Book Read Free

More Than Us

Page 12

by Dawn Barker


  At that, I wanted to run out of this office straight away and find Cameron, ask him which boys were hassling him and get Paul out of that bloody centre to throttle them. Literally wring their necks.

  ‘Do you think that’s why?’ I said, my voice lifting. Could it be that simple? They could expel bullies, or we could move school. ‘Is that why he’s like this? He’s being bullied?’

  Miss Da Silva glanced at Mrs McCarthy, who nodded a little. Miss Da Silva shook her head and began to speak. ‘No, no. I’m sure it’s not helping but I think that what we’re seeing is more than just a reaction to bullying. As you know, I’ve been trying to engage him.’

  ‘But maybe we don’t know the extent of it. He has a computer in his room, maybe there’s cyber bullying. I went to that workshop that you held here last term.’ I looked quickly to each of their faces, hopefully.

  Miss Da Silva raised her hand. ‘Please, let me explain. You know that we have a zero tolerance for any sort of emotional or physical bullying, and the boys in question have been reprimanded and we’re watching it very closely. But I don’t think that’s the only issue.’

  ‘He’s never had many friends,’ I continued. ‘You know, he has the rugby team but they don’t really hang out with him outside of training. I’ve always been worried about that.’

  ‘Yes. Although over the past few weeks, it’s definitely gotten worse.’ She was using her counselling voice. ‘As well as his academic and social decline, he just looks… sad.’

  I nodded.

  ‘Have you taken him to see a doctor at all?’

  ‘Yes. He’s seen a paediatrician a few times. He said he probably had ADHD, but just mild. But Paul spoke to someone at work whose child had ended up having some kind of psychotic breakdown and another one who knew a kid who’d had a heart attack from the medication, so we decided not to put him on the stimulants. The paediatrician said that was okay, that we didn’t have to. Maybe it’s that?’

  ‘How about a psychiatrist?’ she said, softly.

  My body stilled. ‘Paul and I have discussed it,’ I said slowly. ‘But, well, he’s – we’ve – always thought he was just a kid, you know?’

  I looked at the teacher and counsellor again, willing them to keep going, to say the things that I couldn’t, to take the decision out of my hands so that I had no choice, so that I could tell Paul that we had to do it.

  Miss Da Silva leaned forwards. ‘I am very concerned that Cameron is ill, and as a psychologist, I strongly recommend that you get him a referral to a psychiatrist. I am happy to recommend a child psychiatrist who I think would be great.’

  I needed to talk to Paul.

  I couldn’t talk to Paul.

  I looked up at their concerned faces. ‘Yes, please,’ I managed to whisper.

  * * *

  Driving home in the car, I thought about what Paul would say. I wanted to talk to him about it, so that I didn’t have to second-guess myself, but how could I? And I couldn’t wait; Cameron needed help now. I needed help now. Paul would understand. I owed it to Cameron to take control now, while we still had his trust, before any power we had disappeared as he left gawky, conflicted adolescence for adulthood. I was his parent, and I had to make sure that I had done the best job I could to prepare him for the world outside of the shelter of home and school. If I didn’t do something, I was failing my son.

  That evening, I sat at the dining table with Cameron and Tilly while we ate home-made burgers. Cameron seemed okay now: he ate two burgers, he bickered with Tilly, who picked at the edges of the cheese and refused to eat the meat, declaring that she was going vegetarian, but Cameron seemed calm. I could barely finish my food; I sipped at a glass of wine and forced myself to swallow the lump of gristly meat.

  The kids finished and stood up.

  ‘Hey,’ I said. ‘Clear the table please.’

  They both, wordlessly, picked up their plates and took them to the kitchen. I grabbed my own plate, and the salt and tomato sauce, and walked over too. ‘Tilly, could you go outside and take the washing off the line please?’

  ‘Me?’

  ‘Yes, please,’ I said, not allowing myself to bite at her petulant tone.

  ‘How do I do that?’

  ‘Are you telling me that you don’t know how to take clean washing in?’ Although as I said it, I realised that I probably had never asked her to do it before; I ran around them and Paul and did everything in this house. I spoke more softly. ‘Just get the washing basket from the laundry and unpeg them. I’ll fold them later.’

