by Cathy Glass
‘That’s not the point,’ Caz retaliated. ‘Kelly should be here. It’s hurtful that she’s not.’ She looked genuinely sad.
‘Max did very well at sports day,’ I said. He was standing in front of her, proffering the sweets and peaches and being ignored.
Caz and Paris glanced at him before continuing.
‘If you want to nag someone about coming to visit you, why don’t you nag Dad?’ Paris said. ‘He’s only been here twice.’
‘You know he hates hospitals,’ Caz said, ‘and he can’t smoke in here.’
‘I don’t like hospitals either, but I’m here, aren’t I?’ Paris retorted with attitude.
‘So am I,’ Summer put in. ‘Every night. At least you don’t have to stay to the end.’
Max inched the sweets and fruit onto his mother’s lap.
‘I’ll see you later,’ I said. Then to Caz, ‘Nice that you are up and about.’
She ignored me, concentrating instead on opening the bag of sweets Max had given her. I threw him a smile, said a general goodbye and crossed the ward to where Adrian and Paula were waiting by the door. If Caz was being discharged next week then there would be no more hospital visiting, I thought with some relief. It wasn’t only Caz’s daughters who were feeling the strain of being here every night; I was too. Indeed, the only person who didn’t seem to mind was Caz, languishing in hospital, but that was probably unfair.
Upstairs in the café Adrian, Paula and I passed the time as we had been doing with a mixture of reading, games, chatting, and a drink and a biscuit. They were seeing their father on Sunday and he’d asked them to think about what they wanted to do for the day. Despite my personal feelings about John leaving – for another woman – I appreciated that he did try to give the children a fun day out. Adrian usually decided what to do and Paula went along with it. Adrian said that for this Sunday he was thinking of suggesting they went to an activity park in the area, or, if it was raining, the cinema. It wasn’t always easy to find an activity that suited both a seven- and a three-year-old, but the activity park would work well. They’d been there with me and it catered for all age groups.
At seven o’clock we returned to the ward. Only Max was still there, bless him – a captive audience, I thought. Standing dutifully beside his mother’s chair, he was watching the door, looking for us, and seemed relieved when we appeared. Without his sisters it must have been difficult. I doubt many six-year-old boys could generate meaningful conversation with their mother in hospital, especially every night for an hour and a half. I went over. Caz was still sitting in the chair beside the bed but was now moving her legs and shifting as if uncomfortable. Unprotected by her entourage of teenage daughters and with her heavily bandaged foot clearly giving her some discomfort, she appeared vulnerable – a side of her I hadn’t seen before.
‘They’ve all gone and left me,’ she said. ‘Now you’re taking Max, I may as well get into bed. Can you tell a nurse on your way out that I want to get back into bed?’
‘Yes, of course.’
‘They don’t always come when I buzz.’
‘I’ll tell them,’ I said. ‘I expect they’re very busy.’
‘It’s not that,’ she said, shifting again. ‘They say I have to do more for myself. But they haven’t had their toes off. It bloody hurts.’
‘I’m sure it does,’ I said sympathetically, although I wondered how she was going to cope at home if she couldn’t make the couple of steps from the chair to her bed without help. ‘Do you know which day you will be going home?’ I asked.
‘Some time next week.’ She shifted again and grimaced. ‘Can you get that nurse now?’
‘Yes, of course.’ Max and I said a quick goodbye and on the way out I stopped at the nurses’ station where one nurse sat working at a computer; the rest were occupied on the ward. ‘Sorry to trouble you, but Caz would like help getting back into bed,’ I said, feeling I was intruding.
‘I’ll be with her in a moment, although she needs to be doing it herself,’ she said, without looking up from the screen.
‘Thank you,’ I said, and continued with Max to where Adrian and Paula were waiting by the door. It wasn’t for me to comment on what the nurse had said. I’d delivered the message, although I did wonder … Most people who go into hospital for an operation or because they are ill can’t wait to return home. Yet I hadn’t seen that in Caz and the nurse’s words seemed to confirm it. She wasn’t helping herself as much as she could. True, Caz’s progress had been slowed by some initial complications, but I wondered why she wasn’t pushing herself now to do all she could to return home. How could being in hospital possibly be preferable to being at home with your family?
