Colby can be quite cynical about things that are outside the box. He said, ‘Please tell me you’re joking.’
I said, ‘Obviously they’re not going to literally put Benjamin back in the womb. He’s five years old! But they’ll swaddle him – wrap him tightly in sheets and long pieces of material – and they’ll encourage him to try to force his way out of the swaddling, so he’s being re-born into our family. I know. You’re going to say it sounds like mumbo-jumbo.’
Colby said, ‘And if the therapies we’ve paid for to date are a guide, it will be expensive mumbo-jumbo.’
I said, ‘It is expensive but what choice do we have? We can’t go on like this.’
Anyway, it took some doing, but eventually Colby agreed to come to Sam’s Happy Camp with us. It’s near Copper Mountain, in Colorado. The only way for us to get there was to drive. I mean, travelling in a plane with Benjamin was a nightmare last time. I didn’t feel that we could do it again. It wouldn’t be fair on the other passengers.
I suggested to Colby that we hire an RV. It would take us three or four days to get there, but hey, it would be a bonding exercise – and God knows we needed that. And Colby seemed to think that was a great idea. When I asked him if we could drive, saying, ‘It would be an adventure,’ he said, ‘Like every day with Benjamin is not an adventure?’
So we got the Winnebago. It had an enormous windscreen, like you find in a bus. There was a little kitchen in the back, and a smelly toilet that had to be hooked up to the sewerage when we stopped at night. There was also a short wardrobe, and some cupboards with the basics (bowls, plates, spoons and so on).
Maybe it was the gentle rocking of the bus as we drove along, or maybe it was the fact that we just let Benjamin sit in the back without being strapped down, but he actually coped with the drive really well. He didn’t scream at all, or not while we were driving anyway. He seemed content to sit. He didn’t do much. He just looked out the window, or sat nodding his head, but at least it wasn’t the full-on war we normally get.
So, we drove most of the first day and stopped overnight in Pennsylvania. The camping ground was just off the main freeway. Other people might worry about noise, but our greatest fear was that Benjamin would get up in the night and disappear into the woods, so I was happy to be quite close to civilisation.
We pulled the rig into our space, and Colby jumped out and decided that it would be great fun to make a campfire. Apparently it’s the done thing. I tried to encourage Benjamin to come with me collecting kindling, but he didn’t seem interested. I bought some marshmallows and biscuits from the camp store, for s’mores.
Colby got the fire started, and we were settled down around it – the Winnebago came with fold-out chairs – and next thing we knew, the door to the Winnebago was swinging open, and there was Benjamin!
He’d come out to see the campfire – which would have been fine except that it was actually a bit creepy. The way he was staring, it was like he was fixated on the flames.
Colby said, ‘Look at him … it’s like the fire is pulling him in.’ He had come right down the steps of the rig and was getting really close to the fire.
I said, ‘Oh, hey, Benjamin, isn’t it lovely?’
Of course he didn’t say anything, so I said, ‘Okay, do you want to toast a marshmallow?’ but it was like he couldn’t hear me. He just wanted to get as close to the flames as possible, until his face was actually turning red. A normal child will back away – the heat and the smoke gets too much for them – but I think we can all agree that Benjamin isn’t normal.
I jumped up and said, ‘Don’t get too close!’
He ignored me and went even closer. I put my plastic cup of wine down, stood up and tried to get him to understand, saying, ‘You like the campfire, do you? It’s very pretty. But it’s also hot. You know “hot”?’
Of course Benjamin paid no attention, because he never does. Colby put down his cup and said, ‘Benny-boy. That’s a fire. That’s hot. You can get burnt on that.’ So, now we were both up on our feet and Benjamin was as close as it was possible to get to the flames. On the one hand, I didn’t want to stop him. He never comes out of his room, so it was something to see him coming out of the Winnebago to join us around the fire. And I thought, ‘Okay, maybe he likes fire in the way normal kids like campfires.’ But who am I kidding? Benjamin doesn’t like fire the way other kids like fire, not unless you’re counting pyromaniacs. Before I could stop him, he had made a grab for one of the red-hot logs. Colby was just fast enough to stop him from grabbing it. He kicked and screamed, but it’s not like we could just let him try to grab sticks out of the fire.
