Showing posts with label IB50 form. Show all posts

I Am On Incapacity Benefits And I Am Scared

"Multi organ failure left me disabled, but I am afraid that the government's plans to slash the welfare bill coupled with 'efficiency savings' at my local council could leave me with no support."

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Page 18, Other Information. IB50 Form
 

Bureaucratic Brilliance

Such is my love of brown envelopes I was delighted to receive not one, but two from the postman today. I'm always suspicious of manila encased contents and usually I'm right to be.

Today's offerings were from Social Services and the NHS. Now, despite having had my care rationed away in a miraculous curing event by a social worker only interested in moaning about his pay packet and ogling my backside I had an inkling that more problems were to arise. And no, not like that. He may have been impolite enough to stare at his client's arse but I have manners and so don't look at men's crotches without invitation. Much. Certainly not his. Sandals and beards do nothing for me.

Back to the point. It was the letter I received a few days ago from the Inland Revenue demanding PAYE which tipped me off. That and the very nice, very helpful lady from IR who ranted about social services when I phoned to sort out the tax issue. Her ire was such I realised she had spent more time than she cared to dealing with the mess created by Direct Payments, politicians, social workers.

I lost my care package in May last year when rationing changes in eligibility brought about my miraculous and sudden cure. Yes, that was news to me too. I'd been using the Direct Payments scheme which allows people to purchase their own care rather than being stuck with whichever gawd awful local agency has got it's hands in social services back pockets. Direct Payments basically means that you are an employer, but in practice it works out to having all the responsibility of employing staff without the privileges.

At the time I had returned all the outstanding funds to social services and the file of relevant paperwork. So I was annoyed, although not especially surprised to receive a request for the outstanding funds which also stated they were unable to find the associated paperwork and needed me to advise them of the dates involved so they could trace payment and close the account. The tone of the letter was rather accusatory and without recourse to the laws of grammar or spelling implied I had stolen said monies.

Unusually for social services on this occasion one quick phone call cleared things up. Fortunately I still had the check book for the account and so could provide an accurate date as without that it would've been much more effort to trace the repayment. For me of course. Apparently the 'work experience' student sent the letter out. It's always reassuring to know who has the authority to demand money from individuals is it not?

The second letter was a standard NHS appointment letter. It took me a while to work out what it was for, but at the bottom of the letter I discovered it came from the rheumatology appointments clerk and invited me to see the locum consultant in 10 days time. Ah well, Red did insist politely suggest I needed to see a doctor asap when I informed her of the latest delights my body is performing. Though I still haven't come up with a better way to explain the symptoms I suspect spinal instability to be the root cause of than saying it's like someone shoved an enormous butt plug up my arse whilst I was asleep then woke my up by turning the vibrations on to full power-trust me, you don't want to know how that feels! Good job I've got 10 days to figure out a non butt plug involving explanation....

Relief

It was there this morning when I came downstairs. The brown envelope on the doormat. I didn't realise until after I'd read it and I stopped feeling sick just how stressed I'd been since the whole process started.

It's good news. No medical, no further information required, my incapacity benefit (in reality income support) will continue until a routine review in 2012.

Of course, being the complicated kinda girl that I am, my aim for this year is to somehow figure out how to get off benefit and find a way of effectively supporting myself financially from home. For now though, the relief is indescribable. Up there with looking over and seeing The Captain sleeping on my sofa as I write.

Page 18 Other Information. IB50 Form

Updated: In the interests of clarity, with one or two edits to remove swear words etc, this was the actual answer I provided on Page 18, other information of my IB50 form. The form had to be returned today, so I will have no idea throughout all of the Christmas and New Year period whether or not this review will mean my claim will be denied.


I would give anything really I would, for things to be different. You see, if things were different I wouldn't have to fill out this form telling you in minute and trivial detail how I walk, how I lift, how I sit, how I stand, how I think, how I feel, and even how I piss and shit, or, more precisely how I don’t. As, after all, that's all you're really interested in.

In the past few years I’ve learnt to live with my condition, an inherited genetic disorder that for reasons I’ll never know, whilst I was still just a child was said to be ‘seeking attention’ and turned usually clear sighted doctors blind. I’ve had to, there’s been no alternative. No choice. No cure for Ehlers Danlos Syndrome (EDS), not even a treatment in sight. Just stronger and stronger pain relief, that in an ironic twist of fate doesn’t work as well as it should, and if you happen to be lucky enough to live in an area that provides it, expert physio.

Despite all that, despite the mislabelling, the trauma, their insanity and very nearly mine, somehow I’ve found a way.

I accept it now. It’s just a part of who I am. Like the brown eyes and curly hair, or being 4’8, my need to be nice to everyone, to always put myself down, or my irrational fear of spiders. It’s just another part of all the many things that go to make up me.

Except now, forced once again into filling out these forms, it’s not just one part, it’s an all consuming everything. Nothing secret, nothing sacred. Every minute detail of my life must be revealed, recorded, repeated, repeated, and repeated. And then some more, endlessly made to fit into these boxes. Humiliation at a level never quite complete. All that effort, all those things that go to make up me, a person, a life, they are not relevant here. So, really, I would give anything for things to be different.

I would give anything not to have to fill out this or any other benefit form, give anything not to have to tell you, a faceless, nameless stranger details of my life so intimate that day to day I try not to think of them myself. How from one day to the next I never know the level of disability that will greet me. Will I fall as soon as I try to get up, or will it be a little later? Will it be in public or private? If I dislocate both hip and SI joint all in one go will I lose control of my bladder, or worse my bowels? Will I have to rely on a complete stranger for assistance? If that stranger is a man, will he, like so many, take advantage of the situation to grope my tits or arse? Will he like so many think I don't realise? Worse still, will he think it doesn't matter because I'm 'just' a cripple? I never know. But now you do. In triplicate.

So really, I would give anything for things to be different. To be able to earn my own living, not to have to ask, not to have to beg. Not to be forced to tell you everything yet again.

Brown Envelopes

In a scene loaded with all the best dramatic irony the brown envelope landed on the doormat this morning.

Unlike the previous two letters from the DWP both advising me of 'urgent' changes to phone numbers, both of which caused me to dislocate my fingers trying to open them, I know is different because it is so bulky. It's an IB50 Incapacity for work form. I haven't had to fill out anything like this since the DWP sent me a letter several years ago telling me I no longer needed to send in sick notes from my GP.

I have until the week before Christmas to return it, although I of course won't find out the decision until weeks in to the New Year. I feel a bit sick, and very scared. I'm not even sure it's been sent to me correctly yet. Quite apart from being genuinely entitled to all the benefits I receive, I would give anything to be able to support myself financially by working and not to have to rely on this humiliating, degrading and terrifying system. It angers me to think of all the money this and every other government waste on so called 'welfare reforms' none of which provide any realistic opportunities to help disabled people into work.

Oh, and just in case you'd not already guessed, none of the questions on this form have altered. Those about whether you can walk more than 400m or climb a flight of stairs are still there, and there is certainly no mention of desks or mice, but then you didn't really think there would be, did you? This really is all about frightening genuine claimants into saying the wrong thing and cutting benefit rates that way.
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