by Cathy Glass
‘And check it’s properly closed.’ I showed her how the lid went on the sterilizing unit.
She returned to the instruction sheet again and I helped her read the next line: ‘Place the sterilizer in the microwave.’
‘I know how to use microwaves,’ she said, pleased. ‘We have one at home.’
‘Great. They’re all slightly different, but the staff at the mother-and-baby home will show you how to use the one there. But, Faye, you understand that if you breastfeed you may not need to make up bottles. This is just in case you do need to.’ She looked confused, so I knew I should leave that explanation for another time and concentrate on the task in hand.
‘Open the microwave door and put in the sterilizer,’ I prompted. Which she did. ‘What do you do now?’
‘Switch it on?’ she said.
‘Yes, but for how many minutes? Look at the instruction sheet.’
I helped her read: ‘Set the microwave timer for six minutes.’ Then I showed her the timer. There was little point in writing instructions for my microwave, as the one at the home could be different again. I helped her set the dial and she pressed the start button. As the microwave whirred Faye returned to the instruction sheet and I helped her read the next step: ‘Do not take the lid off the sterilizer straight away. Let it cool for three minutes.’
‘That’s important,’ I said. ‘You must leave the sterilizer to stand for three minutes or the steam could scald you – burn.’
‘I know what three minutes is,’ Faye said proudly, raising her watch to eye level.
‘Yes. But it’s three minutes from when the microwave has finished. Not now. It’s still going, isn’t it?’ She nodded but continued to look at her watch.
Deep in thought, I looked at her. Performing a new task like this highlighted the extent of Faye’s learning difficulties. Sterilizing bottles using the microwave was a relatively quick and easy task, but I knew that Faye was going to have to repeat the process with me by her side many, many times before she could safely and competently do the task alone and just follow the step-by-step instructions. And of course she’d have to remember to clean and sterilize the bottles in the first place. Would a member of staff at the home remind her that they needed doing? Or would they view that as part of assessing her competency as a parent? I feared the latter, for if she couldn’t remember to wash and sterilize bottles at the home then the chances were she wouldn’t remember once she’d left.
The microwave pinged, signalling that the cycle had ended.
‘It’s finished,’ Faye announced, lowering her watch.
‘Yes, so what do you do now?’
‘Make up the bottle of milk,’ she said excitedly.
‘But not straight away. We have to leave the bottles to cool. For how long?’
There was a moment’s hesitation before she said, ‘Three minutes.’
‘Yes, that’s right. Good girl.’
‘I’ll tell you when three minutes is up,’ Faye said, pleased, and, raising her watch again, she began counting off the minutes. ‘Time’s up!’ she called.
I watched her as she carefully removed the sterilizer from the microwave and set it on the work surface, and then I showed her how to remove the lid.
‘Now we can make up the milk,’ I said. ‘What’s the first step?’
I pointed to the second sheet and together we read: ‘Wash your hands before touching the bottles.’
‘That’s important,’ I said. ‘The bottles are clean and you have to make sure your hands are too.’
She returned to the sink and I waited while she washed and dried her hands. Then, following the instructions, we began the process of making up a bottle of milk. Paula and Lucy wandered in and out in their dressing gowns a few times while we were working but did eventually get dressed.
‘Isn’t that a waste?’ Paula asked a while later, seeing three bottles of milk lined up. ‘We haven’t got a baby.’
‘I know we haven’t got a baby,’ I said, throwing her a look. ‘But doing a task is the best way to learn and remember it. Do you remember all the time you spent practising tying bows so that you could do up your shoelaces?’
‘Yes, and it was only last week!’ Lucy joked as she came in.
Paula laughed good-humouredly.
‘Laces are difficult,’ Faye said, completely missing the joke. ‘Don’t worry, Paula, I can’t do them.’
‘She can really,’ Lucy said. ‘I was joking.’ But even then Faye didn’t understand and there was an uncomfortable silence. ‘Show us how you make up a bottle then,’ Lucy said, making amends.