If only we could reason with him. But we can’t. And in the end, with Benjamin howling so much and so determined to get near the flames, I had to say, ‘Okay, Colby, put the fire out. It’s just too dangerous.’ It was such a shame and I felt so bad for Benjamin, but there was no way I was going to risk leaving the fire burning.
Colby sighed and smothered the flames. Then we all got into the rig and I barricaded the door shut to try to minimise the risk of Benjamin getting up at night and disappearing down the freeway, but it was pretty much impossible to sleep because by now Benjamin was distraught and throwing himself around inside. I know I shouldn’t, but I got the Phenergan and we basically forced it into him and that’s how we got through the night.
We had planned an itinerary that involved driving all day and stopping only at night so we could get across the country as quickly as we could. Colby woke before dawn, unhooked the rig and got us on the road, and like on the first day, Benjamin seemed to cope pretty well with the actual travel. For our second night, we stopped at Marion, Ohio. The site they gave us was next to another married couple doing the east–west drive. Colby struck up a conversation with the husband. They were older than us, and they had all the gear that you see with people who just love being on the road. They even had their dogs – two small dogs – with them, and a collapsible picket fence, so the dogs could run around the wheels of their rig when they were parked.
Colby was pretty impressed with their rig. It was a Silver Star, with flat-screen TVs and the works. The husband let Colby have a good look inside and at the engine. I was rolling my eyes, and the other wife was rolling hers, and I said, ‘Typical of the men to be raving about the vehicles on the road.’ She laughed, and then she invited us to have a meal with them, saying, ‘What are you folk doing this evening? We’re cooking outside and we’d love to have you join us.’
I was so tempted, but really, how could we say yes? I had to think of Benjamin. He hadn’t come out of the Winnebago, not since we’d parked. I knew what he’d be doing: he’d be standing inside, watching the TV. There were bits and pieces he could play with – the Magna Doodle, and a Nintendo handheld – and there would come a time when I’d have to try to feed him, but I wasn’t prepared to do that in front of strangers.
I said, ‘Oh, we better not, because we’ve got our little boy. He’s inside, sleeping.’ And the lady said, ‘Oh, you’ve got a little boy in there!’
Colby looked devastated that I’d even mentioned Benjamin. He said, ‘We’ll just be sitting here, Caitlin. I’m sure Benjamin will be fine inside the rig if we’re just here.’
The lady said, ‘Maybe he’d like to help me feed the dogs?’
I said, ‘Oh, no, no, he’s a bit shy, we’d better not.’
I could see that Colby was furious, but I’m used to that. He’s always saying, ‘Why can’t we just live a normal life? Forget about Benjamin and just enjoy ourselves, the two of us?’ It’s like he’s in denial. He seems to think that if we just ignore Benjamin or pretend he’s not there, he’ll disappear or something, leaving me to deal with the reality. I wasn’t going to leave Benjamin alone in the rig while we had a good old time with these new friends of Colby’s. So I stayed firm. I said, ‘Oh, no thank you, we’ll be fine. We were going to have an inside meal tonight.’ I said goodnight, and waited for Colby to follow me, but he didn’t, an
d then I heard him say, ‘Well, we should at least have one drink together,’ and the other woman’s husband seemed to think that was a great idea, so there I was, in the rig, taking care of everything, forced to look out the little lace curtains while Colby sipped his beer in front of their open fire. It’s typical. He goes on like nothing is wrong, and I have to carry the burden of Benjamin. I made beans in the microwave and we ate that – or I ate that – and finally I crawled onto the double bed and just lay there until I heard Colby coming in, bumping around like he’d obviously had too many beers.
‘You should have come out,’ he said.
I said, ‘What, and leave Benjamin here?’
He said, ‘This Benjamin thing is crazy! Can’t we just live our lives?’
