The Kingdom of ATOS

Today I had my ATOS assessment. This is my story.

I arrived at the door and pressed the buzzer to gain ingress into the Kingdom of Atos. The stern reply asked me to identify myself only to be told my appointment was cancelled the day before. I am given permission to enter the strange and secret world within, hopefully to get an explanation at least.

Upstairs I find the receptionist has the wrong person's file. A cursory examination of the letter I'm visibly clutching would reveal the mistake. Instead the receptionist is in a bad mood; combative, moody and defensive. Apparently she spoke to me yesterday; I dare to correct her. She insists; again I retort; then an explanation: “I think you’ve got the wrong person.” Indeed.

Turns out she’s reading a file belonging to someone named similarly. Not quite sure why we have gotten off on this foot; she offers a rather pinch faced 'apology' of the kind that begins and ends, "I do apologise sir". In other words too formal. I say “no problem”, I’m a little short of breath; it’s warm and I’m rather tense. In fact I’m very tense. Fortunately there are only a couple of people in the waiting room, one of whom gets called in fairly quickly.

In order to gain entrance to the Kingdom of Atos one must bring three magic scrolls to prove one's identity to the great gods within. As luck would have it the supporting material I am carrying supplements the dog eared birth certificate that passes for the only formal paperwor I ownk. I’m not entirely sure what happens when the border agents of the Kingdom aren’t satisfied; presumably one's journey comes to a rather abrupt and inconclusive end. No thank you. I sign the form that heralds my arrival and am casually informed there is a MASSIVE FUCKING DELAY and that I will likely have to wait over an hour. The Kingdom is short staffed.

Now, look, this is patently ridiculous and it’s not helped by having to deal with stroppy receptionists. I’m getting very frustrated with this and I find it rather easy to tell her this as she incorrectly observes that I’m being rude. Apparently querying her mistakes and not accepting her apologies with regal and saintly grace isn’t enough. Delays are one thing: who has ever seen their GP on time? Certainly not me, but it’s a short walk to my doctors which is a much more suitable environment occupied by objective supportive NHS (for now) doctors, not ‘healthcare professionals’ and their mardy subordinates!Who's to say if I'd had to rebook my appointment I wouldn't again have a MASSIVE FUCKING DELAY?

As i take my seat the next patient arrives, an older woman with an eastern European accent and a visibly uncomfortable gait. Clearly she’s not well. She arrives ten minutes after me, and at this point there is only one person ahead of me, a lady with a leg problem I assume as she has her legs resting on another chair. I can’t really hear their conversation but it’s a similar thing (though less acerbic given that the older lady isn’t a troublemaker like me) – she has to choose to either wait forever or rebook. On top of this, the receptionist says that if you’re experiencing any kind of discomfort you’d have to rebook as they aren’t equipped to deal with people in pain, what with all the healthcare professionals around.

The waiting area is not really geared for this: it’s a small (rather warm) room with a water machine and some reasonably comfy chairs; no special support of any kind. This might seem picky, but I suspect making people potentially wait all day is not uncommon: are they equipped to deal with sick people having long to wait? Would they offer travel recompense to people unable to wait? I do know that that if you want your expenses paid you have to apply there and then and wait for at least a couple of weeks for them to send you a cheque. The Kingdom is cashless.

I forgot to mention: just prior to the subsequent patient’s arrival the stroppy receptionist calls me over to query something. Turns out, and for the first time IN MY ENTIRE LIFE, my signature is suspect: it appears the one I just provided does not match (according to her) the signature on my ESA50 form. Suddenly this receptionist betrays her past as Moneypenny; extraordinary! I am rather taken aback and relate the above point to her at which point she has another flounce “oh it doesn’t matter”. So what's the problem then? I give another signature; even though this signature doesn’t match the signature that didn't match...

So I’m looking at a long wait when the receptionist decides that actually I’m going to be seen in the next couple of minutes. Great, but… huh? Turns out the poor woman before me needs to be seen by a particularly specialised not-a-doctor who is assessing some other poor sod and that’s going to take a long time. For all I know, as I write this, she could be still there, waiting; the lonely ghost of ATOS.

