Why Are We Waiting? Carry On Up The ATOS Assessment Centre

I know how uncomfortable and step-ridden one of the ATOS Work Capability Assessment Centres in Northern England is. It's the one I had my last assessment at in late 2008 at which I was passed as unfit for work. There is a ramp, somewhere, allegedly, but you have to have eaten a Sat Nav to locate it, if memory serves. Which with brain fog, it most probably doesn't!

I heard today about another friend who had her WCA there this week. She was accompanied by her husband. She has had serious health problems for some time. After having to be off work frequently through no fault of her own (she has nurse training among other skills and was doing a job interviewing patients) there was some difficulty with her colleagues making her life hell because they were having to pick up extra duties in her absence. She's conscientious, hardworking and very caring. Nobody felt worse than she did about being in this position. As her condition deteriorated again, her doctors told her she would never work again and she was forced to leave her job permanently.

When she got to this ATOS Centre in the city, she found herself in the waiting area with another man. The man was obviously in some considerable discomfort because of the low chairs with no arms. The wait dragged on. And on. Apparently four of the ATOS Health Care Professionals on duty that day were off sick. Ironic but true.

Luckily, my friend had taken the necessary medicines with her to last through the lengthy wait. The other man, who was with his wife, was having to move around in his chair and stand from time to time as well as he was able, to relieve his pain. He explained to my friend that he was afraid his back and legs would go into spasm if he remained in the uncomfortable chair. I remember when I was there, if I could have got down and laid on the floor rather than balance, draining every last ounce of spoonie energy, I ached to do so. My friend could clearly see what agony he was in, as a nurse is trained to. Perhaps ATOS had hidden cameras to prove my friend "fit for work" because she could "diagnose" someone else's pain?

The man's wife asked the girl on reception how long the wait might be. She was curtly told that couldn't be divulged. The wife was almost in tears at the cavalier treatment of her husband. My friend, unable to ignore this (as a compassionate human being?) also asked the receptionist if maybe a cushion was available to relieve the man's predicament and perhaps elevate the seat a little? No surprise that this was also stonily refused. When my friend began to reason with the receptionist, asking: "Are you a nurse? Because I am, and I'm sorry but I can see he's in distress," the receptionist merely glared.

"No, I'm not," she snapped. There was a further lengthy wait till a small cushion eventually materialised.

We can be in no doubt now that we are, as Lord Freud so tellingly put it in the House of Lords Welfare Reform Debate, "stock" to the Government and their cohorts, not real citizens with skills, integrity or a history of  hardworking contribution to the world outside their windows.

My friend asked how many other "customers" (not her word!) were already in with the HCPs, to give the man an idea how long he would have to go on waiting. She was told it simply wasn't possible to say. (Nobody ring the fire alarm, then!) My friend politely but firmly persisted. She said she could understand the need for confidentiality, but could the girl just tell her if she was next in? This was grudgingly granted. She was indeed next in the queue.

"Then can this gentleman go in front of me? He's in agony!" said my friend, feeling this was the least she could do to help.

This was sanctioned. Not with particularly good grace or any modicum of proactive help on the part of the ATOS staff.

When my friend finally got into the office for her turn, after another long wait, the HCP at the computer terminal was a nurse. The nurse looked goggle eyed when my friend began to explain the name of her condition. She knew none of the symptoms and effects but tapped incredulously away at the screen. She didn't know the medicines prescribed or their side effects. Luckily my friend had all this at her fingertips, though she expressed a little surprise that the great detail about her disease she had taken the trouble to describe on the ESA50 form, seemed not to have filtered through to the HCP.

The HCP said dismissively: "I don't even know what you're talking about," as she had to have the name of my friend's condition spelled for her to type in.

"But I put all this down in detail on the form..." my friend began.

"Oh, WE don't get that." sneered the HCP impatiently. As if!

After hearing all about the illness, the ATOS woman concluded the appointment with: "I can't help with this, you'll need to come back again and see a doctor."

So my friend has to undergo a similar ordeal again in a couple of weeks, this time with a doctor ATOS HCP. Instead of this nurse ATOS HCP. If they'd actually bothered to read the form, and it wasn't just floating round in the ether for postal staff and/or Job Centre Plus non-HCPs to disregard, maybe this double ordeal could have been avoided.

But that's not the object of the exercise, is it? That would smack of respect and businesslike good sense, even compassion. And that, by all accounts, is disturbingly thin on the ground.

Meanwhile my friend is still more upset about how that other poor chap was treated, rather than herself. That's the nature of many "scroungers," "cheats" and "scum", you see. Genuine long-term illness changes us overnight from pillars of society to something the Government, media and increasingly society at large, believe they've just wiped off the sole of their shoes. I don't know how we ended up lying in the gutter, but nobody can stop us still caring, or looking at the stars.