About 30 seconds
Sent me out, then called me straight back in and the 'piss off' letter was waiting for me, ready typed up! Not remotely surprised, unfortunately - the doc seemed an unpleasant and arrogant wanker - who seemed far more concerned by the lack of spelling mistakes on the information I'd sent in, than in asking questions about my health!
He started off by laughing sarcastically, and saying
"All this information that you sent to us... how come there are no spelling mistakes, throughout the whole thing?"
“Pardon?”
“How come there are no spelling mistakes, in all this???”
"Er... Spellcheck??? We use word-processing software!"
"But there are none at all. Not one. In 10 pages of information - not one. How come?"
"Microsoft word. It has spellcheck"
"Yet you say your daughter typing it?"
(She's 16, and my hands and wrists are sometimes painful if I type a lot)
"Much of it. I stated right at the start that I had done some of it myself."
"And yet there are NO spelling mistakes...?"
"As I said – we used spellcheck!"
"None of my secretaries can even type a page or two without mistakes - yet this is PERFECT! How is that possible?"
“We used Word and spellcheck – and my housemate read it through, too”
“Hmmm... “ – and he points to the document and then looks towards the judge and rolls his eyes.
And your point is, arsehole??? By this point I was on the verge of loosing it!!!
Another of his stupid lines of questioning went like this:
"You look as if you are in pain”
“I am”
“Yet you say you take...” (consults his notes) “paracetamol and tramadol”
“I do”
“Have you taken any today?”
“Yes”
“What time?”
“1pm” (it was now 1515)
“So why are you in pain?”
“Because they don’t always work”
“Hmm... Yet you say you’ve taken them? TODAY???”
“Yes”
“Hmmm. How many times a day do you say you take paracetamol and tramadol?”
“3 times – and at night I have co-codamol”
“Isn’t that an awful lot of paracetamol?”
“No. It’s the recommended maximum of 4 doses a day!”
“How can it be, if you say you take 2 tablets, 3 or 4 times a day? That’s 6 or 8 tablets!”
“They are 500mg each. I have 3 lots of 2 paracetamol tablets, and one lot of cocodamol! You are supposed to take 2 each time – i.e. 1000mg. So it’s not too much!”
Is he stupid – or is he just trying to prove that I am NOT? Either way... why?
?
"So why ARE you on so many medications? There are an awful lot!" (starts counting...)
"Because I need them?"
"But why so MANY?"
"Because I need them?"
"But who is GIVING you all of this? And why?"
"My gp? Because I need them?"
“But that is a lot of medication! Why is she prescribing so many?”
“Because I need them?”
By that point I was sorely tempted to just say “Ok, ok – my dealer gets them for me!" - but thankfully I thought better of it just in time!
Then there was this...
“So where would you say your pain is? Is it in your muscles, joints or...”
I haven’t noticed that he said more than two areas, and say
“Both!”
“It can’t be BOTH!”
“Why can’t it?”
“ It can’t be BOTH... I asked 3 things, so it can’t be both!”
I asked him to repeat the question
“I said is the pain in your muscles, joints, or BONES!”
I wonder if I’ve misheard. Can bones hurt? Is this a trick question?
“Er... all of them???”
He smirks...
“ALL of them?”
I’m not sure what to say – if my doc and physio aren’t sure the exact source of my pain, how am I supposed to know? But I’m still troubled by his ‘bones’ option. And he seems to be laughing at me!
“Well – muscles and joints, I suppose... I’m not sure!”
He smiles triumphantly, and moves onto the next question.
And this...
“You say you suffer from dizziness. Why is that?”
“I don’t know”
“You don’t know?”
“Well my physio said it could be from my cervical spondylosis – or could be related to my inner ear and tinnitus”
“How do you know you have cervical spondylosis?”
“They x-rayed my neck and told me”
“When was this?
“A long time ago – perhaps 1995?”
“So why have you not had another x-ray – if you say it is getting worse?”
“I don’t know – they just haven’t done one”
“Why not?”
“I don’t know”
“Yet you claim it is getting worse?”
“Yes – I am often dizzy, when I stand up or turn my head. And it often hurts – and I often get pins-and-needles down my arms into my hands”
“Yet you say it has not been x-rayed since 1995? Why not?”
“I don’t know – I would like them to, because...”
But it seemed he had found out all he needed to know!
“You say your GP has put you on Betahistine for this ‘dizziness’?”
“Yes”
“Is it working?”
“I’m not sure – I’ve only been taking it for a few days, and...”
“Is it working – yes or no?”
“I’m not sure, I...”
“Surely you must know if it’s working or not?”
Then there was:
“You say you never take baths. Why not?”
