by Cathy Glass
‘No, love. I had to go to a meeting and your mummy and daddy were there. They brought the toys with them.’
Molly thought about this for a moment and then asked, ‘If I don’t share my toys with Kit, will a dragon eat me?’
‘No, love, but it’s kind to share, isn’t it?’
Another silence and then she asked, ‘Will my mummy be eaten by a dragon if she does bad things?’
‘No, there are no such things as dragons. What makes you say that?’
She shrugged. ‘Don’t know.’ She continued playing and I thought no more about it.
At the review Aneta had said, as she had before, that the children’s illnesses came and went quickly, which was what I was finding. Having had nearly a week illness-free, I was starting to think we might have turned a corner, although I didn’t know why, but on Saturday afternoon Molly was suddenly violently sick. Without any warning, she threw up once and was then fine. I reassured her she was all right, cleaned her up, then carefully went through the food diary. I saw that the sausage casserole I’d made was the only dish they hadn’t had before, so I underlined it in red. I thought about where we’d been that day, as Aneta had said it might not be food but something they came into contact with that they were allergic to, but nothing obvious showed up. We’d been to our local supermarket and then the park, but Molly had been to both places before and been fine. Had there been a new allergen present that hadn’t been there before? It seemed unlikely, but I was running out of ideas. She was wearing a new dress I’d bought, but I’d washed it first, as I did all children’s clothes before they wore them for the first time, and I’d already ruled out the washing powder.
As well as noting all this in the food diary, I entered a shorter version in my log, and once the children were in bed that night I emailed Tess an update. I also researched online again, this time uncommon allergies, and found that some people were allergic to citrus, spice and latex, as well as apples and bananas. It was very rare but a few people were allergic to nearly everything and hardly left the house. But that wasn’t true of Molly and Kit. Their allergies seemed specific, and in between the attacks they were well. Tess must have read my email that evening at home because she replied half an hour later. Can you double check everything Molly had to eat and drink today, including brand names? Different brands sometimes contain different ingredients. Also additives. Please list them all.
It took me ages, but if it showed what was causing the problem it would be time well spent. Many of the products contained a gluten warning, but I’d already established Molly and Kit weren’t gluten intolerant, as they’d had plenty of food containing gluten that had never caused either of them to be sick. The orange juice drink her mother had sent from contact on Friday, which Molly had finished off that afternoon, was a different brand to the one I bought, but it was the one her mother always used, so she’d had it plenty of times before without a problem. I always stored the opened drinks and food that came from contact in the fridge and threw them away if they weren’t consumed within the time stated, so it couldn’t be that. I listed all the ingredients in everything Molly had eaten that day, and then before I went to bed I emailed Tess saying I’d done as she’d asked and nothing had come to light so far, but I’d keep listing the ingredients. It was exhausting and worrying, and I lay in bed wondering if I’d missed something obvious, but what could it be?
On a positive note, both children were sleeping very well and I loved waking in the morning and seeing Kit in his cot. Sometimes he was awake before me and would be standing up and grinning at me. Occasionally he was upset and wanted his mummy, especially after contact, but that was only to be expected. Molly was sometimes fretful too after contact. Seeing their parents was a reminder of home, but generally they’d both settled in.
September slipped into October and an autumnal chill could be felt in the air. Adrian and Paula saw their father on the first Sunday of the month. Now they were adults they made their own the arrangements to see him, and sometimes spoke on the phone in between. On average they saw him every six weeks. Lucy saw her birth mother about once a year.
Our routine continued and, wrapped up warm, I took Molly and Kit out each day if they didn’t have contact, often to our local park. They loved watching the squirrels burying acorns for the winter. Kit chased them and was amazed at the speed with which they disappeared up the trees.
‘I wish I could do that!’ Molly said, peering into the branches overhead.
‘So do I,’ I laughed. ‘You’d have a good view from up there.’
‘I want to be a squirrel,’ Molly said. She picked up an acorn and, holding it like a squirrel, pretended to nibble it. Kit copied her.
‘So I’m looking after two squirrels instead of children,’ I said. ‘Acorn pie for dinner.’
Molly looked at me seriously for a moment before she realized I was joking and giggled.
As well as going to the park, I also began taking the children to a soft-play activity centre a short drive away that had a ball pond. They loved all the brightly coloured balls and apparatus and could play for hours alongside each other and other pre-school children. Generally, Molly treated Kit kindly, but sometimes she pushed him over or snatched something from him. Whether she’d ever intentionally caused him serious injury while at home, as Aneta was claiming, I’d no idea, but I doubted it. I was convinced it was sibling rivalry and if she had hurt Kit badly enough to warrant him going to hospital then it was because she’d had no idea of the outcome of her actions. Part of parenting is teaching children outcomes. When they were with other children, Molly was protective of Kit and looked out for him, and I praised her.
