Crap happens in life but it’s how you’re treated when the crap happens that makes a difference and helps you manage as best you can.
I’m not talking about chronic pain in this post but rather my treatment by the worker’s compensation system (system) as an injured worker. That’s the major, most frustrating, tragic event to have happened in my life.
I’m sick of the injured worker stigma dished out from the very system itself. It’s true that the fish stinks from the head and in the case of worker’s compensation, that saying is 100% applicable.
I had two appointments to get through on Tuesday at the Accident Compensation Conciliation Service (ACCS) in order for the Insurer’s questions to be answered about my work capacity (I realise how absurd it sounds to have physical and psychiatric assessments to work out capacity but I have no choice in the matter). I know the answers to the questions but that makes no difference to anyone in this dreaded system.
I didn’t need to be assessed, I have a great pain management team, my husband understands my health issue, my family and friends understand and I even have a magical employer who understands and has pulled out all stops to make up a position and whole business for me to be a part of!
None of that matters. None of that counts. The system knows better… apparently. Or at least the system thinks it does.
Who are the system?
It’s this kind of scenario, can you imagine a monstrous haunted house? Now imagine that inside it reside: WorkSafe, their Insurers, the ACCS, WorkCover Assist, many medical ‘professionals’, various other related ‘professionals’ and let’s not forget the lawyers, barristers etc.
As an injured worker, it feels like I’m in the dungeon of this house.
On Tuesday, Theo and I attended two appointments planned for me at the ACCS. Three physicians and two psychiatrists were assigned to assess me. In order for them to assess me, it is a requirement that these medical practitioners have not seen me and vice versa. I hadn’t. I checked. I checked thoroughly.
A few minutes before my physical assessment, the receptionist had news for me. One of the psychiatrists had ‘seen me’ before. I was mortified at the thought that I had made such a mistake. Injured workers can’t make mistakes – it’s unforgivable. I was mortified also at the thought of the consequences – the insurer might have to make me pay for it! The ACCS, their professionals and the insurer would be furious for the time I wasted.
But worse than this was the treatment that followed. I tried really hard not to take a photo when I was in the waiting area at the ACCS talking myself out of feeling like I was a criminal as I faced the toughened double glazed office enclosure the staff were sitting in. There’s a walk way too that’s behind glass that leads the professionals to the assessment rooms (yes, their path is different – an escape with a view) – I struggled to find a reason for this and didn’t succeed. I felt offended.