Hi Ho, Hi Ho...

...Its Off to Work We Go...

I have declared myself 'fit' and 'ready for work,' and today, the nice occupational health lady was very pleased to see the transformation from pale, washed-out, eyebrow-less, tired, gaunt, cancer person to bouncy, bright-eyed, fat, mohican-haired person - ready to join the workforce once more.

She has put me on a 'phased return' so that I will be working only mornings for the first couple of weeks followed by a mixture of full days/half days for the next 2 weeks, followed by my normal full days. Marvellous.

One of the advantages of going back to work will be to get rid of the need to claim employment and support allowance - something I have been very grateful to receive for the last couple of months.

It has been a very interesting experience dealing with this whole new world of being 'on the sick.'

On Monday, I was summoned for a medical examination by the Department of Work and Pensions to prove that I really, really had been ill all along, and that it wasn't just some amazing little scam that I had managed to pull off for the last 2 months. I had to take my passport along to prove it was me, and not some sickly wifey I'd found on the way.

My appointment was at 9am and I was there in good time. I managed to park right outside the door. The door was locked, so I took shelter from the lashing down rain in my car. Whilst I was waiting, several people turned up for their appointments too.

There was an enormously massive lady who struggled to walk up the ramp to the door. She kept leaning on the handrail for a rest, and I could even hear her wheezing. She must have set off on Friday, I thought, just to get here in time.
She was soon overtaken by a small, hunched man covered in tattoos, with a tatty old donkey jacket on. He limped past her, sucking the last remaining bit of his cigarette, and as he did so, his face looked like nothing but a skull - hollow and pallid.

The security man opened the door and everyone piled in, with me in tow. At the reception desk when it was my turn, the receptionist didn't even look up.

'Name.' she barked.

I gave her my name.

'Got any ID?'

I handed her my passport. I have long, curly, highlighted, wild hair on my passport. If she'd bothered to look up, she would have seen that all that had gone and there was a grey-haired mohican lady looking at her instead. I smiled and said, 'that was when I had some hair,' but she ignored me, handed me a piece of paper to sign, and said - 'just take a seat....next!'

I sat down in the waiting room which smelled of stale smoke from donkey-jacket man. He was wringing his hands, craving his next cigarette. He looked like he needed a good plate of mince and tetties followed by steamed pudding and custard. I could hear the big wheezing lady struggling to breathe behind me.

Finally, a young doctor appeared and called my name. She seemed nervous, drained.

'Nothing to be worried about,' she said kindly.

'So why do you look so worried?' I thought.

Seven minutes later, I was out.

'I'm going back to work next week,' I'd said, before she'd had a chance to open her mouth. 'I'm fine.'

'Oh good!' she'd exclaimed. It was strange. She seemed genuinely relieved. Positively ecstatic. Maybe they get a bonus when someone says 'Yeh ok, I'll go back to work.' Or maybe she just hadn't heard anyone say that for a while.

All in all, it was a pretty depressing place really - for all those souls who had to go there, and for the poor buggers who have to work there. 

As I left, my experience made me realise even more than ever that I am one of the lucky ones. I have a good job to go back to, I was in good health before, I'm back to good health now...and I fully intend to do everything I can to try and keep it that way.