Faye smiled proudly as Lucy and Paula came closer to watch. I stood by, ready to help and prompt as necessary, and ten minutes later, with a lot of help, Faye had made up another bottle of milk. We all applauded.
‘Well done,’ I said.
Although there was still a lot to cover in respect of feeds and bottles – warming the milk, testing it to make sure it was at the right temperature, storing the milk in the fridge and so on, all of which would take Faye time to learn – for now I was pleased with the progress we’d made that morning.
After lunch Lucy and Paula said they were going into town shopping and asked Faye if she would like to go with them, but she smiled shyly and said, ‘No, thank you. I have to learn to look after my baby.’
‘You can go with them,’ I encouraged. ‘You’ve done enough learning for one day and I’ll be busy for a couple of hours. The change will do you good.’ But she couldn’t be persuaded and preferred to stay at home with me.
She occupied herself while I was busy, looking at some books and then doing a simple jigsaw puzzle, but when I told her I was going to bake a cake to take with us to my mother’s tomorrow she wanted to help. Faye liked nothing more than to be at home with an adult and involved in domesticity. It was what she was used to and felt comfortable with, which of course augured well for parenting. She certainly wouldn’t be yearning to go out partying.
She helped me make the cake and then once it was cool she filled it with jam and butter icing. When everyone came home they all remarked on the delicious smell of home baking and Faye proudly told them, many times, that she’d helped me bake a cake. She often repeated herself; whether this was because she’d forgotten she’d told us or thought we’d forgotten, or because her grandparents repeated things, I didn’t know. But it was a habit of Faye’s to tell us things more than once, and we always listened as though we were hearing it for the first time and just accepted it as part of her character.
That evening we all ate together and then Adrian, Paula and Lucy went out, which left Faye alone with me again. She didn’t seem to tire of my company, as I’m sure many young people would, and was happy to just be around me. Sometimes I felt as though I had a shadow, for she was never far from my side if it was just the two of us. The television programmes Faye watched during the week didn’t show at weekends, but she wanted to watch a game show she usually watched with her grandparents. After that she had her bath and then I suggested a few games of dominoes, which I knew she enjoyed. As she stood to put away the domino box she rubbed her tummy. ‘I’ve got those pains you told me about,’ she said. ‘Am I having a labour?’
‘No, I don’t think so, not yet. They are more likely to be Braxton Hicks. Do you remember, I explained about Braxton Hicks contractions?’
She gave a small nod but I was pretty sure she didn’t remember, so I explained again. ‘Braxton Hicks are small contractions that make the wall of your tummy feel hard for a few seconds. They are normal and you will feel them more often towards the end of pregnancy. It’s the body’s way of getting ready to go into labour and give birth. Has it stopped now?’
‘Yes.’
‘I’m sure that’s what it is. But that reminds me, let’s go and pack your hospital bag while we think of it.’
‘Why? Am I leaving now?’ she asked.
‘No, not yet. Your bag is for when you go into hospital to have your baby, which prob
ably won’t be for another six weeks. But the notes the hospital gave you say you should have it ready now.’
She came with me upstairs and I placed the weekend bag I’d bought for her on her bed. When she’d first arrived she’d come with a large suitcase and a small shoulder bag, neither of which was suitable for a short hospital stay.
‘Is that mine?’ she asked, referring to the weekend bag.
‘Yes. Do you like it?’
She nodded. ‘I’ve had lots of new things since I’ve been with you.’ She threw her arms around me and gave me a big hug. Bless her.
Using the list of items that had been included in the maternity folder, we packed what she and the baby would need for a couple of days. I didn’t know what arrangements would be made after the birth for the rest of Faye’s belongings, but I anticipated visiting her often, so I could take whatever else she might need.
‘It’s like going on holiday,’ she said. ‘That’s what Grandpa will say.’
‘Yes.’ I smiled. Although my recollection of giving birth was that it was no holiday!