  She made a face like I had asked her to clean the toilets.

  ‘Thank you, darling.’ I turned to Cameron. ‘Hey buddy, not so fast. You can help me stack the dishwasher.’

  He opened his mouth to protest.

  ‘Don’t bother, Cam. Remember, your dad’s away so you kids have to step up and help me.’

  He sighed. ‘Okay. Are these in here clean or dirty?’

  ‘Use your eyes! Can’t you see? Dirty, just rinse our plates and stick them in too.’

  I began scraping the scraps of leftover food into the bin. ‘Cameron, while you’re here, I wanted to talk to you. School called me in today, about what happened in English.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘Yes, oh.’ I closed the cupboard door to hide the bin and turned to look at him, leaning back against the bench.

  ‘Mr Singh is rude. I didn’t understand what we were meant to be doing.’

  ‘Did you throw something at him?’

  ‘It was hardly throwing! I just got angry because he wasn’t listening to what I was saying. I didn’t mean to.’

  I sighed, looking at my little boy, his eyes downcast. ‘Cameron, you can’t do that, you know? The school are worried, and so am I.’

  ‘I’m sorry!’ He looked at me, his face flushed.

  ‘It’s alright, I know it’s not like you, but I want us to go and see a doctor.’

  ‘I don’t need to see a doctor.’

  I swallowed hard. ‘I think you do, and I’m your mum.’

  ‘What does Dad say?’

  ‘It doesn’t matter. He’s away, I’m here.’ I stepped towards him. ‘Sweetie, you’re not in trouble, okay? I just think we need to get you checked over by a doctor to see if we can help you with, well, how you’re feeling and why you’re not coping as well as you normally do. There are doctors who specialise in that. Remember when we saw Darren, the psychologist?’

  ‘I hated him.’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous. Anyway, this is someone like him, but a doctor.’

  I saw his fists clench but could see the panic in his eyes. ‘I don’t need to see someone.’ He lowered his voice. ‘I’m sorry. I won’t do it again.’

  I reached my arm out to touch his. ‘Oh darling, it’s not a punishment, it’s not just because of that, but we need to go for a check-up. Just like we would if you had headaches, or stomach aches. And, if the doctor says you’re fine then, that’s that. Okay?’

  I heard the back door open as Tilly came back in. She walked towards us. ‘What’s happening?’ Her brow was furrowed.

  ‘Nothing,’ Cameron said. ‘Mum’s just overreacting, as usual.’ He glared at me and I saw the tension in his muscles. For a moment, I saw his father in him, and realised that a part of me was afraid. He loomed towards me, pushed past and stormed off towards his room, slamming his door behind him.

  I rubbed my face and tried to exhale slowly.

  ‘Mum, you okay?’ Tilly said, a tremor in her voice.

  ‘Yes,’ I said brightly, my voice too high pitched. ‘I’m fine. Hey, thanks for doing that.’

  ‘Can I go now?’

  I nodded quickly. ‘Sure.’

  She took a step towards me, gave me a quick hug, then went off to her room.

  * * *

  It was easier than I expected. I took him to our GP after school the next day, without any fanfare, and explained what school had said, while Cameron remained silent. The GP gave us a referral, I calle
d up the psychiatrist and I made an appointment. There was a cancellation two days later, and on the day, we just got in the car, and we went.

  I had prepared a story about why Paul wasn’t there. But it never came up. The doctor, a tall, thin woman who looked to be in her 50s, wearing red-framed glasses, introduced herself as Dr Davidson. She asked us to introduce ourselves, then asked who lived at home – and of course I mentioned Paul then – and what he did for a living, and that was it. She saw Cameron and me together initially, then me on my own, and then she asked to talk with Cameron on his own.

  When she asked me to leave the room, my heart sped up. I looked at Cameron.

  ‘Is that okay? I’ll be right outside if you need me.’

  ‘He’ll be fine,’ said Dr Davidson, smiling at him. ‘Won’t you?’

