PhD blog: 22

An eye on the finances

Ah, the unfunded PhD. There’s nothing like it to bring that heady mix of stress-related hairline retreat and fluttering, caged-bird heart palpitations. The fees are due and I can already feel my crippled bank account wailing for mercy. I have a couple of months to find money and, what with these credit crunch-laden times, it’s not going to be easy.

If the prospect of fees wasn’t enough, I have other concerns; earlier this week I went for an eye test, as I had been getting horrible head/eye-ache and struggling to see distance with my right eye. There was good news and bad news. My left eye is so perfect that it could sign up to the RAF, independent of any other parts of my failing body. My right eye, on the other hand is short-sighted and it turns out I need glasses for driving, watching television, going to the cinema, walking around in general, breathing and probably sleeping if what the optician says is true. She advised I look at the frames in the shop. Ye Gods, I muttered to myself, do these prices include free diamonds and a back-rub? Alas they don’t. In fact, they don’t even include the lenses (only one of which I’ll need but they still charge me the price for two).

When you are a student you strive to save money everywhere: living with your parents, not going out, wearing jeans with a hole in the crotch hoping nobody will notice, skipping meals, walking or cycling everywhere, not having holidays, avoiding forking up your share for your brother’s stag weekend… that sort of thing. However, things creep up on you. Things such as needing glasses or having to go to the dentist. These are unavoidable and expensive (if you can’t find an NHS dentist). Where I went to get my eyes tested only offered free eye tests to students under 21 (and in full-time education - a running motif of being a part-time student is finding benefits and discounts only available to full-time students, when part-time postgraduate students are arguably suffering more without funding). Some places offer student discount with an NUS card, but the small print probably has age limits. So what the hell does the struggling academic do?

Proof of poverty 

Well, there is hope. There is something called an HC1 form which, once filled in and accepted, will give you an HC2 card. This is essentially proof of low income and will give discounts (and sometimes freebies) on health related things, such as prescriptions from the doctor, eye tests, dental check-ups, and other horrible things God, or whoever, has made a cruel necessity in the modern world. Importantly for me, it will give me a discount on a pair of glasses (although I’m unsure whether I would have to get a pair of those huge NHS glasses with the thick, black rims kids in the Eighties had to wear. On second thoughts, I wouldn’t mind that…). The HC1 form can be picked up at the local Post Office or Job Centre Plus (or see the NHS Low Income Scheme), but it can take up to six weeks to process so it’s best to fill in the form when everything’s hunky dory. Something I didn’t know regrettably, as I don’t think I’ll be able to wait six weeks for glasses. But all is not lost - the HC1 form also allows you to attempt to claim back prior medical costs (within limits, it’s best to check out first. And in truth, I’m not entirely sure I’ll be eligible, even though I’m a poor, crotchless jeans-wearing student).

But in the meantime, I’m going to have to buy the glasses on a credit card and hope I get a bit more freelance work (or teaching) before my fees are due. While I hope, I’ll look in the mirror, with my one good eye, and trace where my hairline was a year ago with a solemn look on my face and my heart doing worrying back-flips behind my ribcage…

• See Graham's previous PhD blogs. 

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