Taking Care 5 (i)

      Over the following days and weeks, as I settled into the routines at the Centre, my conviction consolidated. I'd never dreamed that I could get such a buzz out of a job. The more I worked with these people - got to know their ways and spirits (and, crucially, their enormous sense of fun) - the more I looked forward to each new day. I was learning things not just about them, but also about myself: qualities that, deep down, I always knew I had, but which hadn't found a proper outlet before. Patience, understanding, empathy... and, ironically it seemed, a kind of paternal instinct.  As adult as these people were - some of them older than myself - they were so vulnerable and dependent.  And so willing to entrust themselves to me.  And that was another important thing for me: their loyalty, which seemed unconditional. As someone who had grown up finding other people to be indifferent towards me at best, and hostile at worst, it was enlightening to find a group of people who didn't seem to have those negative traits: deliberate deceit, two-facedness, passive-aggressiveness.  They were open and honest, and their positive responses to me - again, pretty much for the first time in my life - were tremendously reassuring and affirming.  As strange as it sounds, they gave me back a sense of faith in human nature: in essential humanity. Next to my own mother, they quickly became the most important people in my life.  And my wish and need to be there for them, to advocate for them and to protect them grew hand-in-hand with my desire to make their lives - within the limits of my own capabilities - as rewarding as possible.

       While I still had Thandie with me, I found out as much as I could - asking her questions, checking on behaviours I'd witnessed.  She explained the best ways to handle certain situations when they arose.  I liked and agreed with her approach to the job: treating people as individuals, with individual needs, rather than lumping everyone together.  She showed patience and flexibility. Laura was the same.  Maggie was the only strict one with rules and sessions.  Her shouting was a feature of every day. Instinctively, I felt it was wrong - largely based on my own experiences, both at school and in the workplace.  At the time, I didn't know enough about the job to regard it as abusive behaviour. It was just her approach - and, as it worked for her, it seemed to be accepted as legitimate.  I spoke to other members of staff who were more even-tempered and flexible, but even some of them said that sometimes shouting was the only thing that worked. Personally, I hoped I would never find it necessary.  I hoped I'd find other ways of dealing with situations.  For now, though, it seemed that I had to accept it as 'one of many approaches.'

 

       Quite quickly, those 'shadowing' weeks came to an end.  On my first Monday morning solo, Andrea called me into the office before I left. She asked me if I thought I needed any more support.  I assured her that I was ready and set.  I wasn't just telling her what I wanted her to hear, either.  It was how I felt. I knew I could do this, and was keen to get on with it.

       "Thandie's been giving me positive feedback about you, anyway," Andrea said. "As has Laura."

       "I'm pleased," I said.  "I think a lot of it is instinctive."

       "That's right," she said. "All the training in the world doesn't necessarily make someone good at what they do.  Just carry on as you are."

      

       That first day, I had what would become my 'regular' crew. Greg, Jamie, Steven, Shirley, Ian and Lizzie.  Lizzie was a woman in her forties.  She wore pink-framed glasses that were as smudged as Greg's.  She was capable in many areas. She could shower and dress herself, and makes choices about what to wear, what to buy, what she wanted to do.  She could write her own name, but that was all.  She had no concept of money, couldn't count, and had a very low attention span. She rocked slightly in her seat, I'd noticed.  This behaviour seemed quite common.  Ian and Ganesh, too.  I'd not experienced it before, but wanted to find out more about it. It stopped with most people once they became engaged in activities.  Or - as with Maggie - when they got told off for doing it.  Lizzie was very chatty, and clearly enjoyed being in the company of others. She had a very winning smile, which showed huge gaps between her random brown teeth (oral hygiene, I'd noticed, was a common problem, largely because of teeth-brushing difficulties and fear of the dentist). 

       "Centre today," she'd say.  "Lizzie going.  Nice."

       She had an obsession with her handbag. She carried it everywhere, and was continually opening it and checking inside.  One day, I'd taken a quick look when she had it open.  All I could see were scrunched up tissues, a comb, an eyebrow pencil, a packet of tampons and one of those Troll dolls with the long hair. Every so often, she'd take the Troll out, kiss it, and put it back.  I'd been told by other staff to keep an eye on her bag.

       "She steals stuff," Sharon had said. "So don't leave your money lying around.  And if you take her shopping, you have to watch her like a hawk if you don't want alarms going off when you leave. She's a right thief, that one."

       From what I'd observed, it didn't seem like deliberate stealing.  It was more that she would see something she liked, so would put it in her bag without thinking.  She was quite open about it - not furtive in any way.  And it made me wonder, again, about how some staff made negative assumptions in this way - seeing such behaviour as deviousness, dishonesty, selfishness, etc. A lot of the time - as with Lizzie - I felt it wasn't as intentional or sophisticated as that.  Perhaps a different level of understanding was needed.  Again, though, it was still early days for me.  Who was I to say anything when they had more experience than I did?

 

       Greg sat behind me in his usual seat (the only one he'd sit in) with Lizzie next to him, then Jamie.  In the back, it was Steven, Shirley, then Ian.  It was a good arrangement, and didn't create any problems for anyone.  Before I drove off, I showed Shirley her cigarettes to assure her I'd got them.  It was usually the first question she asked in the morning.

       "Th-Thank you, Will," she said.  "Th-This is your first day without Th-Thandie, isn't it."

       "It is," I said.

       "A-Are you looking f-forward to it?"

       "I am," I said.  "Are you?"

       "Yes," she said, with a big smile.

       "Good.  Let's go, shall we?"

