Me and Centrelink - Job Capacity Assessments

This was the part where I thought the wheels would fall off.

I knew that the interviewer would be a 'health professional', but what sort of health professional? Psychologist? Social Worker? Physiotherapist? Would they have a clue about autism? Would they see a tall, healthy, walking, talking teenager and say 'Nothing wrong here'?

We got an Occupational Therapist. He had a clue.
I realised that he was deliberately addressing questions to Dreamer. As he should. He would wait an appropriate time for an answer, then, and only then, turn to look at me, indicating that it was now my turn to answer for Dreamer, or expand on Dreamer's answer.

He explained that his job was to translate the medical reports into Centrelink-speak, and to apply the legal 'disability tables' and decide where Dreamer fit.

There are 22 tables. Dreamer might be assessed on Psychiatric Impairment, or Neurological Function, or even Communication Function. I didn't really care, and I have no idea which table the nice OT picked.

At the end of the interview, he said that as far as he was concerned, based on the contents of the report he would send to Centrelink, Dreamer should have no problem with being granted a Pension.

Less than a week later, we received a letter with an application for a tax file number. That was heartening - Dreamer wouldn't need a tax file number unless he was receiving money. Checked the bank account, and there was the money.

A pension application is approved for two years. Phew. That gives us  breathing space. Dreamer can focus for the next two years on learning and training and working at his own pace. He can also buy his own movie tickets, and the occasional can of Coke, or CD, using his own money, just like his younger brother.

ASD is often referred to as a 'developmental delay', implying that given time, the 'development' will get there in the end.

I believe it will. I believe that Dreamer will grow to be a productive member of society. I'm just glad that he's not expected to achieve that by December, when he'll be squeezed out the end of the education system sausage factory after his allotted 12 years.

Centrelink and me - The Visit

I know that Centrelink offices are designed to be off-putting. It wouldn't do to make them welcoming, with helpful staff, and brisk service. That might attract more customers. The plan always works for me - I walk through the door and immediately have this overwhelming urge to turn tail and flee.

I queued. Dreamer stood beside me, hiding behind his fringe, and playing his DS. We queued for twenty minutes to tell the receptionist why we were there.

"Dreamer is here to lodge an application for a Disability Support Pension".

A second receptionist looked Dreamer up and down, and snorted "Youth Allowance more likely". As if Dreamer didn't look disabled enough.

I restrained the impulse to punch her in the nose, THEN turn tail and flee and never come back to Centrelink, ever, ever, again.

We sat, as requested, and waited for someone to call us.

Our document-lodging was much more pleasant. A nice young gentleman noted details of ID, checked the forms were completed correctly, and chatted. Towards the end (and this was the endless document, remember) he started flipping pages faster and faster.
I joked "Is it almost time for your lunch break?
"No, I only work 4 hours a day. I'm on a return-to-work plan. This place gives me anxiety attacks".

I didn't know whether to laugh or cry. I think working at Centrelink would give me anxiety attacks as well.
He picked up the phone and booked Step Four - The Job Capacity Assessment, for the following week.

We turned tail and fled.

Centrelink and me - Forms, Reports and more Forms.

The application forms (for the Disability Support Pension) that arrived in the mail almost sent me to clean the shower with a toothbrush. It was almost a ream of paper.

Baby steps, Lisa, baby steps.

Step One. Obtain a Treating Doctor Report.
But Dreamer hadn't been to a doctor in years. His paediatrician of about 8 years standing had disappeared. I had nothing.

Step One, part 2. Deal with the Department of Health, and obtain Dreamer's medical history. That should help at least.
Put in a 'Request for Medical History' request. More forms!
Receive letter stating that I could not access another person's medical history, and that Dreamer would have to request it.
Request the documents again, in writing, in triplicate, this time with Dreamer's signature on the forms.
Receive a 2 inch thick envelope of photocopies.
Success!!

Step One, part 3. Find a new treating doctor.
Phone, phone, phone, "I'm looking for a nice, aspie-friendly, teen friendly adult psychiatrist".
I didn't want a child psychiatrist, or a paediatrician, because in a couple of years, Dreamer would outgrow them. I really didn't want him to have to transition to another doctor, and I wanted a doctor who would be able to prescribe medication if needed in the future.
Found one!

