Category Archives: Deaf

Yes indeedy

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The medical was indeed cancelled. An attentive reader has noticed what ATOS didn’t – that the medical was pointless, timewasting and unnecessary. The DWP certainly thought so, and said they were going to send a note to ATOS to that effect. Me being the paranoid soul that I am, or rather the cynical personality that I have had to adopt in the face of years of bureaucratic wrangling – I once had an argument with the DWP that lasted for a year, going through several appeals, before ending up at tribunal. I won. But I digress.

Being the paranoid / cynical / jaded / battle-scarred soul that I am, I rang the ATOS assessment centre in the morning on wednesday just to make sure we were all on the same page.

We weren’t.

They said the medical was still going ahead. I asked if they’d received anything from the DWP. They said no. I said the DWP had said it was cancelled. They said that if I couldn’t attend, then I would have to fill out an ‘unable to attend’ form and cite the DWP. I got a little bit upset, said that it wasn’t a matter of me being unable to attend, it was the DWP telling me one thing, and why should I fill out a form making it sound like it’s my fault I can’t come and if the DWP deny everything, where would that leave me? It was an outburst that was a long time in coming in dealing ATOS.

They said they didn’t know, they were alone in the office, and they didn’t have the time to explain it to me via text relay, and hung up.

Leaving me stewing and with little option but to go to the medical, if only to cover my back. Luckily though, when I got there, the interpreter turned out to fully qualified, from an agency that I knew of, knew several people that I know, and produced their accreditation without a word of protest. They were if anything, sympathetic.

At the end of it, I picked up a comments / feedback / complaints form. I said that my complaint was going to go for several pages (using this blog as an aid to memory) and asked if they had any more. The woman on reception looked slightly uncertain, but helpfully provided me with a freepost envelope so that I could write as many pages as I like and send them, along with thr form to ATOS. Heaven forbid that it should get ‘lost in the post’ so I’ll be sending it by recorded delivery.

And the final kicker of the day was… The interpreter feedback form. The interpreter started to give it to me, as it had a section clearly marked “to be completed by service user” but the reception woman stopped them, saying they (ATOS) were going to fill it out. The interpreter – quite rightly – pointed out that they, ATOS, the reception woman, the assessor, don’t understand sign language. The woman chuckled, as if it was somehow amusing, but didn’t really have a reply.

Get that. The interpreter has a feedback form, and who’s going to fill it out? ATOS.

So that is how I came to be at a medical that I was told was cancelled. No doubt I’ll get the cancellation letter sometime next week, and the ‘medical’ decision the week after that.

The irony.

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As I was forced to go through an ATOS medical last wednesday 11th, thousands of people were marching through London in protest at ATOS bullshit. As part of the Hardest Hit campaign, they marched to Parliament, and many went on to meet their MPs, and had imaginative posters with “ATOS don’t give a toss” and one with braille; “We’re being ……….. by the government!”. Apparently the braille word meant ‘screwed’…

But brilliant that people are rising up against ATOS, hopefully we can draw attention to how hopeless they are, and how completely inappropriate it is to give a company contracts to review benefits and then offer them bonuses for how many people they kick off said benefits. Biased much, anyone?

Their decisions in some cases have been outrageous, and their treatment of those who have mental disorders frankly shocking. How in heck is someone sitting at a computer clicking a mouse for half an hour supposed to assess someone’s mental health, especially if they’re not specifically trained to do so? Don’t we have psychologists for that sort of thing?

As for questions I was asked in the medical – almost word for word the form I filled in… oooh, must be 9 months ago now. That’s right, 9 months from initial claim to medical. And two months after last claim to medical. *Blows raspberry*

And the physical test at the end? Can I stand up? Can I raise my foot? Can I bend my knee? Can I stand on one leg and touch my nose whilst at the same time reciting the alphabet backwards? Well, maybe not that last one, but you get the idea.

I don’t think I have a future as a performing seal, but hopefully I have a future as Students With Disabilities officer at Cardiff University. That’s right, I’ve put my name down, no backing out now. Design meeting for posters this week, and gotta come up with a manifesto by Monday. Watch this space!

ATOS – Helpful or Timewasters? You decide.

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Sooo… the saga of ATOS and my medical continues. Having called them last week to ask if I could tape my medical, and being promised that I would be sent a letter and they would text me back, and neither happening, I called them again this morning. I got through to the Bristol centre on the first try, a little unexpected but not unwelcome. I politely said that I had called about taping the medical and I was just wondering what was happening?

