Cruel to Be Kind. Cathy Glass
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and felt slightly exonerated. I found Jill very easy to talk to and, as an experienced social worker, greatly valued her opinion and advice. ‘On another matter, I am concerned about Max’s weight,’ I said. ‘I haven’t weighed him but you’ve seen him – he is badly overweight. Last night the only pyjamas that would fit him were for age twelve to thirteen. They were too long in the arms and legs but fitted around his middle.’
‘Yes, he’s certainly a big boy. What has Jo said?’
‘Nothing. I appreciate he may not be with me for very long, but I feel I should do something to help him. His mother knows he has a sweet tooth, so I was thinking of limiting the sweet things he eats. And trying to get him to eat some fruit and vegetables, which he tells me he hates. I think it would be wrong of me to do nothing while he’s with me.’
‘I can’t see any harm in limiting his sweet foods as long as you do it subtly, which I am sure you will do,’ Jill said. ‘The whole area of obesity is a minefield, not just in respect of childhood obesity but adults too. In one camp there is the “big is beautiful” and “it’s the person I am” argument, while all the medical evidence is now pointing to obesity doing as much damage to our health as smoking. We had some foster carers a couple of years ago who were both badly overweight,’ she continued. ‘They kept piling on the pounds until it was mentioned at their annual review in the context of it not setting a good example to the children they fostered. They took offence and left the agency. Although I heard later that when they applied to foster for the local authority they took the same view and refused them. I know you need a lot of willpower to lose weight, but as professionals working with children we have a duty to set an example by eating healthily and not smoking. But obviously don’t make an issue of it.’
‘I won’t. Thank you.’ I felt Jill spoke a lot of good sense.
‘And Max went into school happily this morning?’ she now asked.
‘Yes. He likes school and reading. He seems to be taking being in care in his stride. He’s a sweet child.’
‘He’s very likeable, rather a character. And you’re OK to take him to the hospital tonight?’
‘Yes. Jo has confirmed I can wait in the café.’
‘Good. It will be nice for you to finally meet his mother. It should help your relationship with her.’
‘I do hope so.’
‘I’ll be in touch then. You know where we are if you need us.’
‘Thank you.’
We said goodbye and within five minutes the phone had rung again. This time it was the secretary from Max’s school to say that Mrs Marshall could see me the following day at the start of her lunch break at 12.15 p.m. I thanked her, confirmed I’d be there and made a mental note to ask a friend to collect Paula from nursery, which ended at noon.
The afternoon disappeared. After Paula and I had eaten lunch, she amused herself while I cleared up and then prepared dinner. Although the logistics of the afternoon school run – collecting Adrian and then Max, fitting in dinner and then going to the hospital for contact – were manageable, I knew there wouldn’t be a minute to spare. At 3.30 Paula and I were in the playground again to collect Adrian. Max didn’t have to be collected until around 4.15, so we had time to pop home for a quick drink and to freshen up before leaving again.
Adrian and Paula came with me into the school and to the hall where Max’s after-school club was held. He saw us as we entered and immediately stood and came over. I explained to the person in charge who I was and showed her my ID, which all foster carers now carry. She’d been informed that I would be collecting Max and, thanking her, we left.
On the way home in the car I asked Max if he’d had a good day as I always ask the children at the end of school. Max said he had, adding that he liked school and school dinners, particularly the sticky toffee pudding and custard they’d had today, of which he’d had second helpings.
Once home, the children washed while I put the finishing touches to dinner. There was just enough time for us to eat before we had to leave again at five o’clock to go to the hospital. I was pretty paranoid about being late after all the warnings from Jo and had one eye on the clock the whole time, but despite meeting traffic in the town we arrived at the hospital with ten minutes to spare. I knew the name of the ward and Max knew where it was from his previous visits. Using the handrail, Max hauled himself up the two flights of stairs and we went into the ward.
It was a typical National Health Service six-bed ward, with three beds on each side, separated by a bedside cabinet, chair and curtains, none of which were closed at present. Everyone had visitors, and even if one group of visitors hadn’t looked over as we walked in I still would have guessed which was Caz’s bed. At the far end of the ward on the left, three teenage girls were grouped around a bed, one sitting in the chair and the other two leaning against the bed. All were badly overweight.
‘Hi, Max,’ one of the girls called. ‘Come here.’
He waddled down the ward and I told Adrian and Paula to wait just inside the door while I said hello to Max’s family. They knew we were going to go to the café afterwards.
I went up to the bed as Max was giving his mother a kiss on her offered cheek. His sisters stared at me, looking me up and down, curious as to who was looking after their brother. I smiled. ‘Hello, I’m Cathy. Nice to meet you all.’ Then to Caz, ‘How are you?’
She was propped on three pillows, the covers raised off her legs and feet by a curved blanket support. She completely ignored me and made a point of concentrating on offering Max a sweet from one of the many packets open on the bed. I’d experienced parents of children I’d fostered blanking me, or even being rude and aggressive, because they were angry at having their children taken into care. Clearly Caz was still angry with me. Apparently, so too were her daughters.
‘Mum doesn’t want to talk to you,’ the girl leaning against the right side of the bed said to me.
The girl on the other side nodded. ‘You should go,’ she said rudely.
I looked at Caz, who kept her gaze down and was helping Max choose another sweet. ‘I’ll come back at seven o’clock then,’ I said positively. ‘I’ll be in the café and play area if you need me.’
‘Why should we need you?’ the girl to the right said.
‘In case Max wants to leave early,’ I replied politely.
‘He won’t,’ Caz said, still not looking at me.
I nodded, forced a smile and walked away to the sound of them whispering and laughing, probably about me.
Hiding my discomposure, I went to Adrian and Paula and we left the ward. I was hurt by Caz and her daughters’ open hostility and rudeness. It wouldn’t help Max either, witnessing that. Children in care often struggle with divided loyalties: wanting to like and get on with their foster family, while loving their own family. It can be very confusing and it helps the child enormously if they see everyone getting along. But clearly that wasn’t going to happen yet.
We went up another flight of stairs to the play area and café, which were adjacent to each other. Children of various ages were already there. Adrian and Paula went over to play, while I sat at one of the tables and watched them, then after a while they came over and I bought us all a drink. I wondered if Max was thirsty, but I didn’t think going back to the ward to ask if he wanted a drink would be welcomed by his mother right now. Adrian set about doing his homework while I read Paula a story, then she returned to play with another similar-aged child in the play area.
So the time gradually passed. Adrian completed his homework and Paula was happy to play. Just before seven o’clock I said it was time to go and we packed away. Paula called goodbye to the new friend she’d made and we returned to the ward. Again I told Adrian and Paula to wait just inside the door while I went over to Caz. There was only one of her daughters there now, the youngest, sitting