Ok, that’s enough of the silly stuff, let’s get on to the assessment itself, and quickly. There isn’t really much to tell at this point. The whole experience is, to coin a phrase, a game of two halves: dealing with the receptionist is one thing, but the assessment is another matter entirely, conducted by someone with a more plesant demeanour. However, attitude isn't really what's important.

I take a somewhat fatalistic attitude toward all this; I don’t imagine I’m going to pass and I saw no point in engaging in subterfuge. It’s too much effort to concoct some bizarre story like I’m back at school trying to duck out of lessons through a convoluted story. This may well work against me, but given that people that are dying are being found fit for work I don’t think it would have made a jot of difference short of swallowing a dose of arsenic beforehand.

The assessment is a strange beast: it felt very casual. It’s not a medical process at all. These people are not doctors, no matter their previous and undisclosed lives. It’s all so…surreal and so…pointless; there's no diagnosis involved at all so they cannot know whether you legitimately have a problem. Instead it's based on conventional wisdom: so if you have the classic bad back you are going to struggle to convince someone you aren't swinging the lead because back pain is conventionally regarded as less severe.

It’s like having a conversation about your health with an acquaintance and listening to quackery or old wives tales. I told her about my hypoglycaemia and she said “ooh I’m the same”. It’s not a medical assessment; she is not a dietician, a doctor, an optician, nor a psychiatrist. Yet the assessment touches on all these things in so casual a way as to be meaningless. Behind her innocent façade could have beat the heart of a demon – and if it did, well too bad for me I guess! I presented my case, gave her a letter from the Positive Step people and left it at that.

I wonder if this is the picture readers were expecting: a tale of woe and struggle with the hated machine that is ATOS. In truth this whole WCA situation is too surreal to be taken seriously. I feel somewhat punch drunk; I’ve had to wait months for this appointment to come around. I’ve no idea whether I’ll have to wait months more for a decision. Even then that’s only the start of it all; I will have to decide whether to pursue a tribunal and get the GP to agree to more notes throughout, or deal with JSA again and the consequences that entails on the Work Programme.

ATOS is completely unsuited to this task. In fact any private IT company run for profit would be; what else can we expect? The real culprits beyond an organisation utterly unsuited to dealing with the sick and the disabled (never mind their anxiety) are the DWP. It is they that set the targets we all know exist, even if ATOS are wilfully compliant. It is they that make the final decision based on the same agenda: reduce the benefits bill.

Interestingly the assessor used the phrase “it’s the decision maker that decides what benefit you are suited to”. Of course that’s not quite true: they will not adjust your benefit, for example taking you off ESA and then putting you on JSA. They simply cut your ESA and leave you to either fend for yourself or go through the rigmarole of making a fresh JSA claim. Perhaps if they could simply change your benefit it might be easier – certainly it would save us and them a lot of hassle given the inevitably of the outcome of their decision making.

These assessments should be carried out be the NHS: by your GP or if he deems necessary by referral to specialists in such areas as mental health or bad backs or whatever it might be. That referral process could and should be supported and the assessments would be fair compassionate and objective, no matter how polite a healthcare professional might be. Why are we paying for this superfluous level of admin, overseen by people totally unsuited to the work at hand? It is a waste of everyone’s time and money and is clearly leading to devastating consequences particularly if you don’t happen to see a friendly and polite HCP. It is entirely likely that I had a less malevolent experience, compared to some, because they didn’t think my issues were remotely severe (which doesn’t bode well for me). It may well be that the more complex the conditions the more this process and their expertise crumbles.

We shouldn’t need this surreal process: sitting in an office and being medically examined in a non medical way using a non medical process by a non medical person, no matter how polite. This is the most bizarre set up imaginable; it’s like a cross between a GP’s waiting room, an airport flight lounge and the Black Lodge from Twin Peaks! GP’s shouldn’t have to write sick notes pretending they are fit notes and patients shouldn’t have to traipse across the county to appointments they shouldn’t need. All of this could be done by that thing we used to have in this country…the NHS. The doctors whose opinions once meant something before everyone got greedy. I want to be angry, but really I’m beyond that with this system. Maybe if I was in one of the more unfortunate and desperate cases that ATOS seems to unfailingly let down, like Linda Wooten. It’s almost farcical; a tragic comedy.