They made it clear in no uncertain terms that I cannot tape the medical. They actually said, I swear, “let me just get the guidelines…” and then quoted them at me. For five minutes. If I want to tape my medical, I must have a professional sound engineer, a double tape deck capable of making simultaneous recordings and copies, the tape deck must be professionally calibrated before recording begins, I have to get the written consent of the healthcare professional conducting the medical beforehand and I must be able to hand a sealed copy of the finished tape to the healthcare professional at the end of the medical. They then said that the costs for all of this must be met by the claimant.

Excuse me? How is any benefit claimant supposed to arrange and afford all that?

I said, as politely and inoffensively as I could, that that seemed a little unreasonable. They said that the guidelines must be abided by and if I wanted, they could cancel my medical and have it rescheduled so I could have a witness with me, but that the file would be sent back to the DWP with a note explaining why.

In other words, they threatened to send me back with a note pinned to my chest saying that I’m a troublemaker. That’s nice.

I said I didn’t want to cancel my appointment, I only wanted to tape it, for my own use. They said they couldn’t comment as they were DWP guidelines and referred me to their manager, giving me another number to call. Realising I had reached an impasse with the assistant, I agreed to call the manager.

I called the manager and briefly explained why I was calling. They said they didn’t know anything about my case, that they were off-site and so didn’t have access to their computer and so couldn’t access info on my case, but that there was a number on my ATOS appointment letter and I could call that.

I explained that I had already called it, and they had referred me to the Bristol office, who had referred me to her. I said I just wanted to ask about taping the medical and why the guidelines were so harsh. They reiterated what the assistant had said, saying that they were DWP guidelines, and I would have to call them. They did say though, that after the assessment I can request a copy of the medical report, and again I would have to call the DWP office in St Austell, and she had found the number in her diary and helpfully gave it to me. Hm.

So I called the DWP. It turned out to be a general helpline number with a recorded message and options rather than an office, but I persevered and waited until the phone was obligingly picked up. After the usual security questions – I failed the mobile number question because it appears that despite several forms having been filled out since I changed it, they haven’t updated their records. Surprise. – and jumping through some hoops, we began a sensible conversation. Well, as sensible as it gets where the DWP is concerned. They asked me to confirm which benefits I claim. I confirmed that I get DLA but that I had stopped ESA two months ago. They asked whether the medical was for ESA or DLA. I said the letter said it was for ESA. They said that as I was no longer claiming ESA, the medical was no longer appropriate as it is a work capability assessment and since I am currently self-employed, the point is moot, and said that they would send a note to the benefit centre to have it cancelled.

This was done so casually that it took me by surprise. I had called to ask about the taping guidelines, now I was being told I didn’t have to go at all. I was so disbelieving that I asked several times if they were sure and if the medical wasn’t to check my six month ESA claim had been genuine or backdated or catching up with claims or something like that. They repeatedly and patiently said the same thing over and over – I am no longer claiming ESA, therefore there is no need for a medical. In the end I took that for an answer, but I’m still going to call the Bristol ATOS centre on Wednesday morning just to double check because heck knows if they’ll get that note or even take any notice of it.

There you have it. Several phone calls to ATOS, and I mentioned in at least two of those phone calls that my claim for ESA had ended. They didn’t bring me up on it or question it, and just assumed the medical was going ahead come rain or shine. One phone call to DWP and apparently, the whole thing’s off because it’s pointless. I could have told ATOS that.

I was so taken by surprise by this turn of events that I almost forgot my original reason for calling – to question the harshness of the guidelines on taping medicals. They said they had no idea as this was a general ESA helpline (!) but that the policies and guidelines were available online at direct.gov.uk. I decided not to push my luck, thanked them for their help, and signed off.

Does this mean I’m finally about to be left alone by the powers that be? I can only hope. For now, I leave it to you to judge: ATOS – helpful or timewasters?

Fun and games with ATOS

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A few days ago, I got two very strange letters from ATOS. One was informing me that my appointment on 11th May had been cancelled due to unforeseen circumstances, and the other said that my appointment on 7th May (huh?) was also cancelled. The one about the 11th was odd enough, but the 7th? What appointment on the 7th? And according to the letter, that one had been due to be held in Gloucester. Gloucester? Are you kidding me? It’s 30 miles away!

