The Life of Ryan (A Foster Carer’s Perspective)

‘The future depends on what we do in the present.’ - Mahatma Gandhi

A statement so fundamentally true and obvious in many, many ways, yet it is only when we take time to contemplate this that we improve things here and now, and also for generations to come. Therefore, it is critically true that how we, as a society, raise the next generation now will have waves of effect for the future.

I was 15 when my family began to foster children. I remember being excited about children coming to live with us. We had seen photographs and, after what seemed like a life time of waiting, we finally were getting two children. To say that fostering doesn’t change your life would be untrue, because quite simply it does. However, for the worse? No, I don’t believe so. If my family hadn’t fostered, would I be the person I am today? Would I have made the same choices? Or be living the life I am? Who can say for certain?

I have been asked many times, ‘why do you do it?’ This is a question I have always found difficult to answer because how do you answer that? How do you make someone understand how it feels when a child learns what a cuddle is; when they can sleep through the night because they now know that when they wake someone will be there looking after them; when they first sit and actually play a game?

I quite honestly, never planned that I would follow this path, but I believe that with knowledge comes responsibility. People know of the horrors that children in our society face, but are shielded by the newspaper or the television screen. People can speculate and wonder, but not until you come face to face with that child, does the reality, of what is just around the corner, hit you.

Since becoming a foster carer in my own right, I’ve had many children in my care. I’ve supported families living with depression by offering respite care; I’ve cared for children with disabilities; on two occasions I’ve had police deliver babies to my door at Christmas, I’ve cared for a teenager; for children with language difficulties; for children suffering from physical and emotional abuse; I’ve cared for, and moved a child on for adoption, who was deemed ‘unadoptable,’ and presently care for a sibling group of four. And all this in three years! Imagine what people who have been fostering 20 years have seen!

So to Ryan...

Ryan is fictitious, however, all that I describe will be from real events...

I remember the day Ryan and his sisters arrived. I was walking in the park on a windy yet warm day when my phone began to ring. After fumbling about looking in pockets for the illusive object I finally found it and the word ‘blocked’ was displayed on the screen. Now its funny how words become correlated with different aspects of your life, for me, the word ‘ blocked’ means one thing – social services! I answered the call and listened to the details of the children, asking all the right questions, seeming as though I was thinking about the decision, as to whether or not to accept the placement, very carefully, when deep down I knew I’d made the decision before I even answered the call. So the phone call ended, then what followed seems to have become my typical reaction – two minutes panic followed by the extremely wise decision of making a cup of tea! I returned home and duly stood and drank that cup of tea, whilst thinking at about 1 million miles per hour of the things that needed to be done, to be thought of...Are the beds ready? Is there enough food in the cupboards? How will the children be on arrival? What have I agreed to??

An hour later Ryan was being led into the house, with his siblings, by a social worker. His head hung down, his clothes ill-fitting and carrying a heavy smell, and wearing shoes far too small for his already tiny feet. We sat and chatted for a little while, trying to make Ryan feel a bit more comfortable in his new surroundings and, after showing Ryan his bedroom, his social worker left. In front of me I saw this dishevelled body of unhappiness and I wanted to reach out and hug him, to tell him everything was going to be ok. But that wouldn’t help. Not yet. So you focus on eating toast with a cup of juice, choosing the colour cup he wants as his own, and sticking to that, finding the plate that matches – insignificant, maybe, but to a child it is their first claim on their new home, a subconscious claim on their surroundings.

Then comes bath-time, whatever time of day it is! I led Ryan upstairs showing him where the toilet was, and having another look at his bedroom. He liked the dinosaurs on the bedcovers. The bath was run, with plenty of bubbles, but the look on Ryan’s face as I encouraged him in brought it home to me that this child was frightened, possibly rarely having had a bath before. We decided that before Ryan had his bath that baby needed her bath. So we got the doll from the pram and together we washed that ever-suffering doll. Ryan was in charge of the soap – a very important job because it likes to escape! After baby had had her bath we talked about how lovely she smelled and how cosy and warm she was in her clean clothes. Ryan didn’t mind getting in the bath so much now. He still had a long way to go, particularly when it came to hair-washing but an edge had been removed, and his trust was already beginning to be placed.

