I was in a coma when the Home Office tried to deport me. Then the public responded

There is a story like mine behind every immigrant. We are not random statistics on dreamed-up billboards and bus slogans. We are real people, and we are victims of xenophobia

What are you worth, and have you have been forced to answer that question against a yardstick that is systemically designed against you?

If so then you’re probably an immigrant like me, and I won’t need to try very hard to convince you that you don’t have the same rights as a British-born citizen. But for the others, let me offer you an insight into my life.

I was born in India, 40 years after the English granted their colony independence, leaving behind nothing but an inadequate democracy and a deeply twisted admiration for the former colonisers.

In 2010, I was lured into the promise of the empire, happily paying what was at the time three times as much in tuition fees as someone who was British born. I’ve worked in the UK ever since I finished my studies here, paying taxes and NHS contributions like any UK citizen, plus the health surcharge, an extra £400 per year reserved for immigrants.

Around two years after coming to the UK I was diagnosed with Crohn’s disease. I had never heard of it before and had no clue what it would mean for my everyday life. I’ve painfully found out since.

In the nine years since arriving in the UK my mission has been to give voice to the silenced and help spread awareness around invisible disabilities such as my own – and yet the label of “immigrant” has still followed me around.

So what am I worth? The Home Office under Sajid Javid has a clear answer to this question: not enough.

Last year, I fell severely ill. I naively hoped that after all these years of giving back my money and passion to this country, I would deserve to be treated as an equal. Instead, after applying for a renewal of my visa on humanitarian grounds as I couldn’t work any more, the Home Office went after me.

I underwent six surgeries during which time I was notified that the human rights application I had made had been rejected simply because I did not provide enough evidence to show I couldn’t receive “adequate palliative care” in my home country.

In other words, I got the answer to the question I hadn’t realised was being asked of me: what am I worth?

Nothing.

I was under intensive care, unconscious, when I got this news. My partner submitted a new application expressing concern that I wouldn’t even survive getting out of the hospital, let alone leave the country. My doctors, surgeons and several medical professionals echoed the same. It still wasn’t enough.

Two months later – I had barely recovered – we got the verdict on this application: I was accused of taking advantage of the system and reapplying without providing “any fresh evidence”. Internal bleeding and two months in critical condition isn’t fresh evidence apparently.

It dawned on me that if my situation did not speak for itself, then legal means wouldn’t convince the Home Office either.

So I went public.

Broken by The Independent, news of my case travelled across Europe and even to my home country, where my story read, “Woman with rare disease...” Sajid, Priti – do you still need more evidence that India is not equipped to treat my condition?

On the back of the news, we launched my petition, #LetBhavaniLive. Within weeks, more than 170,000 people had signed my campaign – a display of humanity, compassion, and kindness that reflects my experience of the UK in the last 10 years so much more adequately than the Home Office’s hostile environment. It honestly makes one wonder – which UK is the Home Office representing?

Miraculously, with 170,000 people backing my case and my MP Vicky Foxcroft persistently bringing it up in parliament, the Home Office suddenly encountered “fresh evidence” somewhere in my previously refused applications. The Home Office now agreed that it was necessary for me to stay under medical care in the UK – for a year, so I could “recover from my surgery”.

It is hard to see this decision as anything but a thinly veiled attempt to silence me for long enough until people forget my case.

Since then Priti Patel has taken over from Sajid Javid and has only been slightly less tactless than her predecessor: “Although there may be no cure for your medical condition, the treatment and medication that you require may become available in India, or there may be alternative treatment options for you in the future.” She didn’t say I should go back to India and die. Instead she thinks I should just keep on surviving there somehow until a future full of groundbreaking alternative treatments for my “rare disease” arrives. And so the purgatory continues.

In a Great Britain that paints every immigrant as a threat and uses them as bargaining chips for political agendas, the only chance to remain for people like me, who have lived, worked and contributed to this society for almost 10 years, is to turn to the public and hope for the best.

Unfortunately, not every immigrant has the luxury of doing so. There is a story like mine behind every immigrant. We are not random statistics on dreamed-up billboards and bus slogans. We are real people, subjected to the xenophobia of this Tory government.

Take my story as a litmus test for the kind of society you want to build – is it one where a human’s worth is solely measured on how much you can take from them? Or is it one that is capable of harnessing individual growth which in turn can continue to strengthen the nation?

Britain, you must decide – do you want to desperately hold on to your self-professed title of “Great Britain” or are you capable of learning from the past 300 years to showcase true greatness?

Bhavani Esapathi is a writer and social change activist. She founded The Invisible Labs, a social tech space designed to support people with invisible diseases. You can follow the #LetBhavaniLive Campaign here