“Because I it’s so hard to get out of it – I struggle to pull myself up out of it because my wrists and shoulders hurt so I have to...”
I am about to add something else, but he carries swiftly on.
“But you say you take showers instead. Do you have a separate shower, or is it over the bath”
“It’s over the bath, but...”
“So is it specially adapted?”
“No, but...”
“But you can manage to get in for a shower?”
“Yes, because the...”
I am about to say that having a shower doesn’t involve lying down in the bath... and that the washbasin is right next to the bath, and I can use that to lean on if need be, but he carries straight on with the next question.
“What is wrong with you liver?”
Again, everything is down in black and white in front of him, so it’s an unnecessary question...
“I have Non-alcoholic Fatty Liver Disease, and...”
“Do you drink?”
“Pardon?”
“How much alcohol do you drink?”
“I don’t”
“You DON’T? Did you used to have a problem with drink?”
“No! Well, I used to drink socially, but don’t drink at all now.”
“Hmmm. So why do you still have problems with your liver?”
I am near losing it at this point... how the fuck do I know, if my consultant doesn’t???
“Who is your consultant?”
Again, this is written on the notes he is reading!
“Mr London”
“MR London?
Do you mean Mr London, or DOCTOR London?”
“Oh, I meant Dr London... sorry!”
Another smirk. I later found out that the arsehole was a surgeon and ‘Mr’ himself, so was no doubt massively affronted that I could refer to a lesser mortal as ‘Mr’ instead of ‘Doctor’!
“And how did they discover you had problems with your liver?”
“Blood tests. And a CT scan. And an MRI scan. And a biopsy”
“They did a biopsy?”
“Yes”
Where is this going, now?
“I see you have attached some ‘information’...”
He says, with distaste.
“I suppose you got this from the internet, or something?
He sneers. But the ‘information’ is from two well-respected medical journals – and so surely how I got it is irrelevant?
“How long have you been suffering from depression?”
By this point I would have struggled to have given my name accurately! What about my fibromyalgia and ADHD? What about my overwhelming fatigue? My GP provided a letter saying I would struggle to hold down a job – and what about the letter from my psychiatrist, which said:
“... Heather suffers with attention deficit disorder, depression and fibromyalgia. The ADHD causes Heather problems with concentration, distractability, disorganisation, forgetfulness, impulsivity and irritability. These symptoms are currently only responding partly to treatment. Heather’s biggest problems are in relation to her fatigue secondary to the fibromyalgia and I am also concerned that Heather has a major depressive disorder at present with marked diurnal variation to her mood, tearfulness, loss of motivation and anhedonia. I have advised her quite strongly that she shouldn’t consider work until she has started to make some progress with her medication...”
My rising feeling of panic is brusquely interrupted by:
“How LONG have you suffered from depression?”
“Um – I’m not sure! A long while! Since – maybe 2007?”
“It says on here...”
I can’t remember what he says here. I reply
“Then yes, ok – I suppose it was... “ (whenever!)
The judges line of questioning I remember to be solely about 1-litre cartons of milk, and 200m walks - at which point he came up with:
“Where did you park?”
“Here”
“What do you mean, here?”
“In the car-park – here”
“Which car-park?”
“The one at the front of the building? By the entrance?”
“The COURT car-park???”
“Er.... yes!”
WTF???
“How did you get in THERE? Why did they let you in?”
“We pressed the buzzer at the barrier and said I was due in court at 3...”
The judge and doc exchange looks...
“Why did you do that?”
“Because when I had to come here last time the person who brought me dropped me off and then went to park in the multi-story – and then when they asked where we’d parked they said that if we had to come here again we should park in THIS car park!”
Again, they exchange a looks...
“You’ve had a previous tribunal?”
“Yes... a couple of years ago!”
“Did you win your appeal?”
“Yes”
At this point I’m dismissed – for all of 5 minutes. When I’m called back in, the Decision Notice is sitting on the desk waiting for me. ‘The appeal is refused’.
“But WHY? I say?”
“We are not going to enter into a discussion now!” the judge says...
“... and for your information, your last appeal was actually REFUSED!”
“But I was sent a letter saying that it had been allowed!”
“You can’t have been – it was refused.”
“But I have it at home! It says it was allowed!”
“It can’t possibly. And if it does, it must be a mistake by the DWP – not us!!!”
What the hell?
?
When I got home I managed to find the decision notice from last time – and there it was!
9/12/2010: Before DJ Britton, Dr JD Stanley: ‘The appeal is allowed’. Signed by Tribunal Judge: DJ Britton.
I haven’t the foggiest idea of what was (or is!) going on, but ‘a fair trial’? YOU decide! :/