“But, how can I do that when I’ve just been turned down.” Sue was relieved, she could still construct a sentence after all.
“You can reapply after six months from your original assessment verdict. It’ll be more than six months since you were first turned down, the appeals are running nine months behind now. You check when you get home.” Marion said; hand on the door knob, ready to collect her next client.
“Oh, thank you,” Sue replied, despair was now joined by exhaustion and lethargy.
Those emotions stayed with her for the rest of the day. They persevered despite her parents’ reassurances on the way home, despite Kay and Rachel’s best efforts as they arrived with a take away for tea, and throughout the forced jocularity of a phone call to Lottie. They all berated the system, how could she be declared fit for work when her GP’s advice was to the contrary, when her mobility was decreasing, passing her pain levels on the way up. How did all those other people manage to cheat the system, the almost universal answer given was because she was too damn honest; she’d thought all she had to do was tell the truth, when the truth, in fact, played very little part in it.
An emotionally draining day turned into a restless night. Her body, having been tense with strain, now found it impossible to relax; if her back eased, her legs went into a cramp, if her legs were fine, her back ached. By morning she felt thoroughly wretched and not at all restored to her positive dogma. Instead her mind wandered back to the beginning of it all, if she’d not kept pushing when her back had first gone, if she’d rested more at that point, might she have saved herself the future pain. Her rational mind shouted back at her, of course not, but still…and now, well, what of now, perhaps she wasn’t exercising enough, allowing her body to become deconditioned and weak, or was she doing too much, should she rest more? Or, god forbid, was it all in her mind, maybe her family, her friends were just too caring to say anything; the doctors could find nothing wrong, had the stress of teaching merely become too much for her, and this was her bodies answer, to shut down until further notice. Without Sue even knowing how they’d gotten there tears rolled down her cheeks, because some days you just wanted to shrug and say ‘enough’ as you head back to hide in bed.
Instead Sue forced down some breakfast and sat comatose in front of the morning news, in her normal life she would have left for work by now, she’d have been in the classroom filling the water trough, topping up the powder paint pots and preparing for the morning activities. But now she had to…what did she have to do? Nothing, there was nothing that required her attention, there were things she could do, but nothing she had to do. So, no matter how she shared up her time that day, they were all inconsequential actions. And people thought trying to survive in the system was a lifestyle choice. What lifestyle, what choice? As if she would have given up her job and everything that entailed, to stand in a shop and debate whether or not she could afford some cheese or whether that was too much of a luxury, to wrap blankets around herself as the cold in the house nipped at her nose, couldn’t these people see what her life had become? If they did then they would know, without any doubt, her case was genuine.
Christ, she drained her mug of tea, she needed to stop, negative thoughts were not going to help Pulling herself up she slowly climbed the stairs hoping a bath would ease her body.
Sue had just come back down the stairs when the letter arrived, she felt a moment of relief that there was no brown envelope, which in turn reminded her she needed to phone the Jobcentre Plus. No, this letter was from the hospital, there’s were always long and white, with a red NHS stamp on. Sue had been to see Dr Lambert from the pain management programme a week earlier; the appointment hadn’t lived up to the initial optimism she had felt on the assessment meeting. He didn’t seem to have any recollection of seeing her before, let alone any idea of what he may have said in the past. He’d never mentioned repeating any test, but had simply asked her how effective she’d felt her medication to be, and then increased it once more. Sue had waited over an hour to see him, but was herself dismissed in less than five minutes. She’d tried to impress upon him how she was struggling in terms of her mobility, her legs weak and unresponsive, her back a constant source of pain in every single minute of every day; her only relief to lie down and even that would only last for around half an hour. She’d felt a feverish need to make him understand how difficult her life had become, how far she’d travelled from her normal life, but he’d seemed more concerned in rattling through to make up lost time.