We had an argument. I’m pretty sure the neighbours – Colby’s new friends – would have heard it. I didn’t want to risk running into them the next day so this time it was me who got up early, unhooked our rig and drove us out of the camp before dawn. It took most of the next day to get to Sam’s Happy Camp. It was really quite remote, and then our rig was almost too large to get through the gates, which were all very cowboy, with massive antlers as a decoration.
The mood between Colby and I was obviously pretty tense, but then the best thing happened: one of the Samanthas – the chubby one – came out and took Benjamin away. Literally, she picked him up off the ground and carried him away, saying, ‘You go and get registered and get showered and have a meal and we’ll see you later at the group therapy.’
I was so happy! Being away from Benjamin – that freedom – is so, so rare for me. Colby was grumbling, mainly because he does not like group therapy but it was actually great. We sat in a circle and told our war stories. One of the other mums, whose son was also from Russia, was crying, saying she had come to Sam’s after she found knives under the boy’s bed.
‘And I knew who those knives were for,’ she said. ‘They were for us.’
She had her eyes wide open, and she was shaking her head from side to side, saying, ‘They were for us!’
Colby was mimicking her afterwards, saying, ‘They were for us! They were for us! Oooo … they were for us!’
Another mum was saying that their daughter would deliberately bring up her food – vomit it up, not in the toilet, but at the dinner table! She would eat, and then her throat would go like a pelican, they said – and out would come the lumps on her plate.
Both of them said that their kids got up and wandered around at night, and I stuck my hand up and said, ‘Benjamin does that too!’
One mum had taken to tying her son to the bed with belts and sashes, saying, ‘I just hope welfare never drops in.’ Another had put a lace net over the crib – and under the wheels – so her daughter couldn’t climb out.
Lying in our single beds in the cabin that evening, I said, ‘So everyone’s the same. We’re all struggling.’ Colby wasn’t really listening, though. He had turned on his side and that was supposed to be my clue that he was tired. Benjamin still hadn’t been returned to us and we had no idea where he was – just somewhere else in the camp. Apparently he was happy – that’s what they said (!!!) – and they said we should just take advantage of the break. It was extremely strange, suddenly not having him around, and I was trying not to worry too much about where he was, or what they were having to do to keep him under control, but I also wanted to use the time without Benjamin to establish some intimacy with my husband – which would have been fine, except Colby had turned away from me. When I pushed the point, trying to stroke him, he said, ‘Not here, not in these kids’ beds.’
It upset me to get the brush-off, mainly because I knew perfectly well that the reason Colby didn’t want to get intimate was because of HER. He was thinking about HER and didn’t want to cheat on HER. And maybe he’d even promised her that he wouldn’t sleep with me anymore – and believe me, he wouldn’t be lying. Anyway, I said, ‘We can’t go on like this, Colby. Our sex life is practically non-existent.’ But he was already asleep, or pretending to be.
The time without Benjamin ended up going quite quickly. We saw him again pretty much straight after breakfast the next day. I’d like to say that we had a happy reunion, but who would I be kidding??? Anyway, we met up in a cabin, which was basically empty because all the furniture had been removed, except for a padded chair for the first Samantha, the chubby one, who we’d met the day before. Some of you might already know this, but Samantha doesn’t actually look in person like she does on the website. On the website, she looks very glamorous. In the flesh, she had no neck and fat feet, and she was just not as groomed as she makes herself appear. There was another woman standing beside her – the second Samantha! – who was kind of scrawny-looking.
The first Samantha explained what would happen: Colby and I, and then Benjamin, had to kneel on a queen-size bedsheet that they’d laid out on the floor. Then we – meaning, Colby and I – were supposed to wrap him up.
The first Samantha said something like: ‘Here at Sam’s Happy Camp we believe that birth is traumatic, and we all experience trauma at birth, and the trauma is healed when our mother gazes into our eyes. When children are adopted, they don’t get the healing. And when children go into an orphanage, they lose whatever bonds they ever had with their mother. What we’re going to do today is help Benjamin create a new bond with you, Caitlin – a birth bond – because you are now his mom.’
The thinner Samantha nodded, and said, ‘The birth bond.’
