Tag Archives: DLA

I’m Better Than This …

miracleThe PIP forms have almost broken me down.

Shattering my psyche into tiny squared-off questions after years spent building myself up again has been incredibly difficult.

I’ve taken over a week off work; I’ve been virtually alone for eight days now. Apart from the cat and her various friends.

And that’s pretty tragic?

I watched the film ‘Wild’ two days ago, and although I haven’t trekked the Pacific Crest Trail for hundreds of miles, I did so in my mind.

When I’m upset, I hibernate, preferring to look my worst in the mirror and not to the outside world.

It’s a bit like a pity-party for one (and a half). It’s torturous.

Today – day 9 – I went to a short MS Society meeting less than two miles from my house. Safe.

Long story short, the support I had was amazing but people wondered where the real me had gone. Probably still on my sofa wondering how to dispose of the latest dead mouse outside my door and how best to fill in my PIP forms.

The real me?

All the PIP drama is akin to the employment tribunal of 2012; he said, they said, you’re lying. Analyse every single tiny little thing.

As someone said to me in the meeting today, yes, I am better than that, no matter the outcome.

Is the real me in there somewhere?

There’s definitely the old me, bubbling somewhere under the surface, but until the very real financial predicaments are put to bed, I may very well be the grumpy aunt at the Christmas festivities.

Don’t get me wrong, I love Christmas and all the promise it offers. It’s a magical time, and perhaps that is why I am praying for a miracle?

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Beggar In Disbelief

beggarThese PIP (Personal Independent Payment) forms really do beggar belief.

I’ve finally finished a first draft to all the questions and I am an utter wreck.

To steal (may as well, nothing to lose) a phrase from Simon Cowell, ‘it’s been an emotional journey.’ But there’s no z-list stardom and a double-page spread in ‘Heat’ magazine at the end of it.

Perhaps ‘traumatic’ would be a more adequate word, because it really is. I’m sure they probably do a similar tactic when you join the SAS; breaking you down until you’re snivelling on the ground. But then! You rise up, invincible, ready to take on the world.

However, in my case, the opposite is true. They’ve broken me down. And that’s it.

I’ve taken a week off work to fill in the forms and because I’ve got a pesky MS flare-up plus a rotten, stinking cold. I’ve got a Rudolph nose, and am running out of tissues and energy.

The more I read, both in the media and in online forums, about people with MS having to go through this unnecessary process yet again the more angry I become. To put it this way, I work, and I receive Working Tax Credit, to allow me to live above the poverty line. I fill in a fairly basic form every year, stating my wages and that’s pretty much it.

However, with PIP forms, to receive additional money to pay for the extra costs attributed to disability (one like MS, as yet incurable and as yet, degenerative) I have to literally bare my soul – and my bottom.

Yep, for those unfamiliar with these forms, there’s a whole section on going to the loo. And another about personal hygiene, i.e. how well you can wash yourself.  Are disabled people really reduced to these facile benchmarks?

A single form to cover every single possible disability ever recorded is ludicrous.

According to Scope, there are 13.3 million disabled people in the UK, all filling in the same form, but all expected to depict their own unique disability experience within it.

Further, you spend £550 a month per average more if you are disabled. Which is the very reason this benefit exists. And for doubters out there, disability benefit fraud is 0.5%. The lowest level of any ‘benefit’.

Makes you wonder how much is siphoned away in tax evasion?

Jus’ sayin’…

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Stand Up, Get Knocked Back Down Again – And Repeat

knockedI had an ‘interesting’ taxi ride yesterday afternoon.

The Boss has picked me up for work every morning since early this year, when my symptoms made it too difficult to drive.

Almost a year on, it’s become the norm, which takes a huge amount of pressure off me, yet another adaptation that has slid into my life almost unnoticed.

After a bit of training, he makes sure there’s a fresh coffee in my little cup-holder, and if I’m lucky, a croissant or bacon sarnie.

Anyway, yesterday the job ran over and The Boss arranged a taxi to get me home which I fell into gratefully.

Until the conversation, which went something like this:

‘Been busy today?’

‘Yeah, lots of calls, but most of them for so-called disabled people, I drive them to their assessments? What a joke. Malingerers, the lot of ’em.’

‘Well, some of us do work? Like me?’

‘Yeah, but most of them, they look … normal? Nothing wrong with ’em. And there’s me, working 60-70 hours a week, slogging my guts out, to fund them? I mean, there’s something seriously wrong with the system?’

‘Yeah, but I work?’

‘Not the point, is it? Honestly, you should see them, prancing around, then well upset when they don’t get their benefits. Benefits? Free-loaders, the lot of ’em. And there’s me …’

This went on for fourteen miles. Nothing I said would convince him to see the other side of the debate. He’d read his newspapers and was ‘well-informed’.

It wasn’t only disabled people; students were another pet-hate; ‘four of ’em in my taxi – a quid each to go to town?? I mean, they gotta get used to real life, but they’re living it up like kings at university.’

His views to one side, this was a chilling reminder of the wider view of what people like us have to put up with, especially in light of being reassessed for PIP. Not only do we encounter the DWP rock-face, we also face a monumental societal challenge.

