Joy Comes in the Morning

ABOUT THE BOOK

The birth of a baby should be a time of joy but sadly this is not always the case. Traumatic events and widely differing home circumstances shape the lives of the six main characters but through the adversity, shines resilience and humour, which often triumphs.

This novel gives a unique opportunity to glimpse a diversity of home life from cradle to grave, through the eyes of the Health Visitor.

Joy Comes In The Morning

Christine Sleath

Copyright 2013 Christine Sleath

Published by Christine Sleath at Smashwords

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

With grateful thanks to my friends, colleagues and family, without whom this book would not have been possible.

The book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents and dialogues are products of the author's imagination and should not be construed as actual events.

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author

CHAPTER ONE

It was my first day as a fully-fledged Health Visitor. After a year of hard work, I had the coveted qualification and was going to revolutionise the lives of all my clients from the cradle to the grave.

In the late 1970’s most Health Visitors worked from a health centre. They were loosely linked with GP surgeries, but the doctors, and probably a large proportion of the general public, were mainly ignorant about their work. I had been a hospital sister prior to my career change, and friends and family were amazed that anyone should wish to give up such a prestigious position to become a sort of social worker.

The career change necessitated my learning to drive, which was a source of some amusement to our two children but almost grounds for divorce from my husband. I did pass my driving test the first time. This news was met not with hearty congratulations but by incredulity from my better half. After suffering his unbridled but often justified wrath during my attempts to drive his beloved vehicle, I had found the dreaded examiner to be chicken feed. It is true to say that the car had suffered not only many minor dents with me at the helm, but also two major ones. Fortunately, in the worst accident with a delivery lorry no one was hurt. The driver of the lorry, which I was sure there was enough room to overtake, was most sympathetic on seeing my hospital uniform and said he would not claim. Now of course I was not protected by a uniform, but my trusty little Mini, which cost me £30, was to remain unscathed during my work as a Health Visitor.

My missionary zeal had been somewhat deflated when I realised the experienced Health Visitors at the centre did not appear to be quite so enthusiastic. Though they were obviously working hard, the problems were multiplying. Nevertheless I had attacked the filing system and prepared with vigour (and some niggling trepidation) for my first challenge, the baby clinic.

Baby clinics were usually held in church halls or in working men’s clubs. This particular one was in a miners’ welfare hall and was attended by parents from different social levels, but a large proportion came from a sprawling council estate or lived in the miners’ accommodation, as this was before the massive pit closures. Many parents were both single and needy but a few were extremely affluent and information given had to be tailored to individual requirements.

I let myself into the building clutching an armful of health information leaflets and a box of toys to brighten the place up. It was dark and gloomy and the one ancient central heating radiator was almost totally ineffective. The rusty brown cupboard housing the baby scales refused to yield to the turn of my key. I could already hear people filing into the building and children shouting and babies screaming. Suddenly, when I had begun to despair of ever setting up my first clinic and dispensing my valuable advice to all who would listen, there burst through the door, like a breath of fresh air a large, friendly lady. This was Marjorie the Welfare Assistant. She was in her mid forties, with thick, brown, curly hair, rosy cheeks and spoke with a strong local accent. Indeed, her speech was so quick that all her words came tumbling out one after the other, the one following the next before its completion. Marjorie’s official job was to sell the subsidised baby milk or to issue it freely on the production of tokens, but in reality, she did much more than this. Her first important and welcome job was to open my cupboard. I had the key, but Marjorie had the knack. With one deft flick of the wrist, the door was opened when it had stubbornly refused to budge to my coaxing, kicking and exasperation. Marjorie placed a semi-circle of chairs around my box of toys and left me to dust down the table in readiness for my scales, the tools of the trade.

The chairs were filling up nicely. Mothers and children appeared to be congregating into three distinct groups. One small group was obviously made up of middle class, professional, articulate mothers. They filled me with trepidation, as I knew from my experience as a student Health Visitor that they would probably be well read and have heard every television documentary pertaining to babies and childcare. Would I be able to supply them with the correct information? The second group, which was probably the largest and certainly the most vociferous, came from the nearby estate. They all knew each other and everyone’s extended family. They had lived in the same area for all their lives and rarely left the town even to take a holiday. Their children were extremely noisy and often uncontrolled. Some of the mothers surprised me when I learnt their age because frequent child bearing had made them look much older. One young, single parent told me that her mum was too old to be much help with the kids. She was actually only forty-nine! The third group was not really a unit at all. They did not talk to each other or to anyone else. There was one lady with a severe psychiatric problem, a father who was there under sufferance, and one mother who had recently moved into the area.

