Saving Danny

by Cathy Glass

  ‘He did,’ I confirmed.

  ‘It’s very good. It must have taken you ages,’ Jill said.

  ‘Yes, thank you very much,’ Danny said again.

  ‘It’s his phrase for the day,’ I explained to Jill.

  ‘Well, there are worse ones,’ Jill said with a smile.

  Jill had been my support social worker for many years and we enjoyed a comfortable working relationship. I’d come to view her as a friend as well as a colleague, and I knew she could be relied upon to give sound advice and offer support as necessary.

  ‘If you don’t need me, Mum, I’ll go to my room,’ Paula said.

  ‘Of course, love. You do as you wish.’ Sometimes I asked my children to look after the child we were fostering if I had to speak to the social worker in private. But that wasn’t the case now. Jill had come to see Danny as much as she had me.

  As Paula left the room I knelt down beside Danny so I was in his line of vision if he looked up. ‘Do you want to play with the Lego again or something new?’ I asked him. There were other boxes of toys and games within his reach and plenty more in the cupboard.

  ‘Lego,’ Danny said decisively.

  ‘OK. That’s fine. Tell me if you want a new game and I’ll show you where they are kept.’

  Jill and I sat on the sofa and for a few moments we watched Danny as he carefully removed one brick at a time from the lines of Lego and reinserted each one in a different place, creating a new sequence.

  ‘Danny loves patterns and order,’ I said to Jill. ‘And he’s very good at art.’

  ‘So I understand,’ Jill said. ‘I spoke to Terri earlier and she briefly went over what was said at the meeting. It’s good of you to have the rabbit. You know you don’t have to.’

  ‘I do now,’ I said, glancing at Danny. ‘I’m committed. I’m collecting George tomorrow morning, hutch as well.’

  Jill nodded and, taking a note pad and pen from her large bag, which acted as a briefcase, turned to a clean page. Then she passed me a white envelope. ‘The placement information,’ she said. ‘You can read it later.’

  ‘Thank you.’ I tucked the envelope into my fostering folder with the other paperwork I had on Danny.

  ‘So, how’s it going?’ Jill asked. ‘You’ve had an eventful twenty-four hours.’

  ‘You could say that,’ I said. ‘But Danny’s doing all right. He ate a good dinner and breakfast, and slept well.’

  ‘I understood there were eating issues?’ Jill said quietly so Danny, who had his back to us, couldn’t hear.

  ‘He’s very particular about his food,’ I said. ‘And has had quite a limited diet. Hopefully I can make some changes and introduce some new foods.’ Jill made a note. I’d be covering this and any other issues that came to light in more detail in my log and also the monthly report I sent to Terri and Jill.

  ‘Perhaps I’ll ask Terri to arrange a medical,’ Jill suggested in the same lowered tone. ‘He’s quite small for his age. As he’s accommodated under a Section 20 Terri will need the parents’ permission for a medical. Or perhaps his mother could arrange one. I’ll mention it to Terri.’ If a child comes into care under a court order – where the local authority has parental rights – the social worker arranges a medical for the child quite quickly to identify any conditions that may need treating, but under a Section 20 the parents can arrange it themselves.

  ‘Behavioural issues?’ Jill asked, working her way through a mental check list. ‘I believe that was the main reason Danny came into care.’

  ‘There have been a lot of issues,’ I said. ‘Reva was at her wits’ end. Danny can easily become frustrated and overloaded, which leads to a tantrum or meltdown. She clearly loves him, but she’s very low. She told me she feels like a failure for not coping, and blames herself for the way he is. Autism has been mentioned, but the school are waiting to bring in the education psychologist for an assessment.’

  Jill nodded. ‘Terri is seeing Danny’s parents next week and this is one of the issues she’ll be discussing with them. Does he have an individual education plan?’

  ‘Yes. His teacher has given me a copy, but I haven’t had a chance to read it yet. He has a reading book and flash cards for homework and he’s working towards reception level.’

  ‘Specific learning difficulties?’ Jill asked.

  ‘It seems likely, but they haven’t been identified yet.’

  Jill nodded and wrote. ‘Terri said his mother gave you notes on his routine?’

