Can I Let You Go?: Part 3 of 3: A heartbreaking true story of love, loss and moving on. Cathy Glass
out. She decided she didn’t want to continue going to the day centre, and because she can’t go to the stables I’ve been taking her to see some horses in a field, which she enjoys.’ Stan and Wilma both nodded. ‘Faye has established a good morning routine, which I believe is similar to the one she has here. She also has an evening routine, which includes a bath and watching her favourite television programmes. I’ve started teaching Faye the basics of parenting: how to hold a baby, lay it in the crib, feed it and so on.’
‘That reminds me,’ Becky said. ‘I’m afraid I haven’t had any luck finding one of those electronic baby dolls you asked for. I’m still searching.’
Wilma and Stan looked puzzled and Becky explained what an electronic baby-simulator doll was.
‘I’m using an ordinary doll to practise on,’ I said to Wilma and Stan. They nodded, although Wilma looked sceptical.
‘And Faye’s managing to learn the skills you’re teaching her?’ Becky asked.
Faye was looking at me. ‘Yes, slowly, but we’ve only just started. Faye did well on Saturday when we began to practise making up bottles of milk. We didn’t do much this morning, though.’
‘Because I’m having an off day,’ Faye told her gran again.
‘I see,’ Becky said, making a note. ‘What does having an off day mean exactly?’
‘She forgets everything she’s supposed to do,’ Wilma said, not unkindly. ‘It was investigated when she was a child. Epilepsy was suggested but nothing was found.’
‘How long does it last?’ Becky asked. ‘Minutes? Hours?’
‘Most of the day,’ Wilma said. ‘Then she goes to sleep and she’s as right as rain in the morning, unless she’s sickening for something. Do you feel unwell?’ she now asked Faye.
‘No. I’m just having an off day,’ Faye replied.
Becky finished writing and I continued by saying that I’d booked a place for Faye to attend the last two antenatal classes and that I would be going with her. I gave the dates and also the date when we would be looking round the maternity ward at the hospital. Becky made a note. I said that after discussion with Becky I’d taken Faye shopping for the essential items like nappies, babygrows and vests, and I finished by saying that we’d packed her bag for the hospital. ‘In plenty of time, so we’re ready.’
Becky looked up from her notepad. ‘Thank you, Cathy. That’s helpful.’ Then, looking mainly at Wilma, she asked, ‘Are we still in agreement that Cathy should be Faye’s birthing partner?’
There was silence. I looked from Wilma to Stan; clearly they knew something we didn’t. It was Wilma who spoke: ‘We think Cathy should go with Faye to the hospital when the time comes, but I’d like her to phone me as soon as they arrive. It takes me a long time to get ready, especially if it’s at night and I have to get dressed, and I’ll need to call a cab. But I feel I should be there for Faye if possible. We’ve brought her up and I’ve been her mother.’
‘Yes, of course,’ I said, pleased. ‘I’ll phone you as soon as Faye goes into labour.’ Becky looked pleased too, for this shift in Wilma and Stan’s attitude – their greater acceptance of the baby – was positive and might pave the way for offering the support that could help Faye keep her baby long term.
‘That sounds good to me,’ Becky said. Then, looking at Faye, she asked, ‘What do you think? Would you like your gran and Cathy to be with you when you go to hospital to have your baby?’
‘Yes, and Snuggles,’ Faye said, smiling.
‘Of course Snuggles must go,’ Stan laughed kindly, and the atmosphere improved.
Becky then spent a few minutes explaining to Wilma and Stan about the adjustments that would be made to Faye’s state benefit, and how to claim a maternity grant for her. Then, with nothing more to discuss and no further questions from us, she wound up the meeting. She thanked me for coming and then wished Faye luck in case she didn’t see her again before the birth, and said she would see her afterwards. Stan and Wilma confirmed that they’d see Faye the day after tomorrow and then, saying goodbye, Faye and I left, followed by Becky. We all waited for the elevator together.
‘It sounds as though you’re doing very well,’ Becky said to Faye with a smile.
‘Yes, I am,’ Faye said. ‘Can I keep my baby?’ She asked it with a child’s naïve innocence, and Becky looked uncomfortable.
‘You’ll have your baby with you in the mother-and-baby home,’ she said. ‘Then we will work out what is best for your baby in the long term.’ Which is what Becky had explained to Faye before, but it seemed to satisfy her for now.
As we left the building and said goodbye, Becky again wished Faye good luck and then we went to our respective cars.
Once home Faye wanted to look through the contents of her hospital bag, I think because I’d mentioned it at the review. I lifted it down from where I’d stowed it on top of her wardrobe, and placed it on the bed. She sat beside it and began going through, admiring all the new things we’d bought for her baby. I left her to it but looked in on her a couple of times. She was in her element, unpacking and repacking the contents and pretending she was going on holiday. I told her to make sure she returned everything to the bag when she’d finished, but again the incongruity of seeing a heavily pregnant woman playing like a child struck me. She had a lot of growing up to do to become a responsible parent, and in a very short space of time.
Wilma’s assurance that after a night’s sleep Faye’s ‘off day’ would go and she’d be ‘as right as rain’ proved correct. The following morning Faye was up at her usual time and fell into her routine, albeit slowly, but then Faye did everything slowly, as though all tasks required her full and equal concentration. She remembered where the cereal for breakfast was kept without a problem, and after breakfast she knew she had to dress, wash and brush her teeth. Once ready she wanted to make up some more bottles and I took everything we needed from the cupboards and set it on the work surface with the instruction sheets. An hour later, and with a lot of help from me, she’d successfully washed and sterilized four bottles, and had made up the formula milk. I praised her.
That afternoon we went to see the horses, as we hadn’t been for a while. It was cold – there’d been a frost that morning – so we didn’t stay long. But judging from the way the horses and ponies galloped across the field as soon as we approached the fence, they were as pleased to see Faye as she was to see them. She petted and stroked them with her gloved hands and remembered some of the names she’d given them. They whinnied and snorted appreciatively, their warm breath fogging in the cold air. Since the change in the care plan Faye had stopped counting down the number of sleeps to when she could return to the stables. She understood that, as she’d be living out of the area and looking after her baby, going to the stables wouldn’t be practical, and neither would going to the day centre.
The following day, after I’d taken Faye to her grandparents, I continued into town to do some Christmas shopping. I knew what Adrian, Lucy and Paula wanted – they’d dropped hints – and I’d decided to buy Faye a camera. She didn’t own one and her phone was too basic to have one included. I thought that like all parents she’d want to take lots of photographs of her baby, so it seemed an ideal present. I wanted a camera that was easy to hold and use, but that took good photographs. I went to the large electrical store in the shopping centre where a helpful assistant showed me a range of cameras that matched my criteria and were within budget, and I found exactly what I was looking for. From there I went to the maternity and baby store I’d previously shopped in with Faye. It was bursting with Christmas gift ideas and, taking a basket, I headed for the display marked ‘Baby’s First Christmas’.
I was like a kid in a candy store as I filled the basket. So many gorgeous gifts, it was difficult to choose. I began by placing a bright-red Santa sack into my basket. It had a large motif on the front showing a jolly, smiling Santa and the words ‘My First Christmas’. Then I chose a rattle,