Sue had thought him to be the answer, had even looked forward to her next appointment in terms of hopefully, finally, after two and a half years someone was going to diagnose what the problem was. But no. And now she was rather anxious to see if his letter, which would also have been sent to her GP, contained any further information. It was short, only about five lines long, and the message within just absolutely crushed her. If the DWP was forcing her down, the NHS was delivering the kick to the stomach. Sue’s efforts to impress upon Dr Lambert the problems she was experiencing had been dismissed as her catastrophising the situation, his only other diagnosis was that she was suffering from, ‘empty nest syndrome.’ Her proud comment about Lottie being at University, when he’d asked her about her family, had been turned into the root cause of her problems.
“Shit,” Sue screamed and threw the papers to the floor. She couldn’t think, I mean, what the hell was he talking about, didn’t the man listen, she’d just been trying to get through to him the seriousness of what she was experiencing in terms of her pain, and because of that it was dismissed, and he said…and then she sobbed, as her hands raked through her hair and pulled at the roots, because no one was helping, no one was listening, and she was just sick and tired of it, wanted it to go away, wanted her life back, it was just…arghh. Sue had never been one for tears, not that she’d deliberately held things in check, she’d simply never been much of a crier, but now…Christ, it was almost becoming a daily occurrence. Well, that was it, she’d had enough, she wanted the day over and it was only half past ten.
“Sod it,” she muttered to herself as she climbed the stairs, falling down onto all fours as she did so, and crawled back under the duvet. It just felt all too much, and she didn’t want to have to think, to do anything, she just wanted to be. And so she was until, exhausted by it all, she fell back to sleep.
She was eventually woken by the sound of the phone ringing, she considered ignoring it, but that just prompted a mass enquiry as to her whereabouts. Lottie in particular panicked when she couldn’t get hold of her, if she didn’t answer the house phone she would move on to her mobile, if she still didn’t get an answer, then she would ring her grandparents and see if they knew where her errant parent was. Sue didn’t know exactly what Lottie thought would happen to her, but she didn’t want to cause any concern, so she climbed reluctantly from her bed and answered the insistent tones.
“Hello.”
“Hi, your dad and I are going up to the garden centre, we’ll pick you up on the way. I just want some more bird food, but we can stop and have a coffee,” her mam said.
Sue forced her voice to remain light, while her mind felt numb. “Yes, that would be lovely.”
“Good, we’ll be up later.”
“Okay, see you then.” She put the phone down. Her whole body felt under pressure, from pain and suppressed emotion. She would not fall apart in front of her parents; they worried about her enough as it was. After all it should be the opposite way around, she thought, me taking my parents out, looking after them, not that her mother and father needed looking after. But what would happen in the future? How would she help them, in all the ways a daughter should, when they became more elderly, when she couldn’t even help herself.
Maybe she should phone back and make an excuse not to go out, she wasn’t feeling fit company for anyone. She wandered back into the bedroom, crickey me, she’d slept for two hours, yet the thought of crawling back beneath the duvet was very tempting. Oh god,
her head was pounding, the pressure in her back traveling up, so that even her jaws hurt. She felt completely and utterly wretched, over two years gone and she was still fighting the system, she just wanted her life sorted, she wanted her old life back. And then she began to cry again, because she didn’t know what to do. The DWP insisted she was fit for work, her doctor insisted otherwise, and now the consultant, whom she’d had such hope invested in, thought it was all in her head. Her worst fear confirmed.
Right, as she was in such a dark mood anyway, she decided she may as well phone the Jobcentre Plus and announce her intention of reapplying for ESA.
She almost knew the number off by heart, and knew the buttons she needed to press to direct her call before the cheery woman told her the options. She also knew the tune they played while she was on hold, and wished, for the sake of everyone’s sanity, that they would change it occasionally. Never mind, she’d had the foresight, borne of many such calls, to get herself comfortable with a cup of tea to drink while she waited. Sometimes her mind wandered, as she held the set to her ear, and when an adviser actually answered it took a moment for her to tune back in. Sure enough, eight minutes later, she realised with a start that someone was talking to her, and it was not the cheery woman explaining that all their operators were busy at the moment and so on.