  ‘Yes.’ I hesitated. ‘I’d like your advice, please.’ Opening my folder, I took out the twenty-three-page document and passed it to Jill. While she read I took the opportunity to go over to Danny and praise him for playing nicely.

  ‘That’s a lovely new pattern,’ I said. ‘Well done.’

  ‘Yes, thank you very much,’ he said, without looking up at me.

  ‘Do you want to continue playing with the Lego?’ I asked. ‘Or something different?’ Given that he’d played with the Lego the previous evening I thought he’d be bored with it by now – most children would be, but not Danny.

  ‘Lego, please. Yes, thank you very much,’ he said.

  ‘Good boy,’ I said. He seemed happy enough. ‘Tell me when you want to play with something new and I’ll show you where the toy cupboard is,’ I reminded him.

  ‘Yes, thank you very much.’

  I returned to sit beside Jill. She’d stopped reading every word of Reva’s notes and was now scanning the pages. Coming to the end, she handed them back to me. ‘Use what you can,’ she said. ‘I’ll explain to Terri that a lot of it is unworkable here, and unnecessary. You would have to walk around with it in your hand to remember everything. Reva must have felt like she was balancing on a tightrope trying to keep to that; one false move and she’d fall off.’

  ‘I don’t think she had much support looking after Danny,’ I said as I returned the notes to my folder.

  ‘No,’ Jill agreed. ‘Terri said similar. Have you started your log?’ Jill now asked.

  ‘Yes.’ I showed her the first page.

  ‘I’ll check it next time when Danny’s been here longer.’ As my support social worker Jill would be visiting us every month, and as part of her visit she would check and sign my log notes.

  ‘And there’s been no change in your household?’ Jill asked, as she was obliged to.

  ‘No,’ I confirmed. ‘There’s still the four of us – five with Danny.’

  ‘And what are the contact arrangements?’

  I told Jill the agreed days for Danny to see his parents and she made a note.

  ‘And on another matter, are you still willing and able to help with the training again next month?’ Jill asked.

  ‘Yes, I’m happy to.’ Like many experienced foster carers, I helped run training for new carers. I enjoyed it, and it added another dimension to my role as foster carer.

  ‘Thank you,’ Jill said. ‘Do you need anything to look after Danny?’

  ‘No, I don’t think so.’

  ‘OK. Let’s set the date for my next visit then.’ We opened our diaries and arranged Jill’s next visit for four weeks’ time.

  She returned her notepad and pen to her bag and, standing, crossed to Danny. She praised him for his wonderful Lego pattern and then said she was going and that she’d see him again in a few weeks. He didn’t answer or even acknowledge he’d heard her. She said goodbye, and then again as we left the room, and this time a little voice called out, ‘Yes, thank you very much.’

  I went with Jill to see her out. I opened the front door and Lucy was coming down the garden path, returning home from school. ‘Hi, how are you?’ Jill asked her as she came in.

  ‘Good. Thanks.’

  ‘I hear your adoption application is going through quickly.’

  ‘Yes!’ Lucy cried, beaming. ‘Can’t wait. Then I won’t be in care any longer!’ Lucy planted a big kiss on my cheek and grinned happily at Jill.

  Having spent most of her life in and out o
f care, Lucy had come to me as a foster child two years previously and I’d now applied to adopt her. I tell Lucy’s story in Will You Love Me?

  ‘See you soon then,’ Jill said to us both with a smile, and left.

  I closed the front door

  ‘Have you had a good day?’ I asked Lucy.

  She pulled a face. Like many teenagers she resented some of the routine at school and would have liked more freedom.

  ‘Where’s the little fellow?’ she asked, taking off her coat and shoes.

  ‘In the living room, playing with the Lego bricks.’

  We went into the living room. Danny was as I’d left him, sitting on the floor and concentrating hard on the Lego bricks as he reorganized them into another new pattern.

  ‘Good work, Mister,’ Lucy said.

  ‘Yes, thank you very much,’ Danny replied.

  Lucy laughed kindly. ‘That’s very polite,’ she said, impressed, having only heard the phrase for the first time. ‘See you later, Mister.’

  ‘Yes, thank you very much,’ Danny said again.