Chapter Thirteen
Dan
The weekend flew by. On Saturday morning we made a quick visit to our local grocery store (we walked), and then on our return I helped the children erect the tent, and they played in the garden for the rest of the day. I made ‘pot’ lunches for a picnic, which we ate under the shade of the tree. In the air-tight containers I put chopped hard-boiled eggs, pasta, peas and halved cherry tomatoes with a light dressing of mayonnaise, to be eaten with a plastic spoon. I find that if foods a child wouldn’t normally eat are presented attractively and made easy to eat then they are more likely to be eaten. Almost anything can be put into a pot for a picnic or a packed lunch, savoury or sweet, and there are plenty of recipe suggestions and tips for healthy eating in my book, Happy Mealtimes for Kids. Now I had the backing of the paediatrician, I was more confident in making changes to improve Max’s diet, rather than keeping the status quo as Jo had initially instructed me to. Hungry, Max ate the lot without complaint, followed by a plain yoghurt with no added sugar.
During the afternoon, as well as playing in the tent – a largely sedentary activity – I took the bats and balls, skipping ropes (we had one each), the skateboard and hula hoop from the shed and encouraged Max to play with them. He said they had hula hoops at school but he’d never tried them, as he felt it would make him look silly. However, in the privacy of our garden he was less self-conscious and gave it a try. And yes, he did look funny as he gyrated his hips, trying to keep the hula hoop around his waist, but then so did we all as we took it in turns. Adrian had only recently mastered the technique earlier in the summer, while Paula’s hoop clattered straight to the ground the moment she let go of it. Mine stayed up for a few twirls, but gradually migrated down my legs. It was good fun and exercise; we laughed and the mood was light.
I made sure the children had plenty of water to drink as they played, for as well as keeping them hydrated it also had the effect of taking the edge off Max’s appetite. He said a couple of times that he was hungry (the paediatrician had warned me to expect this) and a cool drink helped. The children had fruit mid-afternoon and we ate dinner early as we were going to the hospital: chicken and noodle stir-fry.
When we arrived on the ward Caz was in the chair again and all three daughters were perched on or leaning against the bed. They’d apparently already exhausted conversation. Kelly and Paris had their earbuds in and Summer was examining her nails while absently dipping into one of the open bags of sweets. Caz said hi to Max. He presented her with his offering of sweets and fruit and Summer grabbed the bag of sweets.
‘Greedy!’ Caz said, snatching it back. ‘They’re for me. I’m the one in hospital, I have first pick.’ She was like a child in her wish to have the sweets first and I saw Paris roll her eyes.
I asked Caz how she was today and she shrugged and said OK. I said goodbye and crossed to where Adrian and Paula were waiting by the door. Paula was yawning and rubbing her eyes; she was exhausted. Roll on discharge day, I thought again. Tired after a day of running and playing in the garden in warm weather, she could have done with a relaxing evening at home, an early bath and bed. But that wasn’t going to happen. We made our way up to the café and once we had our drinks she snuggled up on my lap and then nodded off. I had to wake her when it was time to collect
Max, as she was too heavy to carry all the way to the ward. ‘We’ll soon have you home in your own bed,’ I soothed. Adrian looked tired too.
Kelly and Summer were both still with their mother, so I guessed Kelly was making up for not visiting her the evening before. They said goodbye to Max and we left.
On Sunday, after a good night’s sleep, the children woke refreshed. Once Adrian and Paula had left with their father, I took Max into town to buy him some more casual clothes (that I could adjust without Caz complaining). We went to a large department store that had an extensive children’s section. Max and I chose a selection of clothes for him to try on in the changing rooms; they were all for age twelve and above. Among them I’d included a pair of loose-fitting jogging bottoms, elasticated at the waist and ankles, as I thought they might be a better fit than tailored trousers. But when he tried them on they looked awful, far too long, and because they were held in at the ankles the legs ballooned out, making him look even bigger, like the Michelin Man. It was really difficult, finding clothes that looked good on him, although I made light of it. The trousers and shorts we eventually bought would need half the legs cut off to make them fit, but there was no alternative for a child Max’s size.