“Oh hello, I had my ESA tribunal yesterday and failed to win my appeal, but I’d like to reapply for ESA,” she said.
“Okay, if I can just ask you for your national insurance number,” the woman said.
Sue complied.
“And if I can just go through a few security questions with you,” she said.
Sue complied once more.
“Right then, let’s see if I can bring your details up.” There was a slight pause while Sue could hear the tap of fingers on a keyboard.
“Your claim is still open at the moment, with your appeal just being yesterday. But that does mean that you can’t claim ESA for another six months.”
Sue felt a jolt of panic through her system. “What? What am I supposed to do in the meantime?”
“You would have to go onto Job Seekers Allowance (JSA).”
Sue’s head was now officially all over the place. “But my doctor has declared me unfit for work, how can I therefore claim JSA.”
“That’s something you’ll have to discuss with your advisor, when you make an appointment at your local jobcentre.”
“But…hang on a minute, the lady who represented me at my hearing yesterday, I forget her name, said I could reapply as long as it had been more than six months since I was originally turned down. I checked and it has been almost seven.”
“No, you can only reapply six months after you’ve been unsuccessful at your appeal,” the woman stated once more.
Sue almost said okay, and put the phone down. But the woman, Marion, that was her name, Marion had been adamant. “I’m sorry, but I don’t think that’s correct, it’s six months after you are initially turned down.”
This time there was a slight pause on the other end of the phone. “Well, I will send an email up to the office, and someone will call you back in the next three hours to discuss this with you.”
Sue noted an element of doubt had crept into her tone.
“I have your contact number here,” she relayed Sue’s home phone number. “Is this still the best number to call you back on?”
“Yes, it is,” Sue confirmed.
“Okay, is there anything else I can help you with today?”
“No, that’s it, thank you,” Sue said, although what she actually thanking the woman for she didn’t know.
As soon as Sue came off the phone she went online, after navigating the Direct Gov website, she found the information she was looking for, and felt herself vindicated. At least she was no longer morose, she was now angry. Every single, damn time, she had dealings with the Jobcentre Plus, nothing ever, ever went right the first time. Documents always disappeared and only occasionally reappeared, with the sort of consistency it would have been nice to see employed in their work place. No-one ever gave you the correct information the first time, in Sue’s experience it took at least three attempts before you finally found someone who knew what they were talking about. Sue only thought, that if she had been as incompetent in her job, as the Jobcentre Plus was in its, someone would have fired her long ago.
But at least her mood had reverted to righteous indignation by the time her parents had arrived. She only had to say, “I phoned the Jobcentre Plus this morning,” for both of them to ask how they’d managed to cock up this time.
“Do you want to stay in then, and wait for them to phone back?” her dad asked, once she’d explained. That was the dilemma, because sometimes they did indeed phone back within the allotted time space, but at other times they did not. Sue had once explained to the advisor on the phone that there would be no point phoning her back within the next three hours because she had a hospital appointment, and would not be in. She’d asked if they could instead return her call between three and five that afternoon. Only to be told that no they couldn’t, because they had to phone back within the next three hours. Sue explained once more that she would not be at home then, only for the advisor to reply, she would have to phone up again and explain she must have missed their call, and then they would phone her back, within the next three hours.
“No I’m not waiting for them, I’m not, it’s their mistake, they are the ones who don’t know what they’re doing, so I’m going out. Oh and another thing…”
Sue told her parents of the letter she’d received that morning from Dr Lambert, but she no longer felt shame and self-pity over the content, she now felt angry. An emotion echoed in the faces of Mark and Rose Bailey.
“That is the most ridiculous load of rubbish I’ve ever heard. And you say this man is a doctor?” her dad said.
“Well, he’s a consultant anaesthetist,” she replied.
