I handed my doctor's medical certificate to the advisor I was due to sign on with that day, and he closed down my JSA claim there and then. I spent a merry 45 minutes on the phone opening an ESA claim, and the follow-up paperwork came through my letterbox the very next day. This unexpected efficiency is the exception that proves the rule: the Department for Work and Pensions knows not what it does.

When I was at a particularly low point last month, my doctor extended my sicknote and Leo collected the certificate from the surgery for me. He delivered it to the Jobcentre on my behalf, who promised to fax it to the regional head office dealing with my ESA claim. Meanwhile I filled in one of those long forms detailing my condition and how useless it renders me: the cyclical nature of my mental state, my fear of people and going anywhere alone, and what I call my "black letterbox" days. Leo posted that for me too, and that should have been that.

Except that the Jobcentre hasn't faxed my second certificate at all. Having wondered why no payments had been forthcoming six weeks after I opened my claim, I called head office today to make enquiries. Everything was in order, but for a current medical certificate that should already have been received. Until they get one, I am apparently expected to live on fresh air. I cannot speak to my doctor about the situation until next week; the Easter holidays are upon us. Whilst I do not celebrate Easter, I cannot complain about the disruption. If the working calendar were based upon my own faith, the world would be relegated to a three-day working week.

Yet I count myself blessed that my claim is at least underway. Leo, too, is trying to make the transition from JSA to ESA, but lightning never strikes twice. After the initial phonecall to open his claim last week, he is still waiting on the follow-up paperwork. Again, this could be down to Easter-related issues with Royal Mail, but my beloved Leo does not have the patience that I do. He is quicker to see injustice and personal vendettas, however unlikely. Perhaps I would feel the same had I been caught up in the system as long as he has.

Unfortunately, several points about our situation do count against us. Unemployment is well above the national average in this city, and our local Jobcentre is busier than most. There are also many whose sense of entitlement outweighs their actual need; the riots that took place here last summer are proof-positive of this, and recovery is still ongoing. Things are made that much more difficult for those with genuine issues to receive the support they need, whilst those who are playing the system to receive welfare for nothing laugh behind our backs. It is a culture that young adults in this area have been immersed in since birth. One wonders, if the system had been fairer in the first place, whether these pressures now placed upon it could have been avoided.

Looking at the city through a window and a computer screen, I hold out very little hope of seeing positive reform in the area. Like so many other individuals in my situation, all over the country, I am limited to hoping that, just for once, the system will do right by me - and knowing that it will only be a matter of time before it fails me again.