‘Cathy is teaching me now,’ Faye put in.
‘Yes, I know, that’s good,’ Becky said. ‘And the home will build on that learning. During her time at the home Faye will also be monitored, leading to an assessment at the end, which will give us a clearer picture of what the next step should be. I shall also be visiting her.’
As Becky continued to talk I glanced at Wilma and Stan. Both were concentrating on Becky, their expressions neutral. Like me, they already knew how the care plan had changed, but this review was procedural and used to clarify any points and address questions that Faye or her grandparents might have. It was a lot less formal than the reviews I attended for the children I fostered, which were usually held in my house. Children in care have regular reviews, which 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 all attend. The meeting is chaired and minuted by an independent reviewing officer and usually lasts an hour.
‘So, that’s the plan at present,’ Becky said, rounding off. ‘Does anyone have any questions?’
‘Only what we’ve already raised,’ Stan said. ‘What’s going to happen at the end of the six months?’
‘We don’t know yet,’ Becky said. ‘We’ll have to wait for the outcome of the assessment.’
‘No. I mean, what if Faye’s allowed to keep –’ He couldn’t bring himself to say ‘the baby’, but used the northern term ‘bairn’ instead.
‘We’re looking into various options that could offer the support Faye would need – supported lodgings or a semi-independence unit,’ Becky said. ‘Although I’m afraid they are all out of the immediate area.’
‘But I’m right in saying that none of them are long term?’ Stan said, so I assumed this issue had been discussed before.
‘That’s right,’ Becky said with a small nod. ‘The maximum stay is two years.’ I heard Wilma sigh. ‘But that’s a long time ahead,’ Becky continued, ‘and it might be felt by then that Faye has the necessary skills to live independently.’
Another small sigh escaped Wilma’s lips, but neither she nor Stan commented further.
‘Cathy,’ Becky said, turning to me. ‘I know you see Wilma and Stan regularly when you bring Faye and collect her, but perhaps you’d like to give us an update and say a few words on how Faye is doing with you now.’
‘Yes, of course.’ Foster carers are usually asked to speak at a child’s or young person’s review, so this wasn’t unexpected. ‘Faye’s antenatal checks are now every two weeks until she is full term,’ I began. ‘At these check-ups Faye is weighed and measured by the midwife and her blood pressure and urine are checked. She also listens to the baby’s heartbeat. Both Faye and the baby are doing well. There are no medical concerns. I’ve noticed Faye is becoming more tired, especially in the evening, but that’s to be expected at this stage in the pregnancy. Her last blood test showed that her iron levels were normal and they will be checked again at her next appointment. Faye seems to be coping well with all the changes and is generally very happy.’
‘She’s always happy,’ Stan said.
‘Because she doesn’t see the problems as we do,’ Wilma added.
Becky nodded and I continued. ‘Faye gets on well with my family, and joins us on days out. She decided she didn’t want to continue going to the day centre, and because she can’t go to the stables I’ve been taking her to see some horses in a field, which she enjoys.’ Stan and Wilma both nodded. ‘Faye has established a good morning routine, which I believe is similar to the one she has here. She also has an evening routine, which includes a bath and watching her favourite television programmes. I’ve started teaching Faye the basics of parenting: how to hold a baby, lay it in the crib, feed it and so on.’
‘That reminds me,’ Becky said. ‘I’m afraid I haven’t had any luck finding one of those electronic baby dolls you asked for. I’m still searching.’
Wilma and Stan looked puzzled and Becky explained what an electronic baby-simulator doll was.
‘I’m using an ordinary doll to practise on,’ I said to Wilma and Stan. They nodded, although Wilma looked sceptical.
‘And Faye’s managing to learn the skills you’re teaching her?’ Becky asked.
Faye was looking at me. ‘Yes, slowly, but we’ve only just started. Faye did well on Saturday when we began to practise making up bottles of milk. We didn’t do much this morning, though.’
‘Because I’m having an off day,’ Faye told her gran again.
‘I see,’ Becky said, making a note. ‘What does having an off day mean exactly?’
