Cruel to Be Kind: Part 2 of 3: Saying no can save a child’s life

Cruel to Be Kind: Part 2 of 3: Saying no can save a child’s life Cathy Glass Cruel To Be Kind is the true story of Max, aged 6. He is fostered by Cathy while his mother is in hospital with complications from type 2 diabetes.Cruel To Be Kind is the true story of Max, aged 6. He is fostered by Cathy while his mother is in hospital with complications from type 2 diabetes. Fostering Max gets off to a bad start when his mother, Caz, complains and threatens Cathy even before Max has moved in. Cathy and her family are shocked when they first meet Max. But his social worker isn’t the only one in denial; his whole family are too. (#u522b79fa-f1f8-5188-8ba3-fcfe576a9fcb) Copyright (#u522b79fa-f1f8-5188-8ba3-fcfe576a9fcb) Certain details in this story, including names, places and dates, have been changed to protect the family’s privacy. HarperElement An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street London SE1 9GF www.harpercollins.co.uk (http://www.harpercollins.co.uk) First published by HarperElement 2017 FIRST EDITION © Cathy Glass 2017 Cover layout design © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2017 Cover photograph © Iwona Podlasi?ska/Arcangel Images (boy, posed by a model) A catalogue record of this book is available from the British Library Cathy Glass asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. 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Find out about HarperCollins and the environment at www.harpercollins.co.uk/green (http://www.harpercollins.co.uk/green) Source ISBN: 9780008252007 Ebook Edition © August 2017 ISBN: 9780008252052 Version: 2017-10-10 Contents Cover (#u8a09b52f-28f7-51a6-98ea-f95d36470aa8) Title Page (#u49db3d97-cb8c-588a-84fd-b2e8e45c5e5f) Copyright (#u389654ac-3f97-50da-878d-c556d7553f49) Chapter Nine: Act of Defiance (#u1e94f4d6-b16f-5358-a3cb-8222897e38b6) Chapter Ten: An Ally (#u82879822-56df-523b-b64a-63a174a8537f) Chapter Eleven: Stressed (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Twelve: Vulnerable (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Thirteen: Dan (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Fourteen: First Review (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Fifteen: Meetings (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Sixteen: Strange, the Way Things Turn Out (#litres_trial_promo) Moving Memoirs eNewsletter (#litres_trial_promo) About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Nine Act of Defiance (#u522b79fa-f1f8-5188-8ba3-fcfe576a9fcb) As I held and comforted Max I could picture only too clearly the embarrassment school sports day would cause him. It was supposed to be fun, when all the school came together to show off their fitness and agility skills in healthy competition – although I didn’t remember my school sports days with relish. I wasn’t overweight, but neither was I very good at sport, and regardless of how hard I tried,I always came near the end in a race – not last, but well back from the leaders. In high jump and long jump my legs didn’t seem able to generate the necessary spring to propel me high enough or far enough, and I remember how self-conscious I felt in the qualifying heats when I tried and failed, with the rest of my class watching. Then there was the relay race, in which we all had to participate, but I could never run as fast as the person passing the baton to me or to whom I passed it, so I always felt I’d let down the team. The fun races at the end were OK – the egg and spoon race, sack race and three-legged race, but they were just for fun and held little in the way of true competition or achievement. Looking back, my performance was probably average for my age, but it didn’t feel like that at the time, so I had every sympathy for Max, whose obesity put him at such a disadvantage in most physical activities. ‘Come on, love,’ I said, passing him a tissue. ‘Dry your eyes. We’ll sort something out.’ ‘Can I stay at home, please, and pretend I’m ill, like I did last year?’ I helped him wipe his eyes. ‘If that’s the only way, but first I want to speak to your teacher and see what she has to say.’ Given how sensitive Mrs Marshall was to Max’s limitations, tailoring his involvement in PE lessons, I wanted to discuss it with her first. Eventually Max’s tears subsided and I put my arm around him and gave him a hug. With more reassurance that he wasn’t to worry about sports day and no one would force him to participate, he lay down, ready for sleep. ‘I wish I wasn’t so big,’ he said wistfully. ‘It’s because I eat too much, isn’t it?’ ‘It’s the most likely reason, yes. We get energy from the food we eat and what we don’t need is stored in our body as fat.’ ‘So how do you get smaller?’ he asked. Cleary the subject hadn’t been discussed at home. ‘By eating a little less each day, especially sweet things. And exercise, like walking rather than going in the car, which you are doing here with me.’ ‘Why don’t my sisters and mum do that?’ ‘I don’t know, love.’ ‘My dad says he likes big women.’ ‘Does he?’ ‘Shall I try to eat less sweet things so I can run in sports day?’ ‘Yes, but it takes quite a long time. You won’t suddenly see a change. It takes many months to lose weight, sometimes years. But please don’t worry about sports day. I’ll sort something out.’ And so the conversation ended as it had begun, with me trying to allay Max’s fears about sports day. I sat with him a while longer to make sure he was ready to go to sleep and wouldn’t lie there worrying. It was late and we had school in the morning, so I didn’t suggest he read for a while. When I was satisfied he was slowly drifting off to sleep I kissed his forehead, said goodnight and came out. Paula was already in bed asleep and Adrian, aware that I was spending longer than usual with Max, had come up and got ready for bed and was now in bed waiting for me to say goodnight. Adrian’s school had already had their annual sports day, and because Adrian was reasonably fit and athletic he’d met the day with excitement – a challenge – not dread. And he’d done very well. When I wrote up my log notes that night I included Max’s anxiety about his school’s sports day and the discussion we’d had about losing weight. As well as containing appointments and charting the child’s day-to-day progress, the log can act as an aide-m?moire. It’s easy to forget what happened or was said on a particular day months later, and I’d learnt from experience to be conscientious in my record keeping. I’d once been asked to check my log notes in respect of a child who’d left me nine months previously, when a child protection matter arose and the case went to court. So regardless of how tired I was, I always updated my log before I went to bed, while the events of the day were still fresh in my mind. Jill checks them each month as part of her statutory visit. There wasn’t time to try to see Mrs Marshall when I took Max to breakfast club the following morning, as I had to take Adrian and Paula to school and nursery straight after. Once home, I telephoned Max’s school secretary and said I’d like to arrange to speak to Mrs Marshall and asked when it would be a good time for me to phone. I didn’t think this necessitated us meeting, as it was something that could be discussed over the phone. The secretary said she’d speak to Mrs Marshall and let me know. Then, at eleven o’clock, the phone rang and it was Mrs Marshall, taking the opportunity to call while the children were in the playground on mid-morning break. ‘Thank you so much for phoning,’ I said. Aware that her time would be short I came straight to the point. ‘Max was very upset last night because of sports day. He tells me he was so worried last year that he took the day off school. He wants to do the same this year, but I said I’d speak to you.’ ‘Oh dear, the poor child,’ she sympathized. ‘He should have told me rather than worrying.’ ‘Exactly, but he thinks if he goes into school on Friday he will be made to participate.’ ‘It’s true we like all the children to join in, but our sports day, like in many other primary schools, is different now from what you and I remember. The children compete as teams, not individually, so there is no pressure.’ ‘How does that work?’ I asked. Adrian’s school sports day was traditional and similar to the ones I remembered. ‘They compete in their house teams,’ Mrs Marshall explained. ‘The children are divided into their four house teams and each team consists of all ages of children, from Reception to Year 6. The teams then rotate around fun activities; for example, an obstacle course, shuttle run, hockey dribble, beat the goalie and so on. They collect points for their house. They have regular breaks when they have a drink of water, and each activity only lasts about five minutes. At the end all the children receive a sticker and the trophy is presented to the house with highest number of points.’ ‘I see,’ I said. ‘So Max would be in a team with older and younger children, and always competing as part of the team?’ ‘Yes. There’s no pressure on any individual child, and some children do sit out from time to time. Some need to use an asthma pump and some just need a rest. I’ll talk to Max and explain again what happens. I’m surprised this wasn’t made clear to him last year, but perhaps his teacher wasn’t aware how anxious he was about sports day.’ ‘It took a while before he would tell me. Thank you so much. I didn’t want him to just stay at home.’ ‘No, he needs to join in as much as possible. How was he at the weekend?’ ‘Good. He played with my children during the day and then I took him to see his mother in the evening. His sisters were there.’ ‘He told me he’d been playing in the tent with Adrian and Paula. Let me know if he has any other worries, won’t you? And I’ll look forward to seeing you at sports day.’ I thanked her again and we said goodbye. I was very pleased I’d spoken to Mrs Marshall. I felt considerably relieved, as I hoped Max would, and easier about him participating in sports day, although of course even team events could hold some anxiety for him. But I agreed with Mrs Marshall that he should join in, and I’d do all I could to reassure him, as I knew she would. Feeling the week had got off to a good start, when the phone rang again a few minutes later I answered it with a bright ‘Good morning’. ‘Cathy, it’s Jo, Max’s social worker,’ she said, her voice tight and flat, so I knew straight away it wasn’t good news. ‘Max’s mother telephoned me first thing this morning with a list of complaints about his care.’ My heart sank. I always try to do my best for the children I look after and it was soul-destroying to receive one complaint, let alone a list. ‘I told her I’d speak to you straight away.’ ‘Oh dear. What am I supposed to have done?’ I asked. ‘Firstly, and most worryingly, she says you’re not feeding Max properly. She says he’s always hungry and that you won’t give him second helpings. She said you refuse to let him have any biscuits, cakes and sweets and keep putting stuff on his plate that he doesn’t like. He’s told her there are no fizzy drinks in your house so he has to drink water, which he doesn’t like. She also says you’re too stingy to use your car so you make him walk everywhere. He hates walking. Then there’s the matter of his clothes – she says you’ve ruined them. There’s other stuff, but those are the main ones.’ I heard her let out a sigh of exasperation. As well as being hurt, I was now annoyed – not with Max, for I doubted he’d complained; it wasn’t in his nature. I thought that Caz (and possibly her daughters), still angry at having Max in care and wanting to make my life difficult, had seized on comments Max might have made, exaggerating and twisting them to put me in a bad light. ‘Jo, the last point first,’ I said as calmly as I could. ‘I’m assuming Caz is referring to the fact that I’ve taken up Max’s trousers.’ ‘I think that’s what she said.’ ‘Because of Max’s size, he needs clothes that are made for much older children and they are far too long in the arms and legs. His teacher has been turning up his school uniform, but his casual clothes have just been rolled up until now, so I turned them up and hemmed them. There’s no damage done. They can be let down again when he grows. I thought it would help Caz, and Max appreciated not tripping over the trouser legs when they unrolled.’ ‘That’s all you’ve done to his clothes?’ ‘Yes. Well, I’ve been washing them, but I assume that’s all right?’ I added a touch sarcastically. ‘Perhaps don’t alter any more of his clothes that come from home,’ Jo said. ‘And let him trip over them?’ ‘Or you buy him some casual clothes. Then if you turn them up it won’t cause the same problem. It’s just the stuff she’s bought she’s sensitive about.’ ‘OK,’ I agreed. ‘Now, the matter of what I’ve been giving him to eat – or not giving him. Max is badly overweight and …’ ‘You can’t say that!’ Jo interrupted. ‘But he is.’ ‘You haven’t told him, have you?’ ‘He already knows. He asked me how he could get smaller.’ ‘What did you say?’ ‘By eating a little less and exercising more.’ ‘So that’s where that has come from,’ Jo said, obviously referring to something else Caz had said. ‘Give him what he wants to eat.’ ‘Jo, the child is obese. He’d eat all day long if I let him. If something isn’t done soon, he’ll end up with the same health problems his mother has.’ Why it was necessary for me to point this out to his social worker I didn’t know. ‘It’s not for you to say that,’ Jo said. ‘Leave it to his mother to sort out.’ Clearly Caz hadn’t ‘sorted it out’ and from what I’d seen of her and her daughters, they all needed as much help as Max. I wasn’t being sizeist, but I was genuinely concerned for Max’s health. ‘Jo, I give Max second helpings of the main course but not pudding,’ I continued, addressing the complaints Caz had made. ‘Likewise with ice cream, cakes, biscuits and chocolate. He has one, the same as Adrian and Paula, but he’d eat sweet things non-stop if I let him. I assume the stuff Caz says I put on his plate that he doesn’t like is fruit and vegetables. He’s eaten some without a problem and what he doesn’t like he leaves. I don’t force him to eat anything, but I do encourage healthy eating. And it’s true I only usually have fizzy drinks in the house for special occasions, but Max has been having juice as well as water. He’s already had teeth out – he doesn’t want to be losing any more – and he only has water at school.’ ‘Perhaps buy some cola to keep him happy.’ ‘OK, if that’s what you want,’ I said, struggling to keep my voice even. ‘So what’s all this about making him walk because you don’t want to use your car?’ ‘That’s ridiculous. On Sunday we walked to our local park. He’s been in the car on all other trips.’ ‘How far is the park? Caz said walking is bad for Max’s asthma. Did you take his inhaler with you?’ ‘Yes, of course, I take it everywhere, but he didn’t need it. The only time he’s used it was when he first arrived with you. The park is about a ten-minute walk.’ ‘I’ll tell Caz, but in future can you take him in the car if you go to the park so she doesn’t worry?’ ‘Not to that park,’ I said. ‘There are only a few car-parking places.’ ‘So take him to a park where there are more parking places.’ I sighed, and so too did Jo. She was stressed and doing everything she could to appease Caz, but it made a nonsense of what I was trying to do to help Max have a healthier lifestyle. ‘You’ve got a big back garden,’ she continued. ‘He can play in there, it’s just as good. And the other thing I have to mention is, can you buy him a bag of sweets to take to the hospital to share with his mother and sister? Apparently they all take in a bag and share them. Max hasn’t been able to join in.’ ‘But he’s been eating their sweets,’ I said. ‘He wants to take in a bag of his own. Sharing sweets is like a little family ritual. He’s feeling left out.’ ‘OK, if that’s what you want, but eating that number of sweets every evening goes against my instincts to help Max.’ ‘It will make Caz happy,’ Jo said, as if that was the sole objective. ‘I’ll phone her and reassure her that in future you will keep to what Max is used to.’ ‘And ignore the fact that obesity is ruining his childhood?’ ‘That’s a bit dramatic.’ ‘Is it? The poor child was in tears last night because of his size. He didn’t want to go to school on Friday because it’s sports day.’ ‘I didn’t like sports day either, I never won anything,’ Jo said, missing the point. ‘But this wasn’t about winning or losing, it was about not wanting to participate because of his size.’ ‘What did you say?’ ‘That I’d speak to his teacher, which I have done just now. They like all the children to join in, but she’s reassured me that Max won’t have to do anything beyond him or compete by himself. They are all in house teams. She’s going to have a chat with him.’ ‘Mrs Marshall is very good,’ Jo said. It was about the only thing we agreed on. ‘But please don’t say anything to Caz about his size. It will upset her.’ ‘Of course I won’t. She hardly speaks to me.’ ‘I need to go now and phone Caz. I’m tied up for the rest of the day. And by the way, I’ve had notice of Max’s medical. It’s this Thursday. There’s a letter in the post to you.’ ‘All right, thank you.’ We said goodbye and I hung up. Jo had clearly been very stressed and short of time, as many social workers are. She’d focused on placating Caz, rather than looking at the wider picture. She hadn’t even asked how Max was settling in and what sort of weekend he’d had as I’d expect the social worker to do. I didn’t agree with the way Jo was handling this – keeping Max’s mother happy at the expense of Max’s health – but as the foster carer I had to do as I was told by the child’s social worker. That is the bottom line, whether we agree with it or not. On my way to collect Paula from nursery I stopped off at our local shop, where I bought a bag of mixed sweets for Max to take with him to the hospital that night. In a small act of defiance I also bought a bag of grapes. If I was being forced to contribute to Max’s family’s poor eating, I would also offer a healthy option. If they didn’t want the grapes, I’d bring them home again. Chapter Ten An Ally (#u522b79fa-f1f8-5188-8ba3-fcfe576a9fcb) That afternoon Jill phoned to ask how the weekend had gone and I updated her, including that I had seen Max’s teacher on Friday, the hospital visits, Max playing in the tent, our trip to the park, Max’s concerns about sports day, and Jo’s call and the complaints from Caz. Had Jill not telephoned me I would have phoned her before the end of the day. Jill tutted when I told her of Jo’s response to the complaints, although I knew she was too professional to criticize another social worker. ‘At least Jo is dealing with the complaints, so they are unlikely to go any further,’ Jill pointed out. ‘I suppose she feels that as Max will only be with you for a short while, there’s no point in making big changes. It would be different if he was with you long term.’ ‘Yes, I understand.’ ‘But generally Max is settling in well?’ she asked. ‘Yes. Which was why I was surprised to receive these complaints.’ ‘I doubt they’ve come from Max, but obviously don’t question him.’ ‘No, I wouldn’t.’ ‘You dealt with the matter of sports day well,’ Jill added. She always found something positive to say. ‘I’m sure he’ll feel he can go and participate once his teacher has spoken to him.’ ‘Yes, I hope so.’ ‘Has Caz got a discharge date yet?’ ‘Not as far as I know, although when I gave Summer a lift home she said her mother was having to walk more in preparation for going home.’ ‘I’ll ask Jo next time I speak to her, and well done. Thanks for all you are doing for Max. It’s much appreciated.’ And those few words of thanks were enough to lift my spirits and renew my confidence, allowing me to move forward and once again concentrate on doing my best for Max while he was with us, which is what fostering is all about. That afternoon, when I collected Adrian from school, he handed me a letter that informed all parents that the children needed to stay late on Friday, as it was a full dress rehearsal for the school’s end-of-year show. Adrian was excited to be in the production – based on Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat – as were all the children. Adrian’s costume – an ancient Egyptian – was already in school, hanging on his peg, having been checked and okayed by his teacher. That Adrian had to stay late on Friday would help me, as Max’s sports day was the same afternoon and wasn’t due to finish until four o’clock. Paula and I would be watching, so it meant I would now have enough time to leave there and meet Adrian when his rehearsal finished. When I collected Max from after-school club that afternoon I quietly asked him if Mrs Marshall had spoken to him about sports day. He nodded. ‘How do you feel about going now?’ I asked. ‘I think it will be a challenge, but one I can overcome,’ he said proudly. ‘Well done,’ I said, patting him on the shoulder. And well done, Mrs Marshall, I thought, for clearly these were her words and they seemed to have done the trick. Before we left for the hospital that evening I handed Max the bag of sweets I’d bought. ‘Wow!’ he said, his eyes lighting up, as did Adrian’s and Paula’s. ‘They are for you to share with your mother and sisters,’ I said to Max. ‘And you two can have something in the caf?,’ I told Adrian and Paula so they wouldn’t feel left out. ‘Thank you. That is kind,’ Max said, looking at the bag and genuinely surprised. Judging from his reaction, I thought (as Jill had done) that the request to bring in sweets hadn’t come from him but his mother. Caz could easily have asked me. Indeed, much of what she’d complained about to Jo she could have mentioned to me, rather than making an issue of it. I hoped that before long she would drop her hostility and start to try to interact with me – for Max’s sake. But when we arrived at the hospital that evening I realized it wasn’t going to be any time soon. Empowered by the complaints she’d made to Jo and having them acted on, she was ready with more. Upright on her pillows, surrounded by her entourage and clutching the bag of sweets Max had given to her, she glared at me. ‘You need to bring his inhaler in with him. It’s irresponsible not to. He’s got asthma.’ ‘Absolutely,’ I agreed. ‘I take it everywhere with us.’ Opening my bag I took out the inhaler and placed it on the bed beside her. ‘I’ll leave it with you for safekeeping. And here’s a few grapes I thought you might all enjoy.’ I set the bag beside the inhaler. ‘Oh, I love grapes,’ Kelly said, immediately dipping her hand into the bag. Caz scowled at her as if she was letting down their side. ‘They’ve been washed,’ I said. ‘I’ll see you later. Have a nice evening.’ I turned and left. It was quiet as I walked away, no laughing, although I could feel Caz looking daggers at me. Upstairs in the caf? Adrian and Paula chose a chocolate biscuit each to have with their drinks and we settled at our usual table, close to the play area. ‘Why doesn’t Max’s mother like you?’ Adrian asked. I guessed he’d read her body language, for I doubted he or Paula could have heard what she’d said from where they’d been waiting by the ward door. ‘She’s angry because Max had to go into care.’ ‘But it’s not your fault,’ Adrian said, with a shrug. ‘I know. Don’t worry, I’m sure things will improve. Max is happy, so that’s the main thing.’ ‘Do his sisters like us?’ Paula asked. ‘I’m sure they do,’ I replied. She shrugged just as Adrian had done. ‘Copycat,’ he said. ‘You’re a copycat,’ Paula retaliated. ‘There you are, you’ve done it again. Copycat.’ He grinned provocatively. ‘No, I’m not.’ ‘Yes, you are.’ ‘Enough,’ I said. ‘Adrian, have you brought your homework with you to do?’ ‘We haven’t got any.’ Homework was tailing off with the end of term approaching. ‘OK, so find something to do.’ With a small sigh he took his book from his bag. ‘I’ll read for a bit, but it’s boring here. I could be at home in the garden.’ ‘I know. It shouldn’t be for much longer,’ I sympathized. I felt it too. Although we kept ourselves occupied, all our evenings had vanished, taken up with the hospital visiting when there were so many more productive things we could be doing. When we returned to the ward Adrian and Paula waited in their usual place by the door while I went over to Caz’s bed. All four bags of sweets were empty and so too was the bag of grapes, the empty bags and sweet wrappers scattered across the bed. I resisted the temptation to start clearing them up. ‘Did Max ask you about sports day?’ I said to Caz. ‘Yes, but clearly I won’t be going,’ she rebuffed. ‘But I wondered if the girls or Max’s father might like to go. Anyway, he’s told you the details – Friday at one o’clock.’ Ignoring me, she pointedly turned her head and began talking to her daughters. Max seemed to accept her behaviour as normal, and again I was reminded of Mrs Marshall’s comparison with Roald Dahl’s Matilda. Max was so different to his family. From that evening on, as well as buying Max sweets to take into hospital I also bought some fruit, washing it first: grapes, strawberries, blueberries, tangerines and apples, which I sliced. No one said thank you, but according to Max they all enjoyed them, including his mother. I felt my small olive branch of friendship had been partially accepted. The letter advising me of the appointment for Max’s medical arrived the following morning. It had been arranged for 2 p.m. on Thursday at the local health centre. I didn’t think it was appropriate to take Paula, and Adrian might need collecting from school if it overran, so I telephoned my parents and asked them if they were free to help. Mum said they were and they’d be delighted to come. I suggested they stay for dinner and Mum said she’d make a pudding and bring it with her. They lived about an hour’s drive away and had helped me out before. Indeed, since my husband had left they’d been a great support and my father was a fine male role model for Adrian, who missed his father more than he admitted. I mentioned to Mum that Max was considerably overweight so that she and Dad were prepared. This would be the first time they met him, and while they’d never comment, they may have had to hide their surprise or shock, and children pick up non-verbal signs just as adults do. Similarly, when I fostered a child with very challenging behaviour I always warned my parents in advance so they were prepared. Fostering involves the whole family, which often includes grandparents, aunts and uncles. While I would never divulge confidential information to them, some things they need to know so that family get-togethers run smoothly and are pleasant for everyone. Jo’s instructions to give Max whatever he wanted to eat had created a double standard for me. I encouraged Adrian and Paula (and all the other children I’d fostered) to eat healthily and I wasn’t about to change that. Neither was I going to restock my cupboards with bottles of fizzy drinks, packets of biscuits, cakes, bags of sweets and so on, but I recognized I had to make some concessions. I still intended to offer Max the healthy option by, for example, putting vegetables on his plate, which he could leave if he didn’t want them, as he had been doing. We’d drink water with our meals, although I did say that as Nana and Grandpa were coming to dinner on Thursday it was a special occasion, so I’d buy some fizzy drinks. I asked the children what they’d like. Max chose cola and Adrian and Paula lemonade. I felt this was a reasonable compromise and one evening of fizzy drinks wasn’t going to rot their teeth. Similarly, if Max really didn’t want to walk somewhere, we could take the car if practical. As Jill had said, Max wouldn’t be with me for very long, so there was little point in ‘making big changes’. On Thursday my parents arrived in good time for me to collect Max from school for his medical and made a huge fuss of Paula as they always did. Dad gave me a