Going to my mother’s house where just she greeted us at the door was becoming a little easier now. As usual she was very welcoming and pleased to see us when we went on Sunday. She thanked us for the cake and Paula placed it in the kitchen. As I’d anticipated, within a couple of minutes of our arrival Faye was telling her: ‘I’m going to keep my baby and I’m learning how to look after it.’
‘That’s lovely,’ Mum said. ‘You can tell me what you’ve learnt so far while you help me make everyone a cup of tea.’
I saw Lucy and Paula exchange a pointed look and I wondered if they resented the amount of Mum’s time Faye took up when we visited. She rarely left Mum’s side, as she did with me at home. But I’d already explained to Lucy and Paula that this was because Faye had spent her whole life with people of Nana’s generation and felt more comfortable with them, rather than people her own age. However, a few minutes later, when I caught them whispering while Faye was in the kitchen helping Mum, I asked them if there was a problem.
‘Not with us,’ Lucy said a little caustically.
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ I asked.
‘Faye keeps telling Nana she’s keeping the baby. But it’s not definite yet. She’s got to prove to the social worker she can do it, and from what I’ve seen she’s got a long way to go yet.’
‘Nana knows that,’ I said. ‘So does Faye.’
‘Does she?’ Lucy asked. ‘When Faye talks to us about it, it seems definite: my baby this and my baby that. She’s even thought of a name.’
‘Has she?’ I asked. ‘She hasn’t told me.’
‘Snuggles!’ Lucy said, and both girls laughed.
‘Don’t be unkind,’ I said. ‘It doesn’t suit you.’
‘Sorry,’ they said, and looked suitably chastised. They weren’t unkind, far from it. They shared their home, love and life unreservedly with all the children and young people we fostered. Humour is often a way of coping, but if they had concerns I needed to explore them.
‘I’ll speak to Faye later,’ I said, ‘and make sure she understands what will happen. Thanks for telling me.’
And the rest of the day continued pleasantly.
That evening, once home, I explained to Faye again what would happen after her baby was born: that after a day or so in hospital she would go to the mother-and-baby unit, where she would be taught to look after her baby and also be observed. Then a decision would be made on what was best for her and the baby.
‘I know,’ Faye said. ‘They will be watching me to see if I do it right.’
‘Yes. That’s about it.’
‘And I will do it right,’ she said. ‘You’re teaching me.’
‘I’m doing my best, and I know you will do yours.’
Chapter Seventeen
An ‘Off Day’
To begin with I thought Faye might be worried or preoccupied by the review on Monday afternoon, for that morning she was confused and very forgetful. Her movements were lethargic and slower than usual and she forgot the most basic things, like brushing her hair, cleaning her teeth and which cupboard the cereal was in. She always poured her own cereal for breakfast and the box was in the cupboard where it had always been. She even forgot where Snuggles was, and I found him on her bed where he normally sat when he wasn’t with her.
‘Are you all right?’ I asked her eventually.
She smiled and nodded.
‘Is anything wrong?’
‘I’m just having an off day. That’s what Gran calls it. I’m not ill.’
‘OK. And you’re not worrying about anything?’
‘No.’
I’d noticed before that sometimes, for no obvious reason, Faye had days when she was disorientated and disengaged from what was going on around her. I’d put it down to living in a new house with people she wasn’t completely familiar with, but now it seemed it had been happening before she’d come to live with me. Around mid-morning Faye asked if we could make up some more bottles of baby milk and I agreed. Everyone else was out and her review wasn’t until two o’clock. I should have realized that if Faye was having an ‘off day’ she wouldn’t be able to concentrate on what, for her, was a complicated task. It soon became clear that not only had Faye forgotten everything we’d covered on Saturday, but she also seemed to be struggling with basic common sense.
I arranged everything she would need, including the instruction sheets, on the work surface and then told her to run the hot water and add a squirt of washing-up liquid to wash the bottles. She did this and then just stood there, hands immersed in the soapy water, looking at the bottles on the drainer.