By this stage it was October, and I was able to get an appointment for February. Specialist waiting lists are such fun...

On the bright side, I didn't have to deal with those pesky Centrelink forms for quite a while.

February rolled around, and the psychiatrist wanted to 'see' Dreamer for a few weeks, and read his previous medical histories before writing the Treating Doctor Report for Centrelink.

Two months, and one overworked credit card later, we had taken Step One.

Step Two - Completing the forms.
Steeling myself, I allocated an afternoon to completing the rest of the forms. The hardest part up to this stage was answering the questions honestly, quelling the urge to say "no, he's fine".

With each stroke of the pen, I had to force myself to focus on what Dreamer couldn't do. I felt I was writing him off.

I knew that Dreamer would have to read the forms, and know what was written.
How, after all these years of being positive, supporting Dreamer's abilities, could I do this to him?
Spin. Put a positive spin on it. Mummy Spin Doctor.

We talked. We discussed ability and disability. We spoke about how it wasn't wrong to accept help with disability, and how these forms were only about the dis-. Centrelink didn't want to know about the -ability part. Dreamer is well aware of his disabilities. He knows he can't do 'stuff' like other kids his age. It was hard, still to put it out in the open, on paper, in black and white, and hand it to a stranger in a Centrelink office.

I was proud of him (and myself) for going through with it.

Changing Seasons

Yes, it's that time of year again. The mornings are getting chillier, and the kids are driving me crazy.

Autumn and Spring are the transition seasons, and we all know how much sensory-kids and ASD kids love the T-word.

It seems like only yesterday that I finally convinced Dreamer that it was too hot to wear jeans and long-sleeve shirts, and I swear it was last week that he finally stopped resisting and started wearing shorts without complaint. Now all the pleadings have to start again, as I try to get him wearing long pants and jumpers again.

Speedy was sitting watching TV the other night, and asked if he could get the electric heater out. I looked over, and there he was on the sofa in his shorts and t-shirt summer pyjamas.

"No, we are not putting the heater on and wasting electricity. Go and put some warmer clothes on".
"Oh, so you care more about money than your son freezing" was the pathetic response, and he sat there and shivered for another ten minutes, complaining about his stingy mother.

Ha. I'm a bad mummy, and he lost the standoff. He eventually appeared back on the sofa wearing trackpants and a hoodie.

That was the easy one done.

Except that he's grown ridiculously since last winter, and his trackpants barely reach past his knees, and I'll have to buy new ones, and they won't be comfortable, and... oh, I'll deal with that next week.

Next, Dreamer. I'll probably have to have 'the argument' with him every time he gets dressed for the next month.

I might even have a bit of luck this year. He has his new Senior Jersey to wear for school, and it's nice and soft, which means I get to avoid the arguments we've had for the last four winters about the horrible, scratchy, polyester-knit school jumper. The old scratchy jumpers can be passed down to Speedy, and I am hoping that after a few years of being washed, they'll be a bit softer and attract less complaints.

The seasonal transitions are definitely easier now with older children.

Now that they're taller than me, I don't worry as much about them dying from hypothermia in winter and heatstroke in summer. They probably won't, and if they do it's their own silly fault.

I also don't worry about what other people think.

People will assume that 17- and 15-year-olds have chosen their own clothes. It's not like when you have to send a 5-year-old to school in winter in shorts and t-shirt and you just know that everyone is thinking "What a lousy mother, she doesn't even care if her kid freezes to death".

When they were younger, I played dirty tricks. I used to sneak into their bedrooms while they were at school, steal all the seasonally-inappropriate clothing from their cupboards, bag it up, and hide it. Twice a year.

Then I would endure the cries, whines, and tantrums when they couldn't find their favourite clothing item of the moment. And eventually, they would become so attached to their next favourite clothing item of the moment that I'd have to steal it when the weather changed a few months later.

Apart from that, I'm enjoying the crispness of the autumn mornings.

How to be Popular

To be popular, you have to first be good at something. Or just good looking, but I think that's cheating.

Being the best footy player in the school is always a good start, or being the girl with the coolest clothes.

You could always be the best academically. At least then you'll always be in demand helping the footy players with their assignments in return for protection from the rest of the footy team. Academic excellence is useful as a protection strategy, but doesn't exactly bring status credits.

If you're autistic, and a bit odd, you have a problem.