‘She forgets everything she’s supposed to do,’ Wilma said, not unkindly. ‘It was investigated when she was a child. Epilepsy was suggested but nothing was found.’
‘How long does it last?’ Becky asked. ‘Minutes? Hours?’
‘Most of the day,’ Wilma said. ‘Then she goes to sleep and she’s as right as rain in the morning, unless she’s sickening for something. Do you feel unwell?’ she now asked Faye.
‘No. I’m just having an off day,’ Faye replied.
Becky finished writing and I continued by saying that I’d booked a place for Faye to attend the last two antenatal classes and that I would be going with her. I gave the dates and also the date when we would be looking round the maternity ward at the hospital. Becky made a note. I said that after discussion with Becky I’d taken Faye shopping for the essential items like nappies, babygrows and vests, and I finished by saying that we’d packed her bag for the hospital. ‘In plenty of time, so we’re ready.’
Becky looked up from her notepad. ‘Thank you, Cathy. That’s helpful.’ Then, looking mainly at Wilma, she asked, ‘Are we still in agreement that Cathy should be Faye’s birthing partner?’
There was silence. I looked from Wilma to Stan; clearly they knew something we didn’t. It was Wilma who spoke: ‘We think Cathy should go with Faye to the hospital when the time comes, but I’d like her to phone me as soon as they arrive. It takes me a long time to get ready, especially if it’s at night and I have to get dressed, and I’ll need to call a cab. But I feel I should be there for Faye if possible. We’ve brought her up and I’ve been her mother.’
‘Yes, of course,’ I said, pleased. ‘I’ll phone you as soon as Faye goes into labour.’ Becky looked pleased too, for this shift in Wilma and Stan’s attitude – their greater acceptance of the baby – was positive and might pave the way for offering the support that could help Faye keep her baby long term.
‘That sounds good to me,’ Becky said. Then, looking at Faye, she asked, ‘What do you think? Would you like your gran and Cathy to be with you when you go to hospital to have your baby?’
‘Yes, and Snuggles,’ Faye said, smiling.
‘Of course Snuggles must go,’ Stan laughed kindly, and the atmosphere improved.
Becky then spent a few minutes explaining to Wilma and Stan about the adjustments that would be made to Faye’s state benefit, and how to claim a maternity grant for her. Then, with nothing more to discuss and no further questions from us, she wound up the meeting. She thanked me for coming and then wished Faye luck in case she didn’t see her again before the birth, and said she would see her afterwards. Stan and Wilma confirmed that they’d see Faye the day after tomorrow and then, saying goodbye, Faye and I left, followed by Becky. We all waited for the elevator together.
‘It sounds as though you’re doing very well,’ Becky said to Faye with a smile.
‘Yes, I am,’ Faye said. ‘Can I keep my baby?’ She asked it with a child’s naïve innocence, and Becky looked uncomfortable.
‘You’ll have your baby with you in the mother-and-baby home,’ she said. ‘Then we will work out what is best for your baby in the long term.’ Which is what Becky had explained to Faye before, but it seemed to satisfy her for now.
As we left the building and said goodbye, Becky again wished Faye good luck and then we went to our respective cars.
/> Once home Faye wanted to look through the contents of her hospital bag, I think because I’d mentioned it at the review. I lifted it down from where I’d stowed it on top of her wardrobe, and placed it on the bed. She sat beside it and began going through, admiring all the new things we’d bought for her baby. I left her to it but looked in on her a couple of times. She was in her element, unpacking and repacking the contents and pretending she was going on holiday. I told her to make sure she returned everything to the bag when she’d finished, but again the incongruity of seeing a heavily pregnant woman playing like a child struck me. She had a lot of growing up to do to become a responsible parent, and in a very short space of time.