  Lucy disappeared up to her room to unwind and then start her homework before dinner. Danny was very settled creating his pattern, so I felt confident in leaving him alone briefly while I went into the kitchen to cook the meal.

  ‘I’ll be in the kitchen if you want me,’ I said to him.

  ‘Yes, thank you very much,’ came his now predictable but endearing reply.

  I left the living-room door open so I could hear him while I was in the kitchen. I placed the fish fingers and chips in the oven to cook. I fed Toscha, took the clean laundry from the dryer and then popped back into the living room to check on Danny. He was still in the same position on the floor, concentrating on reorganizing the Lego. ‘Good boy,’ I said, and came out to continue with what I had to do.

  Danny seemed to have endless patience for quite small tasks and had been studying the Lego with such intensity that he appeared almost fixated. I wondered if he showed the same level of concentration in his school work. Sue had said he liked art and was good at it but was finding academic subjects very challenging. The sooner he was assessed by the education psychologist the better; then a learning plan would be drawn up to meet his needs.

  Adrian arrived home later than normal from school, as he’d stayed behind to play rugby. He said hi to Danny and then went upstairs to shower before dinner. Once the food was ready I called everyone to the table and then went into the living room for Danny.

  ‘Danny, it’s time for dinner,’ I said.

  ‘Yes, thank you very much,’ he replied, but made no move to stand and come with me.

  ‘We’re going to eat now,’ I said. ‘So leave the Lego and come with me to the table.’

  I knew from Reva’s notes, and from my own experience of looking after children with difficulties similar to Danny’s, that he would need clear, precise instructions. I couldn’t assume that he’d make a logical connection as other children the same age would. Telling Danny dinner was ready wouldn’t necessarily equate, in his mind, with him needing to come to the table to eat it. Likewise, if I told him we were going out he wouldn’t realize he had to put on his shoes and coat. Now I’d told him what he had to do, he left the Lego and came with me to the dining table, where he sat in his place at the table. ‘Good boy,’ I said.

  Once everyone was seated I served the meal. I wouldn’t have thought there was much you could do with fish fingers, chips and green beans; it was a very simple meal and surely simple to eat? But Danny spent some time surveying the contents of his plate without touching the food, while everyone else was busily passing around the tomato sauce and tucking in. Then he rotated his plate 180 degrees, picked up his knife and fork and with slow, measured cuts began slicing the fish fingers in half and half again so they were in quarters. He put them to one side of his plate, then set about cutting up the chips so that they were the same length as the fish-finger pieces. He put them to one side too, studied the green beans, which were all different lengths, and then began topping and tailing them so they were the same length as the chips and fish fingers. I could see Adrian, Lucy and Paula watching him curiously. During all our years of fostering we’d seen many different types of behaviour at the meal table, including bingeing, vomiting, loud burping and farting, throwing food and food refusal. Indeed, when Lucy had first arrived she’d had anorexia and had been too afraid to eat, although she was over the worst of it now. However, Danny’s approach to food was unique. By the time he’d finished cutting and arranging his food it fanned out from the centre of his plate in an expanding swirling pattern, with the darkest in colour – the green beans – in the centre, then the lighter fish-finger pieces and the chips in the outer circle. It was truly a work of art.

  ‘Do you want tomato sauce?’ I asked him. He shook his head. ‘I think you should eat your food now or it will be cold.’ Indeed, I thought it must already be cold; the rest of us had nearly finished.

  Danny nodded and finally began eating. Starting with the outer ring of chip pieces – the palest food on the plate – he ate them one at a time. Then he ate the fish fingers and lastly the green beans. The rest of us sat chatting as he ate, so the atmosphere was relaxed and he didn’t feel we were waiting for him to finish. But while we had time to accommodate his behaviour this evening, I could see how frustrating it would be if we were in a hurry or eating with friends or at a restaurant. I wondered if Reva and her husband ever took Danny out for meals or to see friends. Certainly Sue, his teacher, had said that Danny was always the last to finish his school lunch, and I could see why. But he did finish – every last crumb – and for a child with so many other issues, trying to change his method of eating didn’t seem a priority.

  The yoghurt pudding could only be eaten with a spoon, and Danny ate it slowly and meticulously, as he approached most things. Once he’d finished he put down his spoon, wiped his mouth on the napkin and said, ‘George.’