Luckily boys and girls, technology has gone mainstream. Gameboys brought it out of the closet, and into schoolyard cool.

Want to gather a posse of devoted followers? Just collect the most pokemon, and have the highest score on (insert latest greatest game craze here).

Get those obsessions working to your advantage, and it's a cinch to be best in school.

Hand out a few tips on how to beat that boss, and watch the adulation flow. The other kids will even overlook a few odd habits to get their hands on your DS.

Mums and Dads, don't think of it as wasting time obsessing over a stupid game, think of it as an investment in social credibility.

If you don't believe me, put your child into a social situation, and let them sit in a corner with a DS in their hands. Sit back and watch in wonder as kids drift up to see what they're playing. Marvel as other children ask questions, and get answers. Listen to them ooh, and aah over the leet skillz of your child.

Smile.

The Weirdo Gang

Dreamer collects strays.

Not dogs, not cats, (I will write about the dead possum another day), but humans. Being a gentle soul, Dreamer would offer friendship at school to anyone who seemed as out-of-place as he felt. He collected rocks, shiny things, and all the bully-bait.

He befriended the super-smart kid with the super-fast mouth that made the other kids feel inferior. He adopted the sensitive, gentle kid who was being bullied. He hung out with the kid with the second-hand clothes and uncoordinated gait, and the super-hyperactive ASD kid who drove Dreamer mad with his noise and movement but was welcome anyway. There were a few more who drifted in and out as their need or lack of friends dictated.

By the time year 7 rolled around, they were half-a-dozen strong, and they called themselves the Weirdo Gang. The larger used their strength, the smaller used their wit, and together they were untouchable.

When I asked Dreamer if he had any problems with bullies at school, he'd tell me "No, nobody bothers the Weirdo Gang." They had safety in numbers, and I loved those kids.

I did not choose a high school based on recommendations of the best Special Education Unit, but on where the Weirdo Gang were going. Even so, numbers were thinned to three for Year 8.  Motor-mouth drifted away to another group, then the gentle kid moved away from town.

By this time, though, Dreamer had found the Library Kids, and they had adopted him.

Do all schools have Library Kids? It seems to be a bit of a given - if you like books more than 'footy on the oval', and realise that libraries are open and staffed during lunch breaks, then you quickly discover that you can sit outside the library, and duck inside if bullies are lurking with intent. I know these things because I was a Library Kid too.

Gangs and cliques and school... workplaces... everywhere.

It's survival of the fittest and strength in numbers, but you can't beat a gang of weirdos.

A Breakthrough with my Pancakes

You know that feeling, where you are doing a happy dance inside, while desperately trying to keep a poker face?

Speedy was cooking pancakes yesterday, for my Mothers Day  breakfast. I was starving, it was 11am, and so I was 'helping' by clearing and washing abandoned cooking utensils, and suggesting changes to frypan temperatures.

Everyone else was elsewhere - it was just Speedy and me.

"Dreamer really does have problems, doesn't he?" came out of the blue, quietly, thoughtfully, with a sense of new-found belief.
"Yes. They're real. He's not just faking it".
"When we were at the movies yesterday, I was trying to organise eight people, and every time we wanted to leave somewhere - the game shop, Maccas -  it was always Dreamer who wasn't finished. He took forever to eat his burger and almost made us miss the movie."
"It's a real disability."
"Yeah."

We left it at that.

Speedy knows as well as anyone what Dreamer's problems are - he's lived with him for 15 years.

He resents that Dreamer isn't asked to do as much around the house as him. He resents that Dreamer always makes him late for school in the mornings by not being ready in time. He resents that he gets yelled at and threatened when Dreamer gets so frustrated he loses any higher language skills.

Just because Speedy can shower, dress, and peel vegetables for dinner in the time it takes Dreamer to find his towel... Just because Dreamer goes downstairs to put on his school shoes, and gets distracted before getting to the bottom of the stairs and is found at 8:30 reading a book, still shoeless...

It's not FAIR. It just IS.

Which is a difficult concept for a kid. Up until now, I could never quite convince Speedy that Dreamer's behaviours weren't deliberately designed for the sole purpose of annoying Speedy and getting out of his 'fair share' of work.

I hope it's a milestone. I hope Speedy can let go of some of that resentment.