Aneta was hardly saying anything to me at the Family Centre. She asked at the start of contact if the children had been ill, but that was all. Filip talked to me more, and brought the children to me at the end, while Aneta busied herself by putting on her coat with her back to me. Filip always said they’d had a nice time and thanked me for what I was doing for the children, which was nice of him. Molly must have told him about the places we’d been to, because he said he wished he could join us, as he would love to see the children playing and having fun, but he appreciated that wasn’t possible. I felt sorry for him. He clearly loved his children and I think he now regretted not spending more time with them in the past. He’d cut back and changed his working hours so he could attend every contact. He seemed to find it more difficult to say goodbye than Aneta did now. She said, ‘Bye, Molly and Kit,’ and, with no hug, reached for her coat. It was sad, but I thought it was probably her way of coping with the separation.
I was taking lots of photographs of Molly and Kit, as I did all the children I fostered. I put some in their Life Story Books and also gave a set to the parents at contact, so they could see what their children had been doing. It’s considered good fostering practice. Filip was always grateful and looked at them straight away, but Aneta seemed to resent it and refused to look. I could understand why. While it was nice for her to have the photos, it was a harsh reminder that the children were doing these things without her and enjoying themselves. I started to give the photos to Filip in an envelope, so it was up to him if and when he shared them with his wife.
The second week in October, Kit had his follow-up appointment at the hospital to have his arm checked. It had all healed nicely and he no longer had to wear the splint. He was a bit upset at being parted from it, so once home I made a pretend splint and put it on one of the teddy bears. Molly then got out all the dolls and soft toys and began role playing doctors and nurses. She was very good at it, I guessed from all the visits she’d made to the hospital with her mother. She took the dolls’ temperatures, looked in their ears, eyes and mouths, and felt their tummies. She asked them if they had a pain and to point to it and how often they were sick.
‘Lots,’ the doll told her.
‘Good girl,’ the mummy doll said.
‘Do y
ou like visiting the hospital?’ the teddy bear asked.
‘No, but Mummy does,’ the child doll replied. ‘She puts on her best clothes and lipstick.’ Which of course must have been part of Molly’s game, for if your child is sick enough to have to go to hospital as an emergency, you haven’t got time to change or put on lipstick. You get there as soon as possible by car or ambulance.
The following week, Tess and Edith paid their scheduled visits, on Tuesday and Thursday when we didn’t have contact. Naturally our main discussion centred around the children’s health and the sporadic bouts of sickness, the cause of which I was no nearer to finding. I showed them the food diary, which had now grown to a ring-binder folder that I added to daily.
‘I expect it’s a food additive,’ Edith said helpfully, perusing the pages and pages of ingredients I’d carefully written out.
‘Yes, but which one?’ I said. ‘Some of them appear many times but only caused a problem once.’
‘Perhaps it’s a combination of additives,’ she said. Which of course might be true.
When Tess visited, I asked if she was now considering getting the children tested some more. She’d said at the review she wanted to wait a month to see if the food diary revealed anything. Nearly a month had passed and it hadn’t. I said I appreciated it was going to be uncomfortable for Molly and Kit to undergo further testing, but I’d be with them and I really didn’t see an alternative. She agreed and said she’d speak to the parents and then the consultant.
I didn’t hear anything further from Tess for nearly a week and when I next spoke to her she said Aneta wouldn’t give her consent for the children to have further tests unless she was present at the hospital, which Tess didn’t feel was appropriate. Tess said she was trying to speak to the consultant and once she’d spoken to him, she’d make a decision on further testing. I also asked her about taking the children to a playgroup. I’d found one locally that was on a Thursday morning for two hours where the parent or carer stayed. I’d previously emailed the details to her. She told me that Aneta remained strongly opposed to Molly and Kit mixing with other children until we knew what was causing them to be ill – to avoid unnecessary exposure to germs. This seemed reasonable on the surface until you considered she’d also said the children weren’t to have any more tests unless she was present. So how were we supposed to progress? The food diary hadn’t shown anything, and, from what I knew at this stage in the care proceedings, the social services would have to apply to court for permission to have the children tested if the parents withheld their permission.
I was at a complete loss as to what to do next and the strain was taking its toll on me, although I tried not to show it. Clearly Molly and Kit had to eat, but after each meal or snack I was on tenterhooks, watching and waiting for any sign they were going to be sick. I had a long list of suspect foods that I avoided, and more with question marks beside them that appeared to have caused one of the children to be sick at one time but not another time. Without further medical tests, I didn’t see how we were ever going to identify what was causing them to be ill.
At the end of October both children were sick every day for a week and on the Friday evening Kit developed a blue rash and had difficulty breathing. I called an ambulance and while we waited for it to arrive, on the advice of the call handler, I gave him a puff of the inhaler. The ambulance took fifteen minutes to come, during which time Molly had recovered and Kit’s breathing was easing. I explained the situation to the paramedics and that I was their foster carer as they examined both children in the living room. Molly was back to normal, but Kit still had a rash and the paramedics decided to take him into hospital. I went with him in the ambulance while Lucy and Paula stayed with Molly. Adrian was out. I was so stressed and worried that as I sat in the rear of the ambulance with Kit cradled in my arms I burst into tears. The paramedic was lovely.
‘I can appreciate why you’re upset,’ she said, patting my arm. ‘The children have been ill so much. Hopefully the doctors will be able to get to the bottom of it this time.’