You would think, with such a serious illness as MS, we were somehow ‘protected’ from this bile. A verifiable, quantifiable, certifiable illness? Not a chance. We were all one and the same.

When I got back home, I grabbed the cat and went straight to bed. It’s the best place to be right now and I seem to be going earlier and earlier. It’s the only place I can be at peace.

I’ve been knocked down many times – most significantly in 2011 when MS blasted onto the scene, then the diagnosis in 2012 and my subsequent sacking. You get knocked down. You stand up. You take another blow. Partner’s left? Blam. Income dropped? Blam. You get knocked down. You stagger up again.

How many times can you get knocked down? Just when I think I have created a world that works for me, it’s destroyed. And this happens over and over again.

MS is bad enough, but the DWP should really have their own disease/illness classification – ‘DWPitis’ – : symptoms include:

  • Hopelessness
  • Fear of the future
  • Anxiety/panic attacks
  • Destitution
  • Increase in existing illness symptoms
  • All of the above x 10

And just when I think things can’t get any worse, The Teenager texted me yesterday to inform me he’s applied to be on ‘Love Island’…

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This Is Not A Joke

a jokeA friend sent me what I thought was one of those online jokes this morning.

Except it wasn’t. It’s real.

I present to you the Department of Work and Pension’s ‘6 Tips for dealing with stress’.

These are the people who will soon determine whether or not I still have MS or if I have been miraculously cured. If cured, I stand to lose what little is left of my disposable income.

So, now that I have a huge form to fill in and am beyond stressed, what do they suggest?

Helpfully, in their introduction, they point out that, ‘too much stress can be unhealthy – around 9.9 million working days are lost each year to stress, depression or anxiety.’ Would that be the same stress, depression and anxiety they themselves are currently putting me through?

Anyway, the first tip is to ‘Address the Causes’, with the unhelpful and rather sinister tip, ‘it’s also important to learn to accept when things are out of your control.‘ Are they actually, seriously having a laugh?

Tips two and three  – Schedule Your Time and Take A Break – basically say the same thing – have lunch outside. It’s that simple. Apparently this can ‘prevent blockages‘ (huh?) and ‘inspire new ideas‘.

Tip four – Stay Healthy (lol) – again, suggests going outside (I think they are slightly obsessed, which is weird as they’re taking thousands of Mobility cars from people, who now cannot go outside).

Tip five – Keep in Touch – build a support network. And laughter is an excellent stress reliever, apparently. So is banging my head against a wall, if only I had the energy.

Tip six – Do Something you Enjoy – basically, do something you enjoy. They suggest reading or gardening.

Well, hopefully after reading these six tips, you all feel a lot less stressed. I know I don’t.

When this government department is snatching lifetime awards for incurable illnesses from people and pushing countless others into poverty, homelessness and worse, it seems callous in the extreme to publish such a flippant post.

Is it me? Am I missing something?

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A Right Barrel Of Laughs

barrelThe DWP (Department of Work and Pensions), in reassessing whether or not I still have MS, is like a huge, malevolent vacuum cleaner.

It’s sucking the absolute joy out of everything.

I go to work under a cloud, come back under a cloud. I’m miserable, fed up and terrified about the future.

The depression rate for people with MS is three times higher than the national average. Throw in a Dickensian and brutal reassessment and I’m in no doubt it’s even higher.

I feel as if I’m teetering on a very high tightrope (note to DWP: no, I don’t do this in real life), and I can either use every bit of my self-will and inner strength to stay on that rope or simply free-fall into the abyss.

I’m trying hard to reintroduce some sense of normality into my life, plus a dash of humour. It’s incredibly difficult, especially as, freed from the routine of having a Teenager at home, I’m now able to give into the heightened fatigue, nerve pain and spasms. So I go to bed early as the darkness only makes me feel worse.

With all this in mind and the season of Goodwill to All fast approaching (haha), I’ve started a little list, where I jot down the happier and funnier side to my life at the moment.

Top of the list is of course, The Teenager. He really has taken to Uni like a duck to water and we text-chat every other day. The pride I feel in him and his achievements will never be dented by the DWP, no matter how much they try. He’s 100% ring-fenced.

Here’s my list this week:

  • When The Boss picks me up for work, he makes sure there’s a cup of coffee ready in the van. Bless him. No donuts though.
  • I went to my evening class this week, after calling in sick for the last one. Result.
  • The cat brought home a (dead) rat the other day. I’m not quite sure where the humour is in this, but I was brave enough to schlep it in to a bag and dispose of properly.
  • Speaking of the cat, I had to get her to the vets again for her Flea Bite Allergy (a real thing!). Despite the steroid injection curing her extremely quickly and giving her bags of energy, I was nevertheless disappointed to see that she didn’t have the side effect I usually have from steroids, i.e. cleaning the house.
  • The joy of discovering my next Book Club book is very short.
  • I laughed until I cried at ‘Motherland’ on the BBC. Genius.
  • Sitting in the works van a lot, I’ve managed to get through a very long book, ordered Christmas lunch for me and The Teenager and browsed Pinterest for decoration ideas I’ll probably not get round to doing, but the intention is there.

So life is a precarious balancing act right now. Pleasure is fleeting, fear is endless.

But I will keep writing my list, until I can’t. And then I’ll know I’m in trouble.

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