I indicated that I was ready but no one seemed eager to see me. Marjorie had begun dispensing tea and coffee, with squash for the children and they were all managing perfectly well without the Health Visitor. On my second call, the extremely disturbed lady shuffled forwards. She held her baby daughter at arms’ length and undressed her just as a child would undress a doll. She neither spoke to the baby nor did she maintain any eye contact. Her eyes were staring and her face was chalk white and devoid of any make up. She looked as if she had not slept for a long time. I tried, without success, to strike up a conversation. She told me only that her name was Julie and the date of birth of her daughter Katy, now three months old. I gleaned no other information but made a note to discuss her case with the doctor. Katy was a well-nourished little girl and was the right weight for her age. I was quite surprised how easy it was to make her smile, and concluded that either Julie was not always so depressed or that there was someone else helping with her care. A home visit was certainly indicated in this case as soon as possible.

Feeling rather like a lady at the DSS I shouted, Next! The father had a list of questions, which were easily answered. He ticked them off on his list, dressed his son and made a hasty exit. The lady who had moved to the area was pleased to be given information about various groups and activities in the neighbourhood and she did at least make me feel that I had been of some use.

The articulate group was strangely reluctant to ask any questions about themselves or their children. They simply wanted to have their babies weighed and then leave, presumably to do something much more interesting. One or two of them did want to know if I had any children; to me it seemed sure that a negative answer would have meant losing all credibility.

Even though previously anxious about the types of questions that might be asked, I felt that my training hardly came in to use. I learnt when I had been in the area a little longer that it was the lack of privacy which made many of the mothers reluctant to seek advice. They were frightened that they would be overheard asking either embarrassing or inappropriate questions. When I eventually moved to another private room in the same building they talked more freely.

The large group remained and had been joined by a few more. The babies were crawling amongst the toys. The older children were hurling the playthings across the room and spilling their squash. Their parents were more interested in talking to Marjorie and to each other than in controlling their noisy offspring. Every so often a child would indicate he needed a wee wee, and when the shouts became insistent they were reluctantly taken. Marjorie was obviously resigned to the odd accident, because she had a large mop and bucket strategically placed to deal with the puddles. If the members of this group could tear themselves away to see the Health Visitor, I thought that they might not be so reluctant to ask questions.

Just as I was about to see the first one, a wild-eyed man burst through the door. Is there a doctor here? he shouted. My grandson’s in trouble.

What exactly is the problem? I said. We don’t have a doctor in the clinic.

He’s red in the face and making funny noises. Can you come? It’s only round the corner. As he spoke he was already on his way out of the building. It was impossible to ask any further questions. I ran with him, not even bothering to pick up my coat, though it was raining very hard. Part of me hoped that it would not be too far, but another cowardly side was hoping that the crisis would be averted before we reached the house. What on earth could be the matter with the child? I did not even know his name, or age, or anything about him. Would I be able to cope after a year away from hospital and acute cases? In hospital they had all the equipment for resuscitation, as well as many highly qualified medical staff. Here I would be alone, facing an unknown situation with no one else to help me. All sorts of unpleasant thoughts entered my head. It could be an obstruction or meningitis. All I’d ever learnt was now forgotten. I’d always imagined myself to be relatively fit, but now my heart was pumping fast enough to be heard. I tried to ask the man some more questions as we raced along, but could not manage to get any words out. My throat felt dry and my tongue hugely swollen.

When we arrived at the house I was as exhausted as if I had been running a marathon, but it was actually only a few hundred yards. A lady in her mid fifties, probably the grandmother, was standing at the door. She had tears rolling down her face, and I immediately imagined the worst. Thank God someone’s come, she said. The babby’s gone all white and doesn’t seem to be breathing. This confirmed my previous fears, but I dashed into the room where a young girl was shaking a pathetic little body from side to side. The baby was about fourteen months old. He was deathly pale. Nevertheless the pulse in his little neck felt fairly strong. Greatly reassured, and my panic abating slightly, I felt able to ask some questions. Has anyone called an ambulance? seemed the most important.

We tried, said the grandfather, but we haven’t got a phone, and the one at the end of the street has been vandalised. I suggested that he should try a neighbour, as it was important for the child to go to hospital. The next thing was to find out some sort of history.

He was playing on the floor, said the young girl. Then he started shaking and banging about. We couldn’t hold him down and he was bashing his head on the floor. He went all purple but never cried. Oh, it was terrible to see him. This account