‘Put the first bottle into the water,’ I prompted. ‘Use the bottle brush to clean it well and then rinse it.’
Faye hesitated again as though she was processing what I’d said before she took the first bottle and began to clean it slowly. I prompted her to rinse it and then move on to the next. It took her fifteen minutes to wash all four bottles. While she was working I busied myself in the kitchen, though still keeping an eye on her. Having washed and rinsed the bottles, she had no idea what to do next, and even with me reading the instructions from the sheet she’d completely forgotten that we had to use the sterilizer and why. I explained again, repeating everything I’d told her before, and finally helped her to sterilize the bottles, as I didn’t want her to become disheartened. Now she was ready to do the bit she liked best – making up the feeds. But when she added the first scoop of milk powder to the bottle it caught on the rim and half of it flicked onto the work surface and floor. She was going to scoop it up and use it!
‘Faye, you can’t do that,’ I said, concerned. ‘It’ll have germs in it. If that happens, clean up what you’ve spilt, tip the contents of the bottle away and start again.’
‘But some of it went in the bottle.’
‘Yes, but you don’t know how much. The milk needs to be made up to the correct strength. And you never use what you’ve spilt.’
She looked deep in thought for a moment and then stepped away from the kitchen cabinet. ‘I think it’s better if I don’t do any more today,’ she said. ‘When I have an off day Gran tells me to take it easy, so I sit with Snuggles.’
‘OK, love,’ I said. ‘No worries. We’ll do it again another day.’
All very well, but what would happen if Faye had an ‘off day’ when she had the baby? It would still need feeding, changing and looking after. I would have to explain this to her when she was more receptive.
Faye wasn’t upset or fazed by having an ‘off day’ and sat happily on the sofa in the living room with Snuggles on her lap, taking it easy for the rest of the morning, as her gran had advised, which essentially meant doing nothing but staring into space. She told Snuggles she was having an off day, and then said it again while we were eating lunch, although having an off day thankfully didn’t seem to affect Faye’s appetite. She reminded Snuggles again that she was having an of
f day as he sat on her lap in the car and I drove to her grandparents’ flat for the review. I guessed it was a term Wilma used and it had stuck.
Becky answered the door, saving Stan and Wilma the trouble, and Faye told her straight away she was having an off day.
‘Are you, love?’ Becky said, apparently unaware of what this meant.
Once in the living room Faye told her grandparents, even before she’d kissed them, that she was having one of her off days.
‘Never mind,’ Wilma said. ‘Sit yourself down and take it easy.’ Which Faye did, sitting heavily on the sofa beside her.
Wilma, Stan and I all said a polite hello and I sat on the chair Becky had drawn up for me so that we formed a small circle. Faye tucked Snuggles in between her and Wilma and folded her hands in her lap in a mirror image of her gran. I thought Stan and Wilma both looked tired and drawn, which was hardly surprising, considering how worried they must be by Faye’s change of mind. The atmosphere was polite but strained, as it had been the last time I’d met them.
‘Well, we all know each other,’ Becky began, sitting with a notepad and pen on her lap. ‘So there’s no need for us to introduce ourselves.’ She smiled convivially. ‘It’ll only be a short, informal meeting. I need to run through what’s happening as the short-term plans for Faye have changed. I’ll make a few notes as we go along. Faye, if you have any questions or there is anything you don’t understand then please stop me.’
‘You always say that to me,’ Faye said, and I smiled.
‘As we are aware,’ Becky said, ‘Faye has made it known that she would like to try to look after her baby and the social services have found her a place at –’ She named the specialist mother-and-baby unit. ‘We feel this is appropriate, and Faye can stay there for up to six months. I’m aware of the travelling issues for you,’ she said, addressing Wilma and Stan. ‘I’m looking into what transport help we can offer so you can visit Faye at the home.’
Wilma gave a stiff nod.
‘While Faye is staying at the mother-and-baby home,’ Becky said, ‘she will be well supported and taught parenting techniques as well as being observed.’
