´óÏó´«Ã½

Hello there, Ouchies. I think I'm supposed to introduce myself in my first post on this guest blogging thing. However, since a fight to the death is currently being waged in my head between migraine and pain medication, and I'm still not sure which one's winning, I might need to keep it brief. Naomi. 29. Londoner. When it comes to disability, I'm limping along that fine line between visible and invisible. Still getting used to my latest impairment, a neuromuscular disorder which has quite recently led me to start learning about wheelchairs and related exciting things. I've been involved with disability rights since the dawn of time, but I still don't know how to enable certain people to adapt to my new status as a mainly-seated member of society. Answers on a postcard.

So, back to what my brain wants to write about today. Work. The government has recently been trying to get more disabled people to become economically useful members of society (because, of course, no other kind of 'useful' exists). This initiative has had exactly no effect on me, until now. Still, I'm pleased to say that my newfound employment has nothing to do with the jobcentre, or any other government service. I've been without gainful employment since about November. I've become very comfortable with mornings of daytime television and afternoons of extended naps, from which I wake just in time for dinner, and then back to bed for the night. Indeed, if it weren't for the fact that my PA arrives at 8am, I'd truly never get up at all. Thus, it came as something of a shock when I found myself applying for jobs. I'd been given the impression, from the one laughable 'work-focused interview' I recently had with my local jobcentre's 'disability advisor', that even just filling in application forms would now be so difficult for me that I would need many types of advice to help me deal with this. (Apparently, when you go onto incapacity benefit, you also become incapable of doing anything without massive amounts of support that mostly just makes you never want to leave the house again.) While signing up for some of this advice, it occurred to me that I still had five years of teaching experience and a brain that sort of works, despite a couple of neurological problems. I applied for a few things myself, just to see what happened. Also, because even on large doses of painkillers there's only so many hundreds of times you can watch 'Cash in the Attic' before it ceases to be entertaining.

The next thing I know, I'm being asked to come to a job interview. Huh? I wasn't expecting this, to the point that I completely missed said interview due to not checking my e-mail. Fortunately they were keen to get me in (ah, the joy of workplace disability equality schemes) so they rescheduled. At this point I encountered the day's first barrier to employment: I realised I had no way of getting to the place (in the ten months since I was last working, I've lost the ability to use the London Underground. I don't miss it). In the end, The Girl - my long-suffering partner - took the day off work to drive me. Problem temporarily solved.

Then there was the interview itself. The place was terrifyingly wheelchair-accessible. The interviewers sat down with me beforehand to ask what reasonable adjustments I needed for the afternoon. I was bemused. Equality of opportunity? In the education sector? Odd. But then it all starts to go a bit random, as we encounter barrier to employment number two: the pre-interview testing. I knew it was going to be interesting as soon as they started talking about a numeracy test and I realised I'd forgotten to tell them I'm dyspraxic. You want me to turn fractions into percentages? Why not just ask me to achieve nuclear fusion or run a marathon? There was the classic moment where they offered me more time on this horrific test, to compensate, and I would have run away screaming except that my wheelchair only does 3mph which doesn't make for a quick getaway. Then there was the case study I had to respond to in writing - would it be OK for me to hand-write this? Of course, I naively answered, thinking it would involve a couple of minutes of note-taking. It turned out to be an essay question that took half an hour. My right hand is still refusing to forgive me. And after all that, I was so tired that I didn't much care how the interview went. I think I said a few nice things about equal opportunities in the classroom.

So, I experienced some surprise when they rang today to offer me the job. It's only now occurred to me that I actually have to go to work, in my entirely unsuitable wheelchair, crossing London without access to decent transport, for 18 hours a week, every week. And interact with colleagues. And teach students. And pretend I can remember what I'm doing. And stay awake all day. This could be interesting.

• Visit