Puzzled, I got on the phone to ATOS yesterday. They denied all knowledge of the 7th, and said the appointment on the 11th was going ahead, and that a BSL interpreter has been booked. No explanation for the letters. I asked what the 7th had been all about and the advisor suggested it might have been linked to DLA. I asked why DLA would suddenly arrange appointment. They said they didn’t know, all they could see on their system was my old ESA claim – which stopped nearly two months ago – and that I would have to call DLA as it was two different departments. They said that ATOS handle all benefits, but I would have to contact the DLA department. I asked, reasonably I thought, that if ATOS handle all benefits, why DLA wasn’t showing up on their system as it’s all the same company. They replied that they were two completely seperate benefits (Are they? REALLY?) and that I would have to call the DLA department and – surprise, surprise – they didn’t have the number. I said I’d find it and hung up.

There you have it. As part of the radical overhaul of the benefits system, instead of government departments that don’t share information, you get two corporate departments – of the same company – who don’t share information. Fantastic.

But it didn’t end there. I couldn’t find a number specific to DLA for ATOS, either in the letters or online, so I called the general helpline again today. Again, they denied all knowledge of the 7th, and having been reassured that I wouldn’t be accused of deliberately missing the appointment if it turned out to be for real, I let the matter rest. Then I brought up my other reason for calling. I am nervous of the medical, and I have read few, if any, good things about them. I have no idea of who the BSL interpreter will be, and thus no idea of the qualifications they will have. I asked if I could tape the medical and have it transcribed so that I could be sure of what the interpreter was saying for me.

They said that I could tape the medical, but that I needed to call the centre directly and let them know, and helpfully gave me the number, and even more helpfully, it turned out to be the correct number.

I got through on the fourth attempt, having been cut off twice. After the usual security preamble, I explained my reason for calling; that I was concerned about my interpreter accurately translating everything I signed, and that I would like to tape the medical and have it transcribed.

They asked me to hold the line while they ‘got advice’.

After a minute or so, they came back and said that all they could say was that a “signer” had been booked, and that they were a “professional signer” and that that was all they could say. Ignoring the slur on interpreters and choosing not to correct the ‘signer’ term – cowboy terp anyone? – I asked “but does that mean I can record the interpreter?”

They said they had no provisions for recording medicals.

I said my Dad has a couple of old tape decks (he does) and I could bring them.

They asked me to hold the line.

When they came back, they asked if they could have a number to call me back. I said that I was calling from a minicom and I wouldn’t be around all day and my mobile is strictly text messages only. They said they completely understood and promised to text me back.

I’m still waiting.

Adventures in Audiology

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A friend of mine was due to attend an audiology appointment. On arriving, she discovered that she had been branded a ‘troublemaker’ for making some comments on her last visit, and for asking the audiologist questions about how much they knew about the deaf community. As predicted, she had a great time arguing with the nurses over the audiology department’s access for deaf people. As amusing as reading her facebook updates were, it put me in mind of some of my own previous adventures…

I arrive at audiology reception. the receptionist barely looks at me, and addresses the computer. Eventually, I remind her that I’m deaf and I have to lipread. She looks at me blankly as if seeing me for the first time and asks me to take a seat.

A young, fresh-out-of-the-stables audiologist has to take a mould of my ear for a new earmould. The process basically involves putting a small sponge on a thread in my ear, right next to the eardrum, and filling my ear with putty. The polite thing to do with the sponge is push it gently down the ear canal with the little ear torch thing, in one smooth flowing movement, stopping when it meets slight resistance – the eardrum. The thread is then arranged just so and the putty stuffed in. What does this one do? She jabs the sponge in, millimetre by millimetre like a little woodpecker – jabjabjabjab and just as I’m about to mention that I think she’s getting near the end and could she take it easy, she suddenly, apparently thinking she’s clearly not doing this fast enough, does a slightly bigger jab – and hits the eardrum. Owwwwwww! For the love of…

And last, but certainly not least, I’m at the audiology drop-in to have a problem with my hearing-aid sorted out. I’m sitting telling the nurse how the hearing-aid is misbehaving, and I’m not sure if it’s me or the hearing-aid. She says ‘All right then, let’s have a look’ and just like that, reaches out and tries to grab my hearing-aid off my ear.