  Cameron nodded, so I slowly walked to the door, waiting for him to protest, but he didn’t. I don’t know why I felt disappointed. Of course, I wanted him to talk to the doctor so we could work out what was wrong with him, but the other part of me wanted him to act out, so that the psychiatrist could see what I was taking about. But, I could hardly prod him until he screamed at me, so I swallowed and walked out to the waiting room.

  When the office door opened again, about twenty minutes later, Dr Davidson invited me back in. Cameron was still sitting in the chair, looking down at his school shoes. Scuffed, I noticed. I should have polished them. I sat down next to him, my mouth dry.

  Dr Davidson cleared her throat. ‘Thank you both for coming in today and for being so open with me. Cameron, I’m impressed at how well you’ve spoken with me, even though it must be very frightening coming here.’ I put my hand on top of Cameron’s and gave it a squeeze. What had he said?

  Then the doctor talked about his social difficulties, his high levels of anxiety, how his anxious thoughts get stuck in his head, how he couldn’t concentrate properly and wasn’t able to enjoy anything. She said some children cope with strong emotions by withdrawing, and others by hitting out. I felt like I was watching a television show, removed from these terms she was using to describe my son. Cameron became more tense beside me as she continued to address me.

  ‘I don’t like to label children.’ She smiled. Then turned to Cameron. ‘Cameron, what I do see is that sometimes it’s hard for you to relate to people, and sometimes your worries get too big for you and that makes you unhappy. I know that there are things at school that you struggle with, and some stresses at home.’

  I fixed the smile on my face to hold back my tears. What had he said about home? I should have told her about Paul, but then what if she thought this was all to do with that, with what we’ve gone through recently, and overlooked the fact that we’ve had problems with Cameron for years?

  ‘Emily,’ she said, turning back to me, ‘it’s clear to me that he has become quite an anxious and sad young man, and we’ve spoken earlier about some of the reasons why that might be. I’ve read the documentation from the paediatrician, who thinks he has a degree of ADHD, and the school, as well as the OT and speech therapist and the psychologist.’ I had brought my folder of notes – every assessment that I’d taken him to over the years: those that spoke about some of his social difficulties, that queried ‘high functioning autism’ while others disagreed, his social skills, his sensory processing difficulties and some obsessional interests, hoping that she could make sense of them all and bring all these words together into something that meant something.

  She pushed her glasses up on her nose and leaned back. ‘It’s not unusual to see children who have a mix of lots of issues and we can’t always say it’s one or the other. ADHD can lead to anxiety, and anxiety can lead to concentration problems. Then of course, as he struggles to cope with his feelings and acts out, or withdraws, he becomes more socially isolated which makes everything even more difficult and can lead to feelings of sadness. I prefer to think of children, or teenagers, or adults, as unique people with their own unique strengths and challenges.’

  I wiped a tear away and glanced at Cameron. ‘He has so many strengths, Dr Davidson. He’s so kind and smart and he’s great at sport. He’s on the rugby team; did he tell you that? He loves computers.’

  She smiled at me. ‘Yes, I know that. He told me.’ She leaned back and crossed her legs. ‘Look. Usually my first step is to recommend that he see a clinical psychologist, to help him learn how to manage his thoughts and feelings, and his behaviours, but I know you’ve tried that. Also, the fact that your school psychologist asked you to see me is a bit of a red flag to indicate that we might need to try some medication to settle things down.’

  I breathed out, only then realising that I’d been holding my breath waiting for her to say that.

  ‘Some families are keen for medication, others are not, and I respect that either way. What are your feelings about it?’

  I sighed out a shaky breath, clutching Cameron’s hand. ‘Look, it’s not something I take lightly. His dad… and I,’ I added quickly, ‘have been against that, when the paediatrician recommended the stimulants. He’s just a kid. But, well, things have changed. I feel like we’ve tried everything we can and he’s still… struggling, as you say. Cam, what do you think?’ I turned to him.

  ‘It’s fine,’ he said, not looking me in the eye.

  ‘Cameron and I briefly spoke about it and he said he’s willing to try it too.’

  I wiped away a tear. If he was willing to take medication, he was admitting that he was unhappy and needed help. That broke my heart.

