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This has not been an active blog for a long time, but it's a blog and I wish to vent, so hello.
Turns out *re*applying for PIP is actually arguably worse than applying the first time, because now you a) know exactly how bad it's likely to get, and b) have DWP-PTSD from the first round.
I had a phone assessment scheduled for this morning, my wife booked the morning off work to translate for me when my auditory/verbal processing inevitably pack up, we were ready and waiting by the phone as sternly instructed by no less than five text reminders from Capita, and...no. Nothing.
Forty fucking minutes after the scheduled time, they finally deigned to call (on the wrong number) to tell us that the assessor had had to go home, so no assessment for you. Next available appointment in three weeks.
I know *I'm* a useless eater and a burden on the state and as such my time has no value, but my wife is a real person with a job which does not provide unlimited time off. They know I can't do this without a support person and my wife is my carer.
And I did, in fact, have stuff to do today which is not getting done because the dysautonomia does not like adrenaline dumps with no outlet. I will mostly be spending today breathing through the tachycardia and trying not to vomit.
And look, I know these things do happen, and I wouldn't be quite so pissed if it weren't for the fact that if I'd had to ask to reschedule for some reason, they'd have denied my claim flat-out and made me start my reapplication from the beginning, meaning another God knows how many months with no income.
Dicks.
Turns out *re*applying for PIP is actually arguably worse than applying the first time, because now you a) know exactly how bad it's likely to get, and b) have DWP-PTSD from the first round.
I had a phone assessment scheduled for this morning, my wife booked the morning off work to translate for me when my auditory/verbal processing inevitably pack up, we were ready and waiting by the phone as sternly instructed by no less than five text reminders from Capita, and...no. Nothing.
Forty fucking minutes after the scheduled time, they finally deigned to call (on the wrong number) to tell us that the assessor had had to go home, so no assessment for you. Next available appointment in three weeks.
I know *I'm* a useless eater and a burden on the state and as such my time has no value, but my wife is a real person with a job which does not provide unlimited time off. They know I can't do this without a support person and my wife is my carer.
And I did, in fact, have stuff to do today which is not getting done because the dysautonomia does not like adrenaline dumps with no outlet. I will mostly be spending today breathing through the tachycardia and trying not to vomit.
And look, I know these things do happen, and I wouldn't be quite so pissed if it weren't for the fact that if I'd had to ask to reschedule for some reason, they'd have denied my claim flat-out and made me start my reapplication from the beginning, meaning another God knows how many months with no income.
Dicks.