I jerk back in surprise, but too late, she’s already got a grip on it, and ends up pulling the hearing-aid and tubing off, leaving her holding a whistling, protesting hearing-aid and me with the earmould still in my ear. I looked at her in shock for a moment, and she actually seemed surprised at my reaction. I calmly explained that usually, people let me take own hearing-aids off and “seriously, it’s like taking someone’s glasses off”. I’m not sure she really understood the severity of what she’d just done, but accepted that I hadn’t liked it, for whatever reason. The reason is this – those hearing-aids are mine. They’re as much a part of my personal space as my glasses. If you want to look at the damn things, ask me first, and I’ll take them off. Simple as. DON’T GRAB THEM!

This is just a small sample of my experiences with audiology departments, and frankly I think I’m going to have to stop here ’cause I’m getting flashbacks.

Do they not train these people?

A world without phones…

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An impossible dream perhaps, but who said dreams had to be achievable? I’ll tell you my impossible dream – a world in which phones are NOT the only method of communication.

In this world, box offices have email addresses that actually reply within say, five days. Ditto support services, government departments, businesses and individuals – everyone, in fact, should offer a viable alternative to the ever-present telephone number. Be it email, text, fax, skywriting co-ordinates, I don’t care.

I had thought that with the advent of emails, broadband, and messenger, the hearing might begin to relinquish their dependence on the landline. Apparently not. Odd really, when you consider that 9 million people in the UK have some form of deafness or hearing loss, that this situation has been put up with for so long.

All these businesses / companies / theatres / depts are missing a trick – sort it out, people! In the meantime, I shall continue to dream. And in case dreaming doesn’t work, I shall continue to send peevish, cajoling and in some cases just plain complaining emails to those I see as the worst offenders. Sometimes the world needs a little encouragement to change.

Now if only they’d reply to their emails…

Ahead of the game – for once!

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Last weekend, I popped up to Preston to attend the leaving do of a former lecturer, and it was great to catch up with faces I haven’t seen in years. Preston seems like it’s hardly changed at all, and I daresay I could still find most of my student haunts (read: pubs and nightclubs) without too much difficulty. Eventually though, it had to end, and I found myself on a train back to Bristol.

Let me give a little background detail here; whilst I regularly use trains to get about, they’re far from perfect. Announcements over the tannoy are incomprehensible, and leave me reliant on random members of the public. Ticket inspectors may or may not be deaf aware, and methods used to attract my attention have included tapping my newspaper, clicking fingers and waving a hand in front of my face. As my legs get less reliable, so I’m finding train stations less and less accessible, with lifts often to be found half a mile down the platform. And so it is, that I reserve a special place in my heart for Birmingham New Street.

Ahem. So I’m going home to Bristol, a journey that requires me to change trains at Birmingham New Street, a prospect I didn’t relish. But then – a problem. We sat, unmoving, outside B’ham for 30 minutes before an announcement was made that (according to the man two seats away) there was a fire on the tracks and we would be delayed. Would we really? 10 minutes later, a further announcement that (according to the nice young man opposite me) we would be going back to Wolverhampton for alternative transport. Not great news, but at least I was keeping up, and the other passengers were equally as lost. At Wolverhampton, we were all herded onto a different train and sent back to B’ham. So far , so good.

At B’ham, I got off the train and immediately homed in on the nearest departure screen – thank you B’ham upgraders who put departure boards on EVERY PLATFORM, bless you – which indicated that the next train to Bristol was leaving from the platform I’d just disembarked onto in ten minutes. However, the train I had come in on, which was itself horribly delayed, showed no signs of leaving. So I patiently waited for the screen to change, which it did, sending me to platform 4. However, it appears that an audio announcement wasn’t made at the same time, meaning that as I turned on my heel to march to the correct platform immediately, the hearing were still a little behind me. In fact, I was able to get on the train, pick a seat and settle myself before a small horde of hearing people swamped the train.

Speaking as the one who is usually left behind as an entire platform walks away, the one who has to try and find someone easy to lipread to find out what is going on, or throw myself on the mercy of station staff, as the one who is usually last to receive any useful information, it was wonderful – just this once – to be ahead of the game.

NHS Appointnent lines – Patient choice?