  ‘Cameron, we’ll get you feeling better, sweetie. I promise,’ I said quietly.

  He nodded.

  Dr Davison continued. ‘Great, well I’m glad we’re all in agreement. I do feel that we’ve reached that point, and regardless of what label Cameron has, let’s try to treat the symptoms.’

  And then she told us that she was going to prescribe an antidepressant that could also help anxiety. She thought the anxiety was causing more problems than his inattention at the moment, and he also had some depressive symptoms – a low mood, sleep difficulties, a lack of enjoyment. She would prescribe Fluoxetine – Prozac. My heart sped up. She went through the side effects and even as she did, I knew I’d say yes, because what other choice did I have? It might help, she said. It might take a few weeks to start to work. He might get some headaches or nausea. He might get more agitated, some kids even become suicidal, but it was rare.

  I took the prescription, put it in my bag, then we went to the chemist on the way home, I handed it over and we came out with a box of tablets in a white paper bag.

  ‘Hey, Cam,’ I said, glancing at him as I turned left, towards school. ‘Best not to mention this to Dad for now, you think?’

  ‘Well, I can’t, can I? He hasn’t even called.’

  ‘He has, I told you, it’s just hard for him to call when you’re at home because of—’

  ‘Work?’ He raised his eyebrows, then turned to look out the window.

  ‘Yes, work,’ I said quietly.

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘You know what he’s like. Let’s just give this a go, and we’ll see if it helps you feel better. If it helps, great – then we’ll tell your dad. If not, then we’ll just stop them, and he’ll be none the wiser.’

  The next morning, I popped out one of the tablets from the blister pack, cut it in half with a knife, then gave it to Cameron with his breakfast. He swallowed it down with his orange juice, grimacing at the taste, then he went to school, and that was that. For the first time in weeks, I felt my shoulders relax a little, knowing that I was taking some control, and that someone believed me.

  Seventeen

  Paul

  ‘Tell me what has led you here,’ Michael said.

  I leaned forwards, elbows on my knees, hands over my face.

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘You do. People don’t end up as gambling addicts for no reason.’

  ‘I don’t know,’ I snapped. ‘If I knew that, maybe I wouldn’t be he
re at all.’

  ‘But you are here. When did it stop being a choice?’

  ‘I don’t know when I stopped having a choice. I’ve thought about this over and over. If I could pinpoint the actual day, one particular event that turned everything in me the wrong way around, then I could understand what caused it.’

  ‘And what would you do?’

  I let out an ironic laugh. ‘Well, I would just rewind life to that point, and make a different choice.’ But this was real life, not a choose your own adventure book. I couldn’t go back and change my path. The things I have done have altered the stories of other people too, and it was too late to pull our mixed narratives apart. ‘I won’t ever go back to gambling. Never again.’ I ran my fingers through my hair. It needed a cut. What would the kids be doing now? God, I missed them. And Emily. ‘Look, I know I said I’d stay here for six weeks or whatever it was, but it’s been a month. I miss my family. I want to go home.’

  Michael smiled. ‘Everyone does. But this is precisely the time you need to stay.’

  I felt my muscles tense. ‘You don’t understand. Cameron, my son, he has problems. He’ll be wondering where I am, and it’s not fair on Emily.’

  ‘It’s not fair on them to go back when you’re not ready. And it’s not fair on you, to give up so soon.’

  ‘I’m not giving up. I don’t give up. I understand; I get it. I want to get back to work, get fit again, spend more time with my family.’

  Michael kept the smile on his face but shook his head condescendingly.

  ‘What are you looking at me like that for?’

  ‘I was like you once. This is only just the start. If you go home now, nothing will have changed.’

  ‘I’ve changed.’

  ‘Not enough. Not yet. You still need to learn why you’re like this.’

  If I really wanted to, I could stand up right now and leave. I could demand that Michael give me back my phone, demand that he call Emily to pick me up. And Emily would come. She would drop everything she was doing, and she would be here as soon as she could, with the kids squabbling in the back seat and they’d drive me back to my familiar, warm, chaotic, home, where Emily was at her happiest.

 

‹ Prev