On Monday, after a pleasant weekend, we began what would be the last full week of school before the long summer holidays. The children were excited and I was looking forward to getting out of the routine of the school run. That morning I mentioned to Max that in order to help him lose weight he wouldn’t be having any more second helpings of pudding at school; I didn’t want him going up to the counter and being refused. He understood and accepted it. I’d decided that as it was so close to the end of term I’d leave the breakfast arrangements as they were. If Max was still with me in September when the new term began we could start afresh with him only having one breakfast, either at home or school. I hadn’t booked for us to go away during the summer holidays, but I planned to have plenty of full days out, although I was aware that with the present contact arrangements – arriving at the hospital at 5.30 p.m. – we couldn’t go too far away.
On Monday afternoon Jill telephoned with some important news, having just taken a call from Jo. Usually, when a foster carer works for an Independent Fostering Agency (IFA), as I did, the child’s social worker informed the carer’s support social worker (in my case, Jill) of any important decisions, changes or meetings in connection with the child, who then advised the carer, so the agency was informed as well. It’s slightly different for carers who work for their Local Authority (LA) – they are often updated directly by the social worker – but the end result is the same. And what Jill had to tell me was important news.
‘Caz is being discharged tomorrow,’ she said. ‘Jo is calling a review on Thursday. Ten o’clock at the council offices.’ Children in care have regular reviews and the first one should usually be within a month of the child being placed with the carer. The child’s parent(s), social worker, teacher, foster carer, the foster carer’s support social worker and any other adults closely connected with the child meet to ensure that everything is being done to help the child, and that the care plan (drawn up by the social services) is appropriate. Very young children don’t usually attend their reviews, though older children are expected to. ‘Jo says Max needn’t go,’ Jill added. ‘His parents will be invited.’
‘All right,’ I said, making a note of the day and time on the pad I kept by the telephone.
‘One of the issues that will be discussed is how long Max is likely to be living with you,’ Jill said. ‘Caz will have been home a couple of days by then so will have a better idea of what she can and can’t do. It may be he’ll go home straight away, but I doubt it. Jo said Caz’s recovery has been slower than anticipated, and she needs a lot of help. The physiotherapist and dietician at the hospital will continue to support her for a while after her discharge, but clearly the social services will need to be satisfied that Max will be properly looked after. She is the main caregiver. Obviously, contact will be at the family home once she’s discharged.’
‘Yes, so I’ll take Max to see her at the hospital as normal this evening?’
‘Yes, then tomorrow there won’t be any contact, as Jo can’t be sure what time Caz will be going home. It will also give Caz a chance to settle back in at home. On Wednesday you are to take Max home for contact at the usual time – five-thirty to seven. We’ll review the future contact arrangements when we meet on Thursday. Jo said that once school has broken up it would make sense for Max to see his family in the afternoon rather than the evening.’
‘Yes, as long as it’s not every day,’ I said. ‘I was planning on having some day trips out.’
‘I think Caz will want to see him every day, but we’ll discuss the timing on Thursday.’ Which I accepted, although I would stand up for what I’d said. It wouldn’t be fair to Adrian and Paula if they couldn’t enjoy some days out because of Max’s contact arrangements. Sometimes fostering is a juggling act between the needs of the child and those of the carer’s own family, who can all too easily be overlooked.
Jill asked how our weekend had gone and then, winding up, said she’d see me on Thursday for the review. After we’d finished I made a note of the day and time of the review in my diary, that there was no contact on Tuesday and contact on Wednesday was from 5.30 till 7 p.m. at Max’s house. I then began working out the logistics of taking Max to and from contact with Adrian’s school production running from Tuesday to Thursday evening. It’s in situations like this when single-parent foster carers can struggle. Had I a partner then the arrangements could have been simplified and shared between us.