  ‘I’m collecting George tomorrow,’ I reminded him. ‘He’ll be here when you come back from seeing your mother.’

  His brow furrowed as he processed this information. ‘George coming here tomorrow?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes, love.’

  ‘Tomorrow I am having dinner at my home. Then I come back here and feed George.’

  ‘Exactly right!’ I said, impressed. There was clearly a lot more to Danny than we realized.

  Chapter Nine

  Danny Drowning

  I accepted that Danny would take much longer than the average six-year-old child to perform most tasks, and that patience was therefore a key element in managing his behaviour. However, I also thought that Danny needed to acquire more patience himself, for although, if an activity engaged him, he could stay involved in it for hours – the Lego, for example – he could also quickly explode with frustration if a task was challenging or didn’t immediately go his way. One such time was after dinner. He and I were sitting on the sofa in the living room, ready for me to hear him read, when his school bag, which he’d fetched from the hall without being asked, wouldn’t immediately open. He tugged the zipper a couple of times and then threw the bag angrily on the floor, stamped on it and began windmilling his arms like a giant insect stalled on take-off.

  ‘Danny,’ I said, searching for eye contact. ‘Don’t be upset. The zipper is stuck. I’ll help you open the bag. It can be easily sorted.’

  ‘Danny do it!’ he shouted, gritting his teeth.

  ‘Yes, you can undo it,’ I said. ‘I’ll show you how, but you need to calm down first.’

  ‘Danny do it!’ he said again angrily.

  ‘First, you need to sit down quietly,’ I said more firmly.

  ‘Danny do it,’ he repeated again, as though he was beating himself up for not doing it and had to prove he could.

  ‘You will do when I show you,’ I said, taking his arm. ‘Now sit down and calm down. It’s a zip fastener, not the end of the world.’ He let me draw him to the sofa and I sat him next to me. �
�That’s better,’ I said. ‘Now, take a few deep breaths and then we’ll undo your bag. Breathe in,’ I said, slowly drawing in a deep breath to show him. ‘And out. In and out.’ He began to copy me and gradually his breathing settled and he grew calmer. ‘That’s much better, good boy.’

  I picked up his school bag from where he’d thrown it and set it on my lap. I could see straight away what was wrong. A small shred of paper had jammed in the teeth of the zipper, just as can happen with the material of a coat or jacket. Like most parents, I’d released many jammed zippers in my time and knew what to do.

  ‘Danny, you see this?’ I said, pointing to the shred of paper. ‘That’s the reason you couldn’t undo the zipper. The paper stopped it.’

  Danny peered closely at the zipper, his mop of blond hair falling over his forehead.

  ‘This is how we fix it,’ I said. ‘Watch carefully and you’ll know how to do it next time.’ I gently eased the zipper up, scraped out the shred of paper, then drew it down again and the zipper ran freely, opening the bag. ‘There,’ I said, passing the bag to him. ‘All done. There was nothing to worry about. You’ll know how to fix it next time.’

  He was quiet for a few moments as he surveyed the zipper and then said, ‘Yes, thank you very much.’

  ‘You’re welcome,’ I said.

  ‘You’re welcome,’ he repeated.

  I smiled. Another crisis averted, but as Jill had said, Reva must have felt as though she was balancing on a tightrope, never knowing when Danny was going to erupt. I knew from past experience and training that children like Danny could easily become frustrated and angry. They are awash in a world they don’t understand or feel part of, and are therefore at the mercy of others’ behaviour and unpredictable events. One of the reasons Danny was so independent and insisted on doing things for himself was that it felt safer to him that way, to have control. This is true for all of us to some extent, but more so for a child like Danny with communication difficulties, who couldn’t easily voice his worries and fears.

  Having calmed down, Danny took his book from his bag, confidently opened it and began reading the first page. He’d had the same book since Monday and it was very basic – a start to reading – but he read each of the six words that made up the short sentence correctly. There were four pages, each with a very short sentence and a colourful illustration. He loved the pictures and spent a long time studying them, both before and after reading the words. He stumbled on some of the sentences and I helped him, and he made it to the end of the book.