Saving Danny. Cathy Glass

      Sue looked at me. ‘Danny can become frustrated when he is unable to express himself or there is too much going on for him, and he has a “meltdown”. Yvonne and I have become adept at spotting the warning signs and can sometimes distract him to avoid it, but not always. He’ll lie on the floor, scream and shout and lash out at anyone who goes near him. It’s very upsetting for him, and for us to witness.’

      ‘He does it at home as well,’ Reva said. ‘And in public, in the street and in shops. Everyone stares. I know they blame me for not controlling him properly, but I don’t know what to do.’ She was close to tears again.

      ‘As an experienced and specialist foster carer you’ll be able to cope with Danny’s behaviour, won’t you?’ Terri said to me.

      ‘Yes,’ I said confidently, although I was feeling far from confident inside.

      ‘Danny finds it difficult to make friends,’ Sue continued. ‘The children in the class are very tolerant of him and kind, but he doesn’t have a proper friend. He doesn’t understand how to make friends, although Yvonne has tried to show him. In the playground he keeps close to her or one of the other assistants. He can easily become overwhelmed by all the noise and activity, so we often bring him in early. He eats his lunch with the other children in the dining hall, but he takes a long time and is usually the last to finish.’ My heart clenched as I imagined little Danny sitting all alone in a big dining room while the other children were outside playing. ‘Yvonne or one of the other assistants stays with him until he’s finished,’ Sue said. ‘There are a lot of unknowns with Danny and at times he’s very difficult to reach. The school would like the educational psychologist to assess him so that we’re all in a better position to help him meet his full potential. But we need the parents’ permission for that assessment.’

      Which begged the question: why hadn’t his parents given permission?

      Terri turned to Reva. ‘Is your husband still not happy with Danny being assessed?’

      ‘He won’t,’ Reva said. ‘He is ashamed. He refuses to admit anything is wrong with Danny.’

      ‘I’ll have a chat with him and explain why it’s important Danny is assessed,’ Terri said, making a note. Then looking at Sue she said, ‘Is that everything for now?’

      ‘I think so.’

      ‘Thank you,’ Terri said. Then she turned to Reva: ‘Would you like to say a bit about Danny? Perhaps tell Cathy about his likes and dislikes, and his routine. Anything you think may help her look after Danny.’

      ‘Yes,’ Reva said. ‘I’ve made a few notes.’ She unhooked her shoulder bag from the back of her chair and, opening it, slid out a thick wodge of papers. ‘This is Danny’s daily routine,’ she said, passing it across the table to me. ‘It never alters.’

      ‘Thank you,’ I said, taking it. I began flipping through. Usually a parent will say a few words about their child’s routine, very occasionally they’ll give me some notes, but never in all my years of fostering had I seen anything this detailed before: twenty-three pages of A4 paper covered in small print.

      ‘Perhaps you could read it later,’ Terri said, aware of the volume of paperwork.

      I nodded and smiled at Reva. ‘Thank you. This will be helpful.’

      ‘Is there anything you want to add to what you’ve written?’ Terri asked Reva.

      I assumed there wouldn’t be, given the detail in the paperwork, but Reva said, ‘Yes. That’s just Danny’s routine. Cathy also needs to know what it’s like looking after Danny. I mean, what it’s really like.’ She paused, and I saw her bottom lip tremble. ‘It’s been hell,’ she said. ‘Absolute hell. It’s a nightmare looking after Danny. I know it’s my fault, and some days I wish he’d never been born.’ Her face crumpled into tears.

Chapter Six

       Prisoners

      My heart went out to Reva. She was clearly carrying a huge burden of guilt and self-blame for Danny’s problems, and appeared to be at her wits’ end, and close to breaking point. Terri, Sue and I tried to reassure her, but her feelings of inadequacy were too deeply ingrained, and I wondered how much of this was a result of her husband’s attitude. Reva’s previous comment about him blaming her for having an autistic son weighed heavily in my thoughts. The last thing the poor woman needed was to be blamed by her partner; she needed all the help and support she could get.

      Presently Reva dried her eyes and was composed enough to continue. ‘Danny cried a lot as a baby. I thought all babies cried, but my husband, Richard, said his other two children hadn’t cried as much as Danny did. He was married before. Danny’s my only child, so I had nothing to compare him to. But I became exhausted – up most of the night, every night. Danny didn’t seem to need much sleep. I read all the books I could find on parenting. I felt I must be doing something wrong, and if I’m honest Danny’s crying scared me. It seemed as if he wanted something and I should be able to work out what it was. He was out of control when he screamed, even as a baby, and there was nothing I could do to help him.’

      ‘Didn’t you have anyone you could talk to?’ Terri asked.

      ‘Not really. I discussed it with my mother when we spoke on the phone, but she said babies often cried for no reason. She lives over a hundred miles from us, so we don’t see her very often. She’s not a hands-on grandmother. Richard’s job was very demanding – it still is – and I’d given up work to look after Danny, so I got up in the night and did most of the parenting. I do now. I tried to keep Danny quiet, because if Richard went to work tired he couldn’t function. I couldn’t function either. I asked the health visitor about Danny’s crying and she said it was nothing to worry about, that it was probably a bit of colic. The gripe water she recommended didn’t help, and Danny kept crying for large parts of every day and most nights until he was eighteen months old. Then it suddenly stopped and he became very quiet and withdrawn. He had some language by then and was starting to put words together into little sentences – you know the sort of thing: “Daddy go work”, “Danny want biscuit”, “Mummy cooking.” But he suddenly stopped talking and would point to what he wanted and make a noise instead. I tried to encourage him to use words, but he would stare through me as though he hadn’t a clue what I was talking about.’

      ‘Had anything traumatic happened to Danny at that time?’ Terri asked.

      ‘I’ve wondered that, but I can’t think of anything,’ Reva said. ‘Danny was with me all day and night. I would have known if something had happened. There was nothing.’

      Terri nodded. ‘OK. I just wondered.’

      ‘Although Danny had stopped talking,’ Reva continued, ‘and was very quiet for long periods and all night, he’d started having tantrums. He would throw himself on the floor, screaming, and bang his head on the ground, the wall, a cupboard – any hard object within reach. It was frightening, and when I tried to pick him up he’d lash out, kick and punch me, pull my hair and bite and claw me as though I was attacking him and he had to fight me off. My beautiful baby boy. I was devastated. He’s stopped the clawing, but he still does the other things when he’s frustrated and upset.’ Reva paused.

      ‘At school we do all we can to encourage Danny to use language to express himself – if he wants something or is upset,’ Sue said.

      ‘So do I,’ Reva said a little brusquely. ‘But it’s different at school. There are other children here and Danny has respect for you. At home it’s just him and me, and he doesn’t have respect for me. He does what he wants, and if he won’t talk to me there is nothing I can do about it.’

      ‘Does he talk to your husband?’ Terri asked.

      ‘Sometimes, a little. But he only sees him for a few minutes in the evening, and at the weekends, when Richard’s not playing golf. Danny