YesWheely

Recently I came across this blog: http://johnnyvoid.wordpress.com/

This post was originally a comment but I thought I'd expand on it a little and post it here with some pictures...

When I was out of hospital following heart failure (I was lucky not to die), I took a break from uni for what was supposed to be two years to fully recover and recuperate.

One of the first things to do was to attend an appointment at the confusingly named JobCentre. They had sent a letter to me following my social workers application she made for me to the even more ridiculously named Employment Support Allowance.

Naively I was expecting this to result in finding temp work in an office or something. The JobCentre is down the high street so I went there on my own, the weather was fine. It only took me about 20 min. I get to my appointment on time and I was greeted with: “Oh I see you’re in a wheelchair. I’ll just put you into the right category so you wont need to come here again.”

I was pretty wound up by that. I said “No, I want to work even if it’s just a job doing basic office work -I have experience working in an office…” She asked what other sorts of things I could do. I said: “anything as long as I can do it sitting down.” I gave her a list of my qualifications and told her about the units I’d done at uni. I’d been originally doing a bsc in computer animation but I’d switched to a ba in animation.

While at uni I’d been taking freelance work doing database web apps / websites / and hosting of websites. As well I ran my own registered company when I was 18 back when I was walking -it was a virtual pet software. I wound it down and it completely ended when I was 22 around the time I became a dribbling turbo mega spaz -the actual reason is because I wanted to do something else with my life.

I noticed how frustratingly slow she was typing with one finger obviously not adding in anything about the specialist software, video editing, or programming. I added “I can actually type properly and could do your job better than you.” Or some other such cheeky remark which, I felt, was justified by her being such a prejudicial douche-nozzle when the appointment began.

When she’d finally finished I left and took the elevator down stairs and saw all the dilapidated computers on these weird high-up tables which people stood at to find Jobs. I wondered why I had not been told to checkout some jobs and apply from a more accessible computer.

Several months later. I realised that the JobCentre was never going to write to me or ask me to attend a training thing like they were supposed to. I was getting pretty depressed by the situation. Being jobless and living in the middle of a densely populated council housing area in Portsmouth wasn't the only thing bringing me down.

The cuts to social care were just starting to really get ridiculous. My care package went from 40hrs per week to 5 and a 1/2 for a deteriorating, life shortening, genetic condition. Justify that IDS. So  then I had 45 mins with a carer everyday rather than what I used weekly about 3hrs a day and 8hrs on Tuesday so that I could get the shopping, get help with cleaning the flat, open and close the windows as and when needed, and all the other things that are actually impossible for me to do like making a bed.

So for a year I lived in deteriorating filth. My mum would come visit and clean every 3-4 months but I live 300+ miles away from her. I had to have showers given to me by Adult Care Workers who rush everything because they don’t have time. I'd be shivering in the bath seat because they didn't have time to wait for the heater to warm up. They'd make me a sandwich and stick it in the fridge. That was lunch. I’d microwave a ready meal for dinner. They'd prepare and put a hot drink on my table for breakfast, wash my dishes from the day before, make the bed, and then leave taking down the trash.  And repeat tomorrow.

I'd spend the rest of the day struggling with laundry, ordering food on-line, and doing other things that able people take for granted. I didn't have time/care to dust and I couldn't use a mop. My walls were white. My lights had no shades. There were no pictures on the walls. The windows were either open or shut all day and night. It was such a depressing existence. Not really a life.

Once I had the bathroom finally adapted so I could use it independently. I did and got by without carers since they are not supposed to do the things I needed them to anyway.

Eventually my mothers partners eldest son got me a job at the company he works for. I could do it from home even though the office is in Chester. Things got better. I'll mention my favourite psychologist and his hierarchy of needs. Because it's relevant and right.

My health stopped deteriorating so fast – it still does but it's more stable now. I'm married now. We only have one light bulb exposed and stuff around our home is prettier. The problem is not just something disabled people are faced with. It's something all unemployed people deal with.

The best thing was going into the JobCentre after eighteen months and saying I'm employed no thanks to you. I showed them my employment contract which they photo-copied for ceremonial reasons since my folder probably doesn't exist. I’d got off benefits after 18 months… Originally I thought I'd only be on them a few weeks. Welfare my arse.

They should simply sack the workforce at the JobCentre and fill all the vacancies with the unemployed. Let them taste their own medicine.