I nodded dumbly.
On arrival, we were taken straight into a cubicle and Kit was checked by a nurse. She stayed with him while I went to the front desk to register him, where I was asked for his full name, date of birth and contact details. They had his previous address, so I gave mine and that of our doctor. I returned to Kit, and while we waited to see a doctor I telephoned the duty social worker, as foster carers are supposed to when a child is in hospital. I also phoned home, where Lucy and Paula were waiting anxiously for any news. I told them we were waiting to see a doctor and that I’d be in touch again when I knew more.
The young doctor we saw had access to Kit’s medical records and he commented that Kit had had episodes like this before, which I knew. He examined Kit, and although Kit was fast recovering he decided to keep him in overnight for observation. We were taken to a side room in the children’s ward and I spent the night in the chair by his cot, while a nurse checked him every hour. By 6 a.m. the rash had gone and he was jumping around and eager to be off.
We both had some breakfast and I then brought in some toys from the main children’s ward while we waited for the doctor to discharge him. It was 10 a.m. before he arrived – the same doctor we’d seen the evening before – and, having examined Kit, he said he was well enough to go home. He also made a referral to the paediatric allergy clinic and would send a copy of the letter to our doctor. I asked for a copy to be sent to the social worker too, which is normal practice for looked-after children. I then telephoned home and Adrian said he’d come to collect us in his car. I reminded him to bring the children’s car seats from my car. It was just after 11 a.m. when we arrived home and as we went in Paula came into the hall, holding Molly’s hand.
‘Thank you for all your help, I couldn’t have managed without you,’ I told Paula. It was true. But she was looking very worried. ‘Is everything all right?’ I asked her.
‘No, Mum. Lucy’s gone back to bed. She’s been ever so sick.’
‘Has she?’ Adrian asked, surprised. ‘She was fine when I left.’
‘It came on all of a sudden. Just like Molly and Kit.’
Chapter Fifteen
A Breakthrough?
I left Paula and Adrian looking after Kit and Molly downstairs and hurried upstairs to Lucy’s room. I couldn’t remember the last time she’d been sick. She never was. Despite working with children, she didn’t pick up the illnesses that seemed to go around the nursery, even in winter when many of them had coughs, colds and runny noses.
Lucy’s bedroom door was ajar and I knocked and went in. She was lying on her bed, fully clothed, awake but very pale. A plastic bucket was beside her bed.
‘You poor dear,’ I said, going over and sitting on her bed. ‘I wonder what brought that on. How do you feel now?’ I stroked a loose strand of hair away from her forehead. She didn’t feel hot, as though she had a temperature.
‘I’m a bit better now,’ she said. ‘But it was horrible. I hate being sick.’
‘I know, love. How many times were you sick?’ The bucket was empty.
‘Once, but it was very violent. I felt fine this morning. I had breakfast and then just after Adrian left to collect you and Kit I had a drink. About fifteen minutes later I felt very sick. I just made it to the loo in time.’
‘What did you have for breakfast?’ I asked, wondering if that was the cause.
‘Scrambled eggs on toast.’
‘Did Molly have them?’
‘No. She had porridge. The eggs tasted fine, but I can’t think what else it could be. Unless I’ve picked up something at work. One of the children was sick yesterday.’
‘That’ll be it, I’m sure. You’d have smelt it if the eggs were off. You can’t miss it.’
‘How’s Kit?’ she asked, propping herself up on the pillow.
‘Back to normal. The doctor is
making a referral to the allergy clinic. I’ll discuss it with Tess. Do you want anything?’
‘Just a glass of water, please. I’ll be down soon, and can you take the bucket? I don’t need it now. Paula put it there in case I was sick again.’
I kissed Lucy’s cheek and, taking the bucket, I went downstairs and poured her a glass of water. Half an hour later she was up and about, the colour having returned to her cheeks, and feeling more or less back to normal, although she was worried in case she was sick again. Molly was worried too and kept watching her. ‘You were sick like me,’ she said.
‘Everyone is sick sometimes,’ Lucy said. ‘Thankfully I’m not ill often.’
‘I am,’ Molly said.
‘Yes, and I am trying to find out what is causing it so we can stop it happening,’ I reassured her again.
It had crossed my mind for one horrible moment that possibly Molly and Kit had passed on a communicable disease to Lucy, but I couldn’t think what it could be with these symptoms. Like all foster carers, we practised safer caring, as Lucy did at the nursery. So if a child was sick or soiled themselves, we put on rubber gloves to clear it up, thoroughly cleaned the area with hot water and disinfectant, and hot washed any clothes or bed linen. Likewise, when we changed Kit’s nappy we did so using disposable gloves. I thought it was highly unlikely Lucy had caught something from Molly or Kit, but when I wrote up my log for the day I included that Lucy had been sick once in the morning but had recovered quickly. I also emailed Tess the same, adding that I felt it was essential we found out what was causing the children to be ill, not only for their sakes, but for that of anyone they came into contact with, as no one knew for certain they weren’t carriers of a contagious disease.