bunch of flowers and then Mum produced a wonderful homemade fruit trifle and a pot of cream from a cooler bag for dessert. I thanked her, resisted the temptation to try it, and put the trifle and cream in the fridge, then made them a cup of tea, which they had in the garden. Before I left I reminded them to help themselves to whatever they wanted, and the time Adrian needed to be collected if I wasn’t back. It was another warm, sunny day and I left the three of them in the garden, Paula in her element at having the complete attention of her beloved nana and grandpa. I’d informed Max’s school that morning that I’d need to collect him at 1.30 p.m. to take him to have a medical, and when I arrived he was already sitting in reception with his school bag. ‘Good boy,’ I said, and I signed us out. ‘Is a medical like when I go to my doctor’s?’ he asked a little anxiously as we left the building. ‘Similar, but the clinic is in a different building to the doctor you go to. Don’t worry, I’ve taken children to have medicals before and it is fine.’ ‘Will I have to have an injection?’ he asked. ‘No. The doctor just wants to check you over to make sure you are fit and well.’ I’d already explained to Max what a medical involved, but understandably he was anxious. He was quiet in the car and I reassured him again that there was nothing to worry about. Once we were in the health centre and he saw the other children, babies and toddlers waiting – a number of different clinics ran in the same building – he relaxed. Having given his name at reception, we were told to take a seat. Some of the children were playing with the toys provided at one end of the room, but Max just wanted to sit beside me. We chatted about school and the book he was reading. Shortly after our appointment time Max’s name flashed on the digital display screen together with a recorded voice telling us to go to consulting room three. He slipped his hand into mine and we crossed the waiting area and then went down a short corridor until we came to a door marked Room 3. I knocked on the door and a female voice said, ‘Come in.’ As we entered a young woman doctor rose from her chair behind her desk and greeted us with a warm smile. ‘Hello, lovely to meet you. I’m Doctor Seema Jhaveri.’ ‘Cathy Glass,’ I said, returning her smile. ‘And this is Max.’ ‘Hello, take a seat.’ I saw her look Max up and down and then frown. We sat in the two chairs at right angles to her desk and she opened the file in front of her and read what looked like a letter of referral. ‘You are his foster carer?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘And Max is six.’ ‘Yes.’ ‘He’s badly overweight,’ she said, looking up – first at Max and then at me. ‘I know.’ I suddenly saw an ally. ‘He won’t be with me for long, so I’ve been told not to do anything about it.’ ‘Why ever not?’ she asked, shocked. I glanced at Max. I didn’t like talking about a child in front of them but there was no choice, so I phrased it as best I could. ‘His mother doesn’t see there is a problem and his social worker doesn’t want her upset.’ ‘But that’s ridiculous. The child is obese and probably has been all his life. He should be on a diet and exercise programme. It’s cruel for him not to be.’ ‘Thank you,’ I said, relieved. ‘I feel like I’ve been fighting a lone battle. I wanted to make changes to his diet but I’ve been stopped.’ She frowned again. ‘That’s not good. Does he eat a lot of sweet and fatty foods?’ ‘Usually, yes.’ ‘I see from here’, she said, referring to another page in the folder, ‘that he has already had four teeth extracted due to decay. And there are two more that might need to come out. That’s appalling for a young child.’ I nodded in agreement. ‘Does he have a lot of fizzy drinks, squashes and juices? You know the acidity in fruit juice is as bad for teeth as sugary drinks.’ ‘Yes, I know. He was used to having fizzy drinks, but I mainly give him water with the occasional glass of juice. We only have fizzy drinks as an occasional treat.’ ‘That’s all right. But a lot of the damage will already have been done, as I’m sure the dentist would have told Max’s mother. And he has asthma,’ she said, reading on. ‘It’s been diagnosed, but he’s only needed his inhaler once since he’s been with me – when he first arrived.’ ‘He was probably stressed. Have you heard him wheezing?’ ‘No. He gets out of breath easily, but there’s no wheezing.’ ‘He would get out of breath, carrying all that extra weight around. It puts a huge strain on the cardiovascular and respiratory system. To overfeed a child to this extent is a form of abuse.’ I glanced at Max again. I felt uncomfortable that he had to hear all of this, but it was the truth, after all. ‘He’s only been with me a short while,’ I said, feeling culpable. ‘Does he exercise?’ Dr Jhaveri asked. ‘Not a lot. He joins in PE at school, but he doesn’t like walking.’ ‘That’s because it’s uncomfortable for him, but walking is a good form of exercise. Incorporate it into his daily routine.’ I nodded. ‘So what has his social worker told you to do?’ She looked at me. ‘To keep everything as it has been and leave it to his mother to deal with once he’s home.’ ‘Clearly his mother hasn’t been dealing with it so far,’ Dr Jhaveri said firmly. ‘What makes her think it will be different in the future?’ ‘I don’t know.’ ‘Is his mother badly overweight too?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘Any siblings?’ ‘Three older sisters.’ ‘All obese?’ I nodded. ‘I’m really shocked that no one has been advising the mother on her children’s health, especially when the social services are involved. I see families here. We have a clinic that offers advice and support, and a weekly weigh-in. Obesity is a massive problem in the Western world and we are storing up huge health problems for the next generation. Is his mother in good health?’ I shook my head. ‘She’s in hospital now, that’s why Max came to me.’ ‘What’s the matter with her?’ ‘She had two toes amputated – I understand it’s a result of type 2 diabetes.’ She let out a heartfelt sigh. ‘Yet she’s allowed her son to go the same way.’ Dr Jhaveri was clearly a conscientious paediatrician whose outspokenness was a result of her concern for Max. ‘I’ll speak to his social worker. Perhaps she’s not aware of the help available. I have her contact details on the letter of referral.’ She then turned to Max. ‘Hi, Max. How are you today?’ ‘OK,’ he said quietly, obviously chastened by what he’d heard. ‘Pleased to have the afternoon off school?’ she asked, being friendly. Max wasn’t sure what to say. ‘He likes school,’ I said. ‘He’s doing very well and he loves reading.’ ‘That’s good. My children like reading too. So do I. Now, I’m going to examine you. I expect you had an examination at your doctor’s when he prescribed the inhaler.’ Max nodded. ‘We’ll start by looking in your ears. Can you hear all right?’ ‘Yes,’ Max said. She took an otoscope from the top drawer of her desk and looked first in one of Max’s ears and then the other. ‘That’s fine,’ she said. Returning the otoscope to the drawer, she took a wooden tongue depressor from a sealed packet and then asked Max to open his mouth wide so she could look in. ‘Thank you,’ she said. Throwing the used spatula into the bin, she picked up the ophthalmoscope from where it lay on her desk and looked in his eyes. ‘Do you have glasses for reading?’ she asked. Max shook his head. ‘And you can see the board the teacher writes on?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘Good. Can you read the letters on that chart?’ she asked him, referring to the Snellen wall chart. Max read all the letters without any problem. ‘Excellent.’ She returned the ophthalmoscope to the desk and, looping her stethoscope around her neck, listened to his chest and then his back. ‘His chest is clear,’ she said and made a note on the form for the medical that Jo had sent. ‘Now, let’s measure you,’ she said to Max. ‘Can you take off your shoes and stand just here for me?’ She took the few steps to the height recorder as Max leaned forward and began struggling to take off his shoes. It wasn’t that he lacked the motor skills to undo the Velcro and pull off his shoes, but the fat around his middle stopped him from leaning far enough forward. I helped him and he padded across to the doctor. She gently placed him in front of the height bar and then lowered the ruler so it was just touching his head. ‘Three feet, eleven inches,’ she said. ‘That’s average for his age.’ She went to her desk, made a note on the form and then returned to Max. ‘Now, let’s weigh you. Stand on here, please.’ Max stood on the scales. I watched and waited. I knew he was overweight, but I had no idea by how much. It came as a huge shock. ‘One hundred and nineteen pounds,’ she read out. ‘That’s eight and a half stone – more than twice the weight he should be.’ Then, as she walked to the desk to record the figure, she frowned. ‘Do you realize that’s the weight of the average fourteen-year-old? Perhaps the social worker will do something now.’ Конец ознакомительного фрагмента. Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес». Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию (https://www.litres.ru/cathy-glass/cruel-to-be-kind-part-2-of-3-saying-no-can-save-a-child-s-life/?lfrom=688855901) на ЛитРес. Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.