Читать книгу Can I Let You Go?: Part 3 of 3: A heartbreaking true story of love, loss and moving on - Cathy Glass, Cathy Glass - Страница 5

The following morning, Saturday, once Faye was up and dressed and had finished her breakfast, she was eager to learn how to make up a bottle of milk. It was ten o’clock, Adrian had gone to work and Paula and Lucy were wandering around in their dressing gowns, taking their time getting up, as it was the weekend. Faye came with me to the kitchen where I set the two instruction sheets in their plastic sleeves side by side on the work surface. I carefully explained what each was for.

‘You can do that one,’ Faye said, pointing to the sheet for sterilizing the bottles. ‘I want to put the milk in the bottles.’

‘You have to learn to do both,’ I said. ‘All the bottles must be washed well in warm water and sterilized before you make up the milk.’ I’d explained this when we’d gone shopping for the sterilizer, but as with many new things Faye had to hear it a number of times before it was committed to memory. ‘If you don’t sterilize the bottle, germs could make your baby sick,’ I emphasized. ‘So what is the first thing you do?’ I pointed to number one on the step-by-step instructions for sterilizing the bottles.

‘One. Wash all the bottles in warm water,’ she read slowly, as a young child might.

‘Good. Go on then. There are the bottles and the bottle brush in the sink ready. Just run the hot water and add a squirt of washing-up liquid. I know the bottles aren’t dirty, but they will be once you start using them. Always take off the tops of the bottles – the teats – to wash them.’

‘I’m good at washing up,’ Faye said. ‘I do it at home for Gran.’

‘Excellent.’ I stood to one side and watched as she slowly and rather laboriously began cleaning the first bottle. ‘That’s right, push the brush right down to the end of the bottle and turn it round and round,’ I said. ‘Great. Now the next one.’ She carefully set the first bottle on the draining board and picked up the next. ‘When you’ve had your baby and you are doing this for real, you’ll need to have bottles cleaned and sterilized in plenty of time so you always have a feed ready, but we’ll cover that another time.’

It took Faye a good ten minutes to wash and rinse the four bottles and teats and place them on the drainer. She set the bottle brush beside them and then carefully tipped the water from the bowl. She turned to me with a big smile of satisfaction from a job well done. ‘Can I put the milk in the bottles now?’

‘Not yet,’ I said, passing her the towel to wipe her hands. ‘We have to do something else first. Something very important. Can you remember what it is? If not, read number two on the list.’

She returned to the work surface and studied the instruction sheet for the sterilizer as I stood beside her. ‘What does number two say?’ I asked gently. ‘Do you know?’

‘I can read some of it,’ she said. ‘Two. Fill the …’ She didn’t know the next word.

‘Measuring jug,’ I read, then helped her with the rest of the sentence, ‘with two hundred millilitres of water. Here’s the jug,’ I said, passing it to her. ‘Can you see the line on the jug for two hundred mils?’

She studied the side of the jug and then pointed to the correct line.

‘Excellent,’ I said.

Pleased, she stood there looking at me, the jug in her hand.

‘What do you do now?’ I asked. She continued looking at me. ‘If you’ve forgotten, look at the instruction sheet again. I’ve written it to help you.’

She looked down at the sheet and read the line out again. ‘Fill the measuring jug with … Oh yes. I put the water in it.’

‘That’s right. Good. Use the cold water. Fill the jug to the line that shows two hundred mils.’ It was possible that Faye had never used a measuring jug before.

She turned on the cold tap and the water came out in a rush. ‘It’s too much,’ she said, panicking slightly and quickly turning off the tap again.

‘Don’t worry. Just tip a little out until you have about two hundred mils.’ She licked her bottom lip as she concentrated.

‘That’s two hundred,’ she said.

‘Excellent. Bring the jug over here and we’ll look at the next step.’

I helped her read the third stage, pointing to each word as we read: ‘Take out the tray in the sterilizer and pour the water into the base.’

I showed her where the tray was and she tipped in the water.

‘Good. Next,’ I said. ‘You’re doing well. It will all become easier with practice.’

‘Put the tray back in,’ she read.

I helped her slide it back into place and then we read the next step together: ‘Place the bottles and teats in the top.’ I did one to show her and she loaded the others.

‘Well done.’

‘Put the lid back on,’ she read slowly from the sheet.

‘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 probably 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.’