Wilma’s assurance that after a night’s sleep Faye’s ‘off day’ would go and she’d be ‘as right as rain’ proved correct. The following morning Faye was up at her usual time and fell into her routine, albeit slowly, but then Faye did everything slowly, as though all tasks required her full and equal concentration. She remembered where the cereal for breakfast was kept without a problem, and after breakfast she knew she had to dress, wash and brush her teeth. Once ready she wanted to make up some more bottles and I took everything we needed from the cupboards and set it on the work surface with the instruction sheets. An hour later, and with a lot of help from me, she’d successfully washed and sterilized four bottles, and had made up the formula milk. I praised her.
That afternoon we went to see the horses, as we hadn’t been for a while. It was cold – there’d been a frost that morning – so we didn’t stay long. But judging from the way the horses and ponies galloped across the field as soon as we approached the fence, they were as pleased to see Faye as she was to see them. She petted and stroked them with her gloved hands and remembered some of the names she’d given them. They whinnied and snorted appreciatively, their warm breath fogging in the cold air. Since the change in the care plan Faye had stopped counting down the number of sleeps to when she could return to the stables. She understood that, as she’d be living out of the area and looking after her baby, going to the stables wouldn’t be practical, and neither would going to the day centre.
The following day, after I’d taken Faye to her grandparents, I continued into town to do some Christmas shopping. I knew what Adrian, Lucy and Paula wanted – they’d dropped hints – and I’d decided to buy Faye a camera. She didn’t own one and her phone was too basic to have one included. I thought that like all parents she’d want to take lots of photographs of her baby, so it seemed an ideal present. I wanted a camera that was easy to hold and use, but that took good photographs. I went to the large electrical store in the shopping centre where a helpful assistant showed me a range of cameras that matched my criteria and were within budget, and I found exactly what I was looking for. From there I went to the maternity and baby store I’d previously shopped in with Faye. It was bursting with Christmas gift ideas and, taking a basket, I headed for the display marked ‘Baby’s First Christmas’.
I was like a kid in a candy store as I filled the basket. So many gorgeous gifts, it was difficult to choose. I began by placing a bright-red Santa sack into my basket. It had a large motif on the front showing a jolly, smiling Santa and the words ‘My First Christmas’. Then I chose a rattle, an outfit with pictures of reindeer on it, a bib with a snow scene on the front, a photograph album for baby’s first year, a velvet-soft cuddly toy, and so on. Eventually I had to drag myself away. As I stood in the queue to pay I pictured the look of delight on Faye’s face as she hung the Santa sack on the end of her baby’s crib on Christmas Eve, and then the following morning as she opened the presents for her baby. If the baby arrived on time it would be two weeks old on Christmas Day. I also imagined her delight when she opened her own presents and could begin to take photographs of her baby.
Leaving this shop, I went to the department store, where I bought presents for family and friends from my list, some stocking fillers and a Santa sack for Faye. Adrian, Paula and Lucy still had their sacks from when they were little, and despite being young adults now they still liked to find them by their beds on Christmas morning. In recent years I’d found a Santa sack bedside my bed too, containing perfume, bath oil and chocolates. I wonder how Santa knew they were my favourites! I planned to take Faye’s and her baby’s presents to the mother-and-baby unit a day or so before Christmas.
I left the shopping centre, laden with bags and parcels, with that warm feeling that comes from knowing you are going to make the people you love and care for very happy. Although it was true that thoughts of Christmas this year were tinged with the sad knowledge that it would be the first without my father, I was still looking forward to it. I intended to ask Mum what she wanted to do on the day itself. In the past she and Dad, and my brother and his family, had all come to me for Christmas Day. It was possible that this year she might want to do something different, which might include visiting Dad’s grave. I needed to discuss the arrangements with her, but I was putting it off, for once I’d had that conversation I’d have to accept that future Christmases would never be the same again. There would always be someone missing, which made me sad.