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I have been referred to a consultant based at a hospital in Bristol. Cue the merry-go-round. I received a letter informing me that I should call a number to arrange a ‘mutually convenient time’ for the appointment, but that if I failed to call, I would be taken off the list. So I called. And called. And called. Every time I got a message saying that I should leave my name, number and patient ID and they would call me back. I’m deaf. I’m using text term on my computer just to place this call. I’ve no idea how to receive calls on this thing, or even if it can. Just pick up the phone, damn you. In the end, it took five days and several calls at various times of the day before I finally reached a real person. We arranged a time. Friday 10th September. Fine.

A few days later, I receive a letter saying that they have had to change the appointment time, and it is now on Thursday 9th Sept. What was the point of all that, then?

I HATE THE NHS APPOINTMENTS SYSTEM. Just send me a letter and I’ll let you know if it’s not convenient. What was wrong with that system? Why make it so complicated and un-deaf-friendly? If this was done in the name of patient convenience then I’m sorry to say…

You’ve failed.

Liz Carr, London Pride and Signing Ticket Inspectors

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Oof – an interesting couple of days has seen me attend a BSL interpreted performance of Liz Carr’s “It Hasn’t Happened Yet” at the Tobacco Factory, watch a play by Deafinitely Theatre, check out the main stage at London Pride in Trafalgar Square and be pleasantly surprised by a deaf-aware ticket inspector.

On Friday night, I got myself down to the Tobacco Factory, expecting that there would be a decent audience for a comedienne of reasonable fame; indeed Wikipedia describes her as “a British actor, stand-up comedian, television presenter and international disability rights activist”. I was surprised at the low turnout, but those of us who were in the audience enjoyed the show, and it was lovely to have another BSL-accessible performance so soon after Caroline Parker’s / Graeae’s “Signs of a Diva”, held in the same venue a few months ago. I see a bright future for the Tobacco Factory. Whilst it’s true that some of the humour was ‘lost in translation’ – plays on words for example – the show was signed with verve and good timing by the interpreter, who was at one point incorporated into the routine himself. I could identify with having an inner ‘evil’ voice making sarcastic comments and inappropriate outbursts whilst dealing with life, and some comments regarding the mechanics of disabled sex added some spice to the evening. It was just a pity the lighting technician kept dimming the light on the interpreter, making it at times hard to follow, but this is something can easily be improved, and my hope is that as the Tobacco Factory puts on more BSL accessible shows, they’ll get better at it.

Saturday saw me travel to London for a day out at the theatre and London Pride. Deafinitely Theatre’s new children’s play, “The Boy and the Statue” was visual, funny and enjoyable, and I enjoyed chatting to the actors after the show – I’ve known one of them since Uni and haven’t seen him in ages, it was very cool to see him performing in his first full-length play.

London Pride was amazing! Beautiful weather, loads of people, roads clear of traffic – but not of rubbish, despite the best efforts of roaming roadsweepers – lots of colour and a great atmosphere made for a great Pride event, and even better – they had BSL interpreters on the main stage with the performers! They even had their own little corner on the big screen, they’d even set up a little blue screen on stage that the interpreters could stand in front of, so they showed up better. Brilliant. I don’t know who was in charge of organising the interpreters, but kudos to them – and to the interpreters of course, who were signing everything from dance to rap to bitchy drag acts. Wonderful. More, please. Pride events, take note.

All in all, a pretty good day, but it was topped off by an unexpected delight – a ticket inspector on the train who waved a hand to get my attention, signed ‘hello’ and then signed ‘thank you’ after I produced my ticket. Wow! I can honestly say I think this is the first time this has ever happened in all my years of travelling via train, and I can only hope this is the start of a trend. Train companies take heed – start teaching your staff to sign and they might just make a deaf person’s day.

Signs of a Diva

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What a brilliant show.

Signs of a Diva came to the Tobacco Factory, and Caro Parker played the lead – and only – role wonderfully, belting out classic power ballads one minute and taking us on her character’s journey to stardom and heartbreak the next. The captions were perfectly positioned above and centre of the stage, but they didn’t get in the way of the songs or the performance. They were clear, the timing was inch-perfect as the captions kept up with the monologue / lyrics, and the play itself was performed in both speech and sign language.

I’ve honestly never seen a more accessible piece of theatre – and as a bonus it was hugely enjoyable as well. Several songs have now been added to my iTunes list thanks to this show, though that can never compare with seeing them performed live by a talented and passionate performer. Long live Signs of a Diva!