The idea, as I said, was to wrap Benjamin in the sheet, so tightly that he couldn’t move. I’d then take him on my lap and stare into his eyes. That’s what new mums do with their babies, and apparently the gazing between mother and child is critically important. I don’t doubt it, but getting Benjamin swaddled up and resting on my lap would be more easily said than done.
The fatter Samantha pointed at Colby and said, ‘I’d like you to do the swaddling. Wrap Benjamin as tightly as you can and place him on your wife’s lap.’
As I say, easier said than done, but we gave it a go. Colby grabbed Benjamin – he had to do it quickly, because the only way to get hold of him is by surprise – and Benjamin kicked and wailed as Colby tried to get him to lie down on the sheet. Fat Samantha refused to help, saying, ‘You are his new parents! You must get him under control!’
We battled on, with Colby shuffling on his knees to where Benjamin was trying to hide, near the wall, and dragging him back onto the sheet, so we could hold him down together and roll him, tight as a sausage roll.
‘That’s it!’ shouted the fatter Samantha. ‘You’ve got it. Now you put him on Mommy’s lap.’ I sat cross-legged on the floor. Colby picked up the mummified Benjamin – we had swaddled him with his arms by his sides, so only his furious head was visible above the sheet – and lay him on my lap.
‘Now, you stare into his eyes,’ said the fatter Samantha. ‘Let’s create those bonds of birth.’
‘The bonds of birth,’ agreed the thinner Samantha.
Again, easier said than done. Benjamin knew perfectly well what was expected of him so he screwed his eyes shut.
‘You stare him down!’ barked the thinner Samantha. ‘Peel those eyes open if you have to!’
Colby reached over and tried to open Benjamin’s eyes with his fingers, but he snapped them straight closed. He was not struggling in the sheet, which Colby counted as a blessing. We persevered for a while, but it wasn’t going to work. Benjamin couldn’t be forced to focus on me anymore than he could be forced to fly to the moon.
‘Alright,’ said the fatter Samantha. ‘We are going to need some tougher love.’
And so, yes, we moved onto what they call holding therapy. And, yes, I’m reluctant to admit that we did it. I realise not everyone approves. It can be traumatic.
For those who don’t know, holding therapy involves restraining the child – making it difficult for them to move, and even to breathe – until they beg for assistance. It’s supposed to send your child into suc
h distress that they will turn to you for help. It’s supposed to build trust.
There are risks involved – you can end up doing far more harm than good – but I didn’t think we had much choice. The first stage is called ‘the confrontation’. I was supposed to sit opposite Benjamin, making eye contact with him. That alone was a challenge, but apparently that’s okay because the second stage is called ‘the rejection’, and that is where Benjamin would actively avoid looking at me.
He never looks at me, so we got to the second stage pretty quickly. We reach that stage every day.
The third stage is called ‘the resolution’, and that is where the pressure comes in.
All four of us in the room – Colby and I, plus the fat and the thin Samantha – were supposed to pile on top of Benjamin, until he begged to be let up. He was still mummified, and stiff as a board in the sheet. We had pillows that we put on top of him, and then we all lay down over different parts of his body, so only his head could be seen.
The idea was for him to eventually surrender, and then I’d be able to step in and start building up new trust with him by comforting him.
I realise it sounds cruel, but the two Samanthas insist that there have been cases where it’s worked: an adopted girl who screamed and fought to be let up, who eventually went limp and started sobbing, who now has a wonderful relationship with her adopted mum.
So, the four of us lay over different parts of Benjamin. I was lying, chest down, over his middle section, and Colby lay on one side so he couldn’t roll. The two Samanthas lay over his legs, so Benjamin was pretty much covered over by all of us, except for his head.
I don’t think the two Samanthas expected him to be as strong as he is. Benjamin’s not a big kid, but he started thrashing like a shark. I wasn’t sure how long we’d be able to hold him, but then he actually settled down quite quickly, which defeated the purpose, obviously. We were meant to be causing distress, so the fatter Samantha told me to get up and straddle him. I was supposed to take enough of my weight to allow Benjamin to breathe, but also get him thinking that he might suffocate, so he would start to panic and gasp for air.
Can You Keep a Secret? Page 24