Читать книгу Saving Danny - Cathy Glass, Cathy Glass - Страница 14

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 in my direction and, seeing me, came across the playground. With his mop of blond hair, delicate features and slight build, Danny looked younger than six, especially compared to the other children, who appeared so robust as they ran shouting and laughing into the arms of their parents.

‘Hello, I’m Yvonne, Danny’s classroom assistant,’ the woman accompanying him said with a cheerful smile as they arrived. ‘You must be Cathy, Danny’s carer?’

‘Yes, hello. Lovely to meet you.’

‘And you.’

‘Sue asked me to give you this.’ Yvonne handed me an envelope. ‘It’s a copy of Danny’s education plan.’

‘Thank you.’

‘Danny has his reading book and the flash cards we’re working on in his bag. We keep the same book and cards for a week, so there’s no pressure to do the work every night. Just see how it goes.’

‘That’s great,’ I said. ‘We’ve got a social worker visiting this evening, so we may not have a lot of time.’ Then, including Danny in the conversation, I said, ‘Have you had a good day?’ Which is what I asked all my children at the end of the school day.

I was expecting a nod or possibly a blank stare, but to my surprise Danny said, ‘Yes, thank you very much.’

Yvonne smiled. ‘It’s the phrase of the day,’ she said. ‘Danny often has a pet phrase he uses all day, sometimes for a few days, and then it changes.’

‘Well, it’s a nice polite phrase, so that’s good. How has he been after the trauma of yesterday?’

‘All right, I think,’ Yvonne said. ‘Although it’s sometimes difficult to tell what he’s feeling. There’s an exercise book in his bag that we use as a home school book. Record in it anything you think might be helpful to us and we’ll do the same. Reva used to do it, but I suppose you will now.’ I nodded. ‘I’ve made a note of today’s events in the book.’