Saving Danny. Cathy Glass

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СКАЧАТЬ thinking straight yesterday. Have you got enough for now?’

      ‘Yes. Plenty.’

      ‘I’ll go and see Danny now then. It’ll be strange not having to come to school to collect him this afternoon.’

      ‘Try not to worry,’ I said. ‘I’ll take good care of him.’

      ‘I know you will, and you’ll do a better job of it than me.’

      There was little more I could say right now to help Reva, for, as she’d admitted, she was in a ‘dark place’ and felt a failure as a mother, wife and, I suspected, as a person too. I assumed Terri would have advised Reva to see a doctor if she felt she needed help with depression. It wasn’t for me to suggest it to her. We stood and left the staff room. At the end of the corridor we said goodbye to each other, and Reva went to Danny’s classroom while I went towards reception and then out of the school.

      Once home I made a cup of coffee and took it to the table, together with Reva’s notes. I began reading as I sipped my coffee. There was so much detail. Too much detail. I flicked through. Every minute of every day was accounted for, with lengthy, painstaking instructions on what to do and what not to do in every situation. Mealtimes included how to position Danny’s cutlery the way he liked it to avoid a tantrum, and the morning routine included what to say to Danny when I woke him, and then again at night when he went to bed. Reva had written how I should greet him at the end of the school day, and that I shouldn’t ask what he’d done at school as he didn’t like that and could become angry. I should say, ‘We’re going home in the car, Danny,’ but then I had to remain silent as we walked to the car, because he didn’t like to be talked to. I had to let him open the car door himself, and I wasn’t to help him climb in, or touch his seatbelt, as it annoyed him. Reva had also noted that it took Danny a long time to fasten his seatbelt due to his lack of coordination, and consequently she always made sure she parked her car with the passenger door on the pavement side so she didn’t have to stand in the road while she waited for him to fasten it. And so it continued, page after page …

      While some of what Reva had written would be helpful – for example, Danny’s bath-time routine, the toys he enjoyed playing with and the television programme that most engaged him – much of it was too regimented to be of use in my household. My family was very different to Reva’s, and I couldn’t expect my children to change their lives to revolve around Danny’s routine. I also felt that so much regimentation was stifling. To have every minute of every hour accounted for meant there was no room for creativity or impulsive or impromptu actions. Yet I could see why Reva had run their lives like this. There’s a feeling of safety in the familiar and predictable. She was in a fragile state and had desperately clung to what she knew worked as a coping mechanism. The downside was that she and Danny were hostages to his behaviour – prisoners locked in their routine.

Chapter Seven

       Crisis Averted

      Before children were diagnosed with conditions such as autism, Asperger’s, bipolar disorder, special needs, development delay, specific learning difficulties or many of the other syndromes we can now identify, they were referred to as backward, retarded or mentally defective. These are terms we wouldn’t use now. They’re considered derogatory. Yet in our ignorance was a certain freedom for the child and those involved with him or her. Without the diagnosis (or label) we have today, the child’s parents, extended family, community and teachers acknowledged there was something ‘wrong’ with the child and then accommodated and modified their behaviour. True, some of these children ended up in institutions, but the majority remained with their families, where allowances for their different, unusual and sometimes bizarre behaviour were made by those who came into contact with them. I had an older cousin – he’s dead now – who today would probably have been diagnosed with an autistic-spectrum disorder and learning difficulties. But back then he was just Pete. He lived all his life with his mother – my aunt – and worked a few mornings a week sticking down envelopes. He never spoke much, made some very odd noises and often appeared to be in a world of his own. He seemed happy enough, though, and laughed – sometimes at the most inappropriate moments (once at a funeral). We all loved Pete and accepted him for what he was. I remember that as a child he seemed to me to be a big kid, who was always ready for a game. Would he have benefited from a diagnosis? We won’t ever know. But I do wonder if we’re over-diagnosing now, so that any child who doesn’t fit neatly into the ‘norm’ must have something ‘wrong’ with them that needs a diagnosis so we can ‘put it right’.

      Obviously children have to learn socially acceptable behaviour, but there is a huge spectrum of conduct that could be described as unusual, eccentric or just odd. And after all it’s our oddities and eccentricities that make us who we are – individuals. I’d just begun my journey with Danny, and Reva had coped as best she could for all of Danny’s life, but by the time I’d read to the end of Reva’s notes I’d made the decision that I wouldn’t be using them much. As well as the rigidity of the routine being impractical in my household, I realized I’d be making a rod for my own back, as indeed Reva had. For, once in place, these routines had to be adhered to, because, as Reva had found, any changes were confusing and upsetting for Danny. I had the advantage of being able to start afresh, without the history and emotional baggage that had blighted Reva and Danny’s relationship.

      I put away the notes and then gave some thought to what I should make for dinner that evening. Jill was coming at 4 p.m. – I needed something quick and easy that we could have soon after she’d gone so we wouldn’t be eating too late. I realized that the casserole I’d made the evening before hadn’t been the best choice of meal for Danny (who liked his food separate), but he’d coped. Reva had included in her notes that Danny’s diet was limited and that I should not give him meals where the food was combined, for example, spaghetti bolognese, cottage pie, porridge, rice pudding, etc. – many of the dishes my family and I enjoyed. While I would be making changes to Danny’s diet to give him a better variety and therefore standard of nutrition, I knew I shouldn’t make too many changes too quickly, so I decided on fish fingers and chips, which Reva had listed as one of Danny’s favourites. I’d add green beans for their vitamin content, and then for pudding we could have yoghurt and fruit, which Danny also ate, according to Reva’s notes.

      Later that afternoon as I drove to collect Danny from school I thought again of Reva’s notes. She’d written that I had to stand in a particular place in the playground to wait for Danny while Yvonne or one of the other classroom assistants brought him out to me. The spot where I had to wait was at the top end of the hopscotch design, which apparently was painted in red on the playground, and which the children presumably played on at break. I hadn’t noticed the hopscotch design that morning, but then I’d been preoccupied with Danny and Reva.

      I arrived ten minutes early and found the design easily. I stood, as I’d been told, at the top of the number ten box and waited for school to finish. As the playground filled with other parents and carers arriving to collect their children, I noticed that they waited some distance from where I was standing, over to the right and in front of the main door where the children would eventually come out. I began to feel slightly isolated on my hopscotch island and wondered why Reva hadn’t arranged a more sociable pick-up point, closer to the other parents. I’m someone who likes a chat and I spend a lot of time waiting in school playgrounds to collect the children I foster, so I usually find it isn’t long before I’m in conversation with another parent or carer. But there was no chance of that here. I’d need a loud-hailer to be heard by them.

      The klaxon sounded from inside the school, and presently, the main door opened and the children started coming out. Danny was among the first, his coat zipped up and a large school bag over his shoulder that was nearly as big as him. He was holding the hand of a lady I took to be a classroom assistant. They looked СКАЧАТЬ