When I collected Max from school that afternoon I told him that his mother would be leaving hospital the following day and when he would see her.
‘So tonight is her last night in hospital?’ he said happily.
‘Yes, she’ll be pleased.’ Yet even as I said it I had my reservations. Would Caz be pleased she was finally going home?
Apparently not.
When we arrived on the ward that evening she was in bed, not in the chair, complaining to her daughters about the plans for her discharge. They were only half listening. ‘The community nurse will only be coming in three times a week to change my dressings, but that’s not enough. They do it every day here. And how am I supposed to manage without a home help? You only get one if you’ve had a major amputation, like your leg or arm off.’ Caz was talking about the state-funded provision for post-operative support at home. ‘No one seems to care a toss what happens to me,’ she lamented.
‘We do,’ Paris said with an exasperated sigh. ‘I’ve told you, Dad is pleased you’re coming home.’
‘It’ll be another excuse for him to go to the pub,’ Caz said, unimpressed. ‘Well, he’ll have to stay in tomorrow. I’ve no idea what time the ambulance will bring me home. It depends on their schedule.’ From which I deduced she was using the hospital’s patient transport service to go home.
‘You’ll be pleased it’s your last night,’ I said positively as she finally acknowledged Max standing there. He placed the sweets and box of grapes on the bed. ‘See you later then,’ I said. With considerable relief that this would be our last night in the hospital, I returned to Adrian and Paula waiting by the door and we trudged up to the café.
With drinks and an ice cream each for Adrian and Paula, we passed the time by playing the games I’d brought from home: cards, pocket-sized ludo, and paper and pens for hangman and similar guessing games. Even so, the children were tired and looked at the clock, willing the time to go by. I was even more determined to stand my ground at the review on Thursday, when future contact arrangements would be discussed, and negotiate arrangements less disruptive to Adrian and Paula.
When we returned to the ward only Max was there, sitting in the chair, his sisters having gone home early. Doubtless they, too, would be relieved to have their mother home again and be able to return to their normal routine.
‘Good luck
for tomorrow,’ I said to Caz as Max stood. ‘It’s bound to be a bit of a struggle to begin with, so just give yourself time.’
‘I still need looking after,’ she said in a slight voice, her expression child-like and vulnerable. ‘I wanted to go to a convalescent home, but they said my operation didn’t merit it.’ So Caz was in no rush to go home, I thought.
‘I’m sure your daughters and husband will help,’ I said.
‘Dan? I doubt it,’ she said, deriding the possibility. ‘Him and the girls can’t do anything.’ Although, of course, they must have been looking after themselves to some degree all the weeks Caz had been in hospital.
‘Have you been given advice on post-operative care – the dos and don’ts?’ I asked.
‘They gave me a sheet,’ she said quietly.
‘I think it’s important to follow it.’
She nodded meekly. Without her entourage, her bravado had largely gone and I wondered how much of her hostility towards me was insecurity – a defence mechanism.
‘Well, good luck for tomorrow,’ I said again. ‘See you on Wednesday.’
‘Yes. Thanks.’
Max said goodbye and then suddenly hugged her. She looked taken aback and smiled, embarrassed. Now I came to think of it, I hadn’t seen any spontaneous displays of affection between any of them, but then families are different – some are more tactile than others. It doesn’t mean they love each other less.
‘See you,’ she said to Max but didn’t return his hug. So we left her as we’d seen her on that first night, propped up in bed with a blanket cradle supporting the covers. I wondered again how she would manage at home.
On Wednesday morning, when I returned from taking Paula to nursery, there was a message on the answerphone from Jill confirming that Caz had been discharged from hospital the day before and contact this evening would be at the family home from 5.30 till 7 p.m. As it turned out, the evenings that week weren’t the nightmare I’d anticipated of having to be in two places at the same time. Max didn’t have contact on Tuesday, so the three of us had watched Adrian’s school production, which was excellent. Then on Wednesday I dropped Adrian off at school for five o’clock – the time the cast had to be there for the second showing – and had plenty of time to continue to Max’s home for contact.