“Does he know that Lottie is almost finished University now? Does he think you’re going to be suddenly fit in a few months’ time?” her mam asked, her voice laced with incredulity.
It was the reaction Sue needed because it showed absolute belief in her and her symptoms; it also fuelled and justified her anger.
“Oh yes, I’ll no doubt be running marathons this time next year,” Sue agreed.
“And back to work,” her mam added. That comment calmed Sue, brought the sober reality back, because years later and she still hadn’t come to terms with losing her job, and every time it was mentioned, like a Pavlovian reaction, she felt a stab of anguish.
“Yes well, I wish someone would actually help me to get there, instead of writing rubbish like this. I mean, how someone dare make such a huge judgement against you, in the space of a five minute conversation,” she threw the letter back onto the sofa as she spoke.
“He’s obviously not listening, doesn’t realise how bad you are,” her dad said.
Sue sighed, she was tired again now. “I know, but when I try to explain it, I get accused of catastrophying the situation. Quite frankly I don’t know what you are supposed to do.”
“Come on,” her mother said. “Let’s go and have a big slice of cake with that coffee.”
*****
It had taken a large slice of chocolate cake, and a long chat to her parents, for Sue to feel her emotions return to a more even keel. Because they never doubted her, never queried if she shouldn’t be doing more, they had responded in the way Sue needed them to, without her having to ask them. However, once home, alone with her thoughts, she could feel them dragging her down. She was reading when the phone rang.
“Hello.”
“Hello, could I speak to Sue Bailey please?”
So, she’d not missed the call back from the Jobcentre Plus, and they’d rang with eight minutes to spare.
“This is her,” she replied.
“Hello, I’m phoning with regard to your query as to whether or not you can claim ESA.”
“Yes, that’s right, the woman I spoke to this morning said I couldn’t claim ESA until six months had passed from the date of my appeal, whereas I-”
“The information you were given this morning was incorrect, you can reapply for ESA six months after you were originally turned down,” the man explained, interrupting Sue’s flow.
“That’s what I said,” Sue stated, relieved to have been proven correct. “I do think someone should speak to the woman involved, as she is obviously giving out the wrong information.”
“Yes, thank you Miss Bailey, I’ll pass that along and I’ve registered your new ESA claim. Is there anything else I can help you with today?”
“No, that was it, thank you, good bye,” Sue replied.
That was it, she mused, it, was just the small matter of whether she could claim any money to help pay the bills, her mortgage, buy food. She hoped the man would have a word with the woman who’d given her the incorrect information, not that he’d asked for her name, not that Sue had thought to ask either. But, at least Sue had known enough to challenge her, anyone new to the system would have assumed the adviser knew what she was talking about. All the worry, stress and hardship the wrong piece of information could give was horrendous, and yet it happened all the time. Too many staff changes and no incentive for them to actually gain any knowledge in the benefits system they represented, meant it would only continue to deteriorate.
Sue shook her head in resignation as she logged into her e-mail account. She’d started doing on-line polls several months ago, in order to earn extra money, and to fill in some of the empty hours. She’d thought she was doing quite well, and had amassed twenty thousand points with one company, until she logged into the reward section and saw that she needed one hundred thousand to claim ten pounds. Still, she kept doing them and they had become pencilled into the morning routine section of her day.
This time her gaze was immediately drawn to the sender of an e-mail not far from the bottom of her list, E-love, and beside it a header Contract agreement. Sue clicked on it, holding her breath until, my god, they were actually offering her a contract for her first novella, Passion in Paradise. She grinned at the screen, as her heart quickened with excitement, she’d been offered a book deal. She was actually going to be a published author, if only in electronic form. She headed straight for the phone, Lottie didn’t answer, so she sent her a text telling her to call. Who else to text while she was there? Oh, she had to send one to Rachel and Kay, and then she phoned her parents.
An Ordinary Working Man Page 14