       I had the radio on low as we drove.  Once again, Greg would pick up on lines from adverts and repeat them - though he'd often get them wrong.

       "Think twice... think twice..." and then, with a loud flourish, "THINK BIKE!" After which he'd always giggle to himself in his own inimitable way.

       Jamie sat making his usual 'maah'' sound.  Most referred to it as his 'bleating' or 'mooing'. But I think it was simply 'mum' or 'ma'.  His mum was one of the few parents who visited regularly. Greg's elderly parents visited once a week, too. Apart from that, the residents had very few visitors.  Steven's parents apparently came on birthdays and Christmas, but they lived abroad now.  Jake was sometimes driven to see his parents in Ilford, but they never visited him in return.  Ian's mum and sisters came now and then.  And that was it.  It seemed sad.  Some people didn't have anyone close, of course. With others, it seemed like 'out of sight, out of mind.'  I tried to think how I would be, if I had a disabled child. I was certain I'd want to maintain a connection. Regardless of anything, this would be my child - always a part of me.  But I could understand how, for some, it would be different.  They might see it, perhaps, as some kind of 'failing'. Or they might find it simply too traumatic to face.  It was wrong to make judgments, really.  No one knew all the circumstances.

      

       The first session that day was called 'Current Affairs'.  It was a general session, so we pushed the tables together. I took out my paper and looked through it for a story. Laura smiled at me.

       "It's more about things people are doing, really."

       "Right."

       She looked around at the expectant faces.

       "So... who wants to start off with telling us what you got up to at the weekend?"

       We passed a nice hour talking about TV programmes watched, trips to the shops or the pub, what food people had eaten, any visitors they'd had. Someone mentioned seeing the Queen on the telly, so the talk shifted to the Queen.  Laura asked where else we saw the Queen's head - coins and notes, stamps and so on.  That led to a chat about money, what people had spent it on, what letters they'd had from relatives, etc.  It was good how the conversation grew organically like that, with one thing leading naturally to another, so that most people could find something to say.  Even Maggie seemed quite happy with it.

       "Who knows what the National Anthem is?" she asked at one point.

       Molly (the woman I'd thought was Irish) put up her hand meekly and said "Is it 'God Save The Queen', Maggie?"

       "That's right," Maggie said, smiling.  "Well done, Molly. And who knows the words?"

       "God Save Queen," Terry suddenly piped up. "Fasht re-gime.  Sex Pistols."

       "That's not the one we're talking about at all, Terry," Maggie retorted. "That's quite a different song altogether."

       Debra started laughing in her usual suggestive way.

       "Debra! What have I told you about laughing like that?"

       "'e said 'sex', Maggie," Debra boomed.

       "I know what he said, Debra. But we're not talking about that, and we're not talking about that song.  We're talking about the one we sing for the Queen."

       "Like Queen," said Terry. 

       "Good," said Maggie.  "I'm glad to hear it.  So you should."

       "Radio Ga-Ga... Flash..." said Terry.

       And we were off again, with it all being challenged and steered back. But I thought it was great - that they were showing that kind of creativity, with all the connections they were making. 

       That hour passed so quickly.  Almost before I knew it, it was coffee break.

 

      

       During the break, Laura asked how I felt about taking a bus-load out for a drive before lunch. 

       "I'll make sure it's an easy group for you.  You could pop to Sainsbury's in Sittingbourne, actually, and get us some more milk. Up to you."

       "Sure," I said.

       So they got together two from each home.  I had Shirley and Lizzie.  Then there was Ganesh and Danielle from Sittingbourne, and Terry and Fay from the farmhouse.  I didn't know much about Fay, except she seemed very similar to Shirley.  She was about the same age and very capable, though with a lot of nervous tics.  She was always impeccably dressed in smart trouser suits and blouses, and had short and neat black hair.  She had a cultured voice, though she didn't say a lot.  Again, a bit like Shirley, hers seemed more of a 'mental health' than a 'learning disabled' condition. 

       I got everyone seated and started up.  The radio came up loud on some horrible pop-diva wail, so I turned it down.

       Fay piped up, then. "Can we have Classic FM on, please?"

       That was a pleasant surprise to me.

       "Of course, Fay," I said.  "Good choice."

       I tuned it in... to Chopin's A Major Polonaise.  One of my favourites.

       The impact on Fay was electric!    

       "Oh, wonderful!" she cried.  In the mirror, I saw her jiggling her hands up and down, as if she was playing the piece herself.

       "Pyanner music!" Ganesh said, jerking his own hands up and down, too.  "Pay pyanner!"

       I could see Danielle, in the back, grinning and moving her head from side to side.  I heard Shirley and Lizzie la-laaing along.  It was remarkable how just the one piece had sparked such a reaction.  Terry was the only one who sat impassively, staring out at the passing street.

       So we drove along towards Sittingbourne on a real buzz.  When it finally ended, Fay clapped enthusiastically.  The others joined in.

       "Well done, Fay," said Danielle.  "You played that brilliantly."

       Fay bowed her head.  "Thank you, thank you.  Wonderful!"

       "She does play the piano, Will," Danielle added.  "Don't you, Fay."

       "Yes... I do... " Fay said, suddenly looking serious.

       "Perhaps you could play something for us when we get back, Fay," I said.

       "Oh, yes please," said Danielle.  "She's really good, aren't you Fay."

       "Okay," Fay said, smiling again.

       Then we were on the adverts.

 

(continued)  https://www.abctales.com/story/harryc/taking-care-5-ii