Chapter Eighteen
Excited and Concerned
Although I recorded events objectively in my fostering log, as carers are supposed to, I was now feeling anything but objective. In teaching Faye, the fight for her to keep her baby had become personal as I tried to instil knowledge into her, willing her to learn so she had the best possible chance. In the months Faye had been living with us we’d become very close. She’d spent a lot of time with me – more than most foster children, as they would normally have been in school. All that time, plus her vulnerability, had drawn us closer, and I felt fiercely loyal and protective of her (as I appreciated her grandparents did). Faye was a dear, kind soul who I knew would love her baby unconditionally, if only she could be taught the skills to parent. I knew my children felt the same. Adrian didn’t say much, but I often found him explaining something to Faye or praising her for a job well done to build her confidence. Lucy and Paula took every opportunity to encourage and praise Faye too, and because Lucy worked in a nursery she sometimes offered Faye practical childcare advice – usually at the weekend when she wasn’t tired from work. Without doubt, we’d all bonded with Faye and were on her side. We were like her support army, ready to do all we could in the battle for her to keep her baby. The possibility that we might fail was too painful to consider.
The rest of the week flew by, and the following week Edith visited. Faye was with us in the living room most of the time and proudly showed Edith how she fed and changed the baby doll. Edith praised her and the way I was teaching Faye. I was pleased. I’d had no formal training in caring for or teaching adults with learning disabilities, so it had been trial and error. Edith made some notes on my fostering, which would be included in the report she wrote for my annual review. She’d forgotten about trying to find an electronic doll and made another note to remind herself. She was with us for nearly three-quarters of an hour, observing Faye and talking to her and me. At the end she read and signed my log notes. I would email her and Becky a monthly report, as all foster carers are now expected to do. The amount of paperwork has steadily increased over the years, and I know some carers find it a burden.
During that week Faye and I also attended the first of the two antenatal classes, held in a function room at the library. It took Faye a while to grasp that this building wasn’t anything to do with the hospital where she would be having her baby but was purely being used for the lecture. We signed in and then sat together on the seats arranged in four rows facing a flip chart. There were eight pregnant women with either their partner or mother there, and one woman by herself. All the others appeared to know each other, presumably from the previous classes, which rather singled us out from the start. The lecture was entitled Mother and Baby’s Wellbeing and was given by a midwife (though not the one we saw at the doctor’s surgery) and a student, whose job it was to distribute the
handouts and turn the sheets of the flip chart. The topics included good nutrition for the mother and baby, what to eat and what not to eat, exercise, baby vaccinations, keeping baby at the right temperature, postnatal depression and so on. Faye’s literacy skills weren’t good enough for her to be able to make sense of much of the handouts, and it soon became obvious that what the midwife was saying was going over her head too. It didn’t help that the midwife’s voice was rather low and monotonous, and the chairs were hard and uncomfortable. Faye very quickly lost interest and concentration, and then, without the inhibitions that might have kept most adults focused and hiding their boredom, she began yawing and gazing around. Thankfully Snuggles was in the car; otherwise I think she’d have begun playing with him. She examined the walls and ceiling, and then began staring at the others to our left and right and then turning in her seat so she could see those sitting behind. I kept trying to draw her attention back to the front and what was being said, and I told her to sit still.
‘I can’t,’ she said. ‘My bum hurts on this chair.’
The woman in front tittered and nodded.
We stayed until the end of the talk – two hours – but only just, and I knew Faye had learnt nothing. She was a tactile learner who needed practical, hands-on experience to acquire and retain knowledge. She also needed one-to-one teaching so she could learn at her own pace. As we came out of the room she yawned. ‘Do I have to come here again?’
‘Not if you don’t want to,’ I said.
‘I don’t. Can I see the horses instead?’ Which rather confirmed how little Faye had gained from the talk.
Once we were home and I had a moment free, I sent Becky an email explaining why I thought the class hadn’t been useful for Faye and that I was thinking of cancelling the next one, although I would still take her for the visit to the hospital. I’d tell her grandparents the next time I saw them. Becky emailed back the following morning saying I should do what I thought was right, and she understood that Faye would struggle in a classroom situation. I checked again with Faye that she didn’t want to attend the other class, which was about labour, the birth and breastfeeding, and she said she didn’t. I telephoned the hospital, apologized and cancelled her place but confirmed we’d be joining the group for the visit to the maternity ward.