After bath-time, which consisted of Ryan standing abruptly several times, just in case a drop of water went near his face, and resulted in most of the bath water now covering me, we went downstairs for some supper and a story. We chatted about little things and practised learning my name and the dog’s name. Before long it was bed-time. Ryan was understandably exhausted, both physically and emotionally, however, the concept of going to bed was not one he was going to accept immediately. Understandable when all you know is sleeping whenever, and wherever, your body finally gives in. So on came the crossed arms and the defiant, ‘no.’ Cue the distraction technique – I quietly tidy dishes from the table, look through a couple of letters, and then, after a few minutes, gently take Ryan’s hand and lead him up to bed. He grumbled but his negatives were greeted with an unrelated positive and a description of what to expect the next day, what to look forward to. As I sang him a song his face screwed up and he laughed a little. He did not understand the situation at all, and yet within days his bed-time song became depended on. He listened to and learned the words, sometimes joining in, sometimes just listening, but always insisting on it taking place each night.

Getting Ryan to sleep in his bed, and stay in bed, proved to be rather a task. He would regularly call out or come downstairs, or suddenly have a stomach ache, followed by a headache, then a toothache. The moment I knew why bedtime was such a problem for Ryan was during one evening, after he had been settled to bed, and was asleep, I popped outside to get something from the car only to return to Ryan half way down the stairs, crying in panic that I had gone out and left him. I took from this that Ryan was familiar with that door shutting and leaving him in silence. I held him close as his sobs subsided and I reassured him that I would keep him safe, and never leave him on his own. Within two weeks Ryan’s bedtime issues were a thing of the past. He knew what to expect and when to expect it. Routine made him feel safe. In fact, you could set a clock by him – he was asleep at 7 and didn’t wake until 7 the following morning!

The first few days after Ryan’s arrival were not easy. He wasn’t used to boundaries and we both had to go through the pain threshold of his adjustment to them. Ryan was under the misconception that he was ‘the boss,’ however, it did not take him long to come round to the same thinking as myself...that I was! In those first few days, what Ryan needed more than anything else was security and to know his role in his new home. It would have been all too easy to say ‘Oh he’s just arrived, we’ll deal with that later,’ when in reality what Ryan was doing was setting out his goal posts. He was testing how far he could go. With clear, consistent boundaries in place Ryan soon settled. It took only a matter of days for the swearing, and hitting to disappear because I was clear with him, in a calm, quiet way, that this was unacceptable and that he was better than that. Ryan told me he was a ‘naughty’ boy – I convinced him otherwise.

Ryan hadn’t had many experiences in his life so many things we did together were firsts; a trip to the park to feed the ducks; climbing trees – and getting stuck; paddling in the sea. Caring for Ryan required patience and understanding but generally he became a joy to be around. He developed a brilliant sense of humour and his smile could light up a room. I remember one evening as I was stood there washing the dishes, Ryan trotted in, looked up and was awestruck by how enormous the moon looked. He quietly turned to me and said, ‘Kathleen, I love you and I love the moon. Can we sing Twinkle Twinkle to it?’ So there we both stood, facing the moon, offering our song.

It’s these things, these special times that make a relationship strong, not material things, not words (as these to a child mean so little when promises are so regularly broken) and without that relationship the journey you and a child will make will be on separate paths. It is only when you walk hand-in-hand together do you see that child transforming from a child who would shout, who would kick out, who couldn’t learn at school because of the baggage he was carrying, become a well-mannered, confident child who now raises his hand at school rather than his fist, a child who begins to bring things home from school because he knows you will be proud of him and his painting of a red alien.

The journey can be long and, at times difficult, however one day you stop and reflect on what has gone before, and you realise just what this child has achieved and how you have helped him become the happier, calmer and stronger child he is today. It is then that you realise that every step along the way was worth the effort.

People often say to me ‘I couldn’t do it,’ to this I quote ’We are like tea bags - we don't know our own strength until we're in hot water.’ - Sister Busche

So I return from where I began my story... to the cup of tea, which by now, should be just strong enough...

Thank you

Author: Kathleen O’Malley March 2012