On Monday morning I washed and dressed Jodie, then watched as she sat at the kitchen table, staring into space. Eventually I threw away the porridge she hadn’t touched, tucked a packet of crisps into my bag and helped her on with her coat and shoes. I had told her we were going to see Dr Burrows, but she was as lifeless as ever. I helped her out of the house, strapped her into her seatbelt and turned up the volume on her favourite singalong cassette. As we drove to the clinic she stared straight ahead at the seat in front of her, and said nothing. She was completely unreachable, and I wondered if she even knew where she was.
We arrived at the clinic and I gave our names to the receptionist, who told us to go straight through to the consulting room. I knocked and entered; Dr Burrows was arranging crayons on the child-size table. As soon as Jodie saw the doctor, her previous lethargy vanished and she erupted into a violent tantrum.
‘Don’t want to! Go away!’ She kicked the small plastic chairs across the room.
‘All right, Jodie,’ Dr Burrows soothed. ‘There’s nothing to be worried about. I’m here to help you.’
‘Don’t want your help! Piss off!’ Jodie covered her ears, screwed up her eyes and screamed for all she was worth.
The doctor motioned for me to do nothing, so I stayed where I was, as the cry reverberated around the walls in an agonizing crescendo. Eventually she ran out of breath, and the scream ended as abruptly as it had begun. She lowered her hands and darted to the table, throwing it against the wall. She overturned the toy boxes, kicked the contents across the floor, then turned to the filing cabinet, which had one drawer half open. Dr Burrows intercepted her.
‘No. You can’t go in there,’ she said calmly, placing herself between the filing cabinet and Jodie. ‘That’s mine and contains important papers. Not in there.’
To my surprise, Jodie accepted this, but her unspent anger turned inwards, upon herself. She grabbed a clump of her hair and tore it out. At this, I got up and restrained her. It might not have been the correct approach in the doctor’s eyes, but I wasn’t prepared to stand by and watch her harm herself. I held her wrists, then crossed her arms, enfolding her as I did at home. She struggled, spat and then finally went limp. I led her over to the sofa and put my arms around her. Whether Dr Burrows approved or not, I couldn’t tell. She sat opposite, and the room was quiet. I looked at the mess; the floor between us was covered in debris, a sea of destruction.
We sat in silence, then Dr Burrows leaned towards Jodie. Her voice was soft and low, and she was searching for eye contact. ‘I know you’re hurting, Jodie, and I want to try and stop that hurt. You let Cathy help you. Will you let me help you too? It would be really good if you did.’
It was a relaxed, non-threatening approach, which I was sure had worked with countless children before, but although Jodie was quiet, it was a silence I recognized as being withdrawn.
Dr Burrows gave me a reassuring smile, then repeated her request. Jodie didn’t move, and gave no indication that she’d even heard. The psychologist tried again, this time rephrasing it. ‘Jodie, Cathy has told me about how brave you’ve been; you’ve had an awful lot to deal with. But I think you’re finding this problem is too big to fix on your own. That’s why Cathy’s here, and that’s why I’m here too. Will you let me help you?’
Jodie continued staring at some indistinct point a yard or so ahead, remaining as closed off and removed as ever.
Dr Burrows sat back, and opened the notepad on her lap. ‘Cathy, perhaps you could tell me how Jodie’s been since we last met. I know you’ve been worried about her.’
I assumed this was a strategy to encourage Jodie to share her feelings, so I explained that she’d been doing extremely well, but that horrible memories from her past had been making her unhappy. I gave a couple of examples, to make it clear to Jodie that Dr Burrows knew her history and that she could be trusted. I said that the whole family was very worried; Adrian, Lucy and Paula cared a great deal for Jodie, and didn’t like to see her upset. Dr Burrows leaned forward again.
‘I see lots of children who are upset and angry because of things that have happened. It’s not their fault. I know ways to help. I help them get rid of some of the hurt, so they can be happy again. I’d like to help you, Jodie.’
The nature of our visit appeared to have changed from assessment to therapy, but unless Jodie engaged, and the pathway of communication opened, it would all be in vain.
‘I’d like you to help us,’ I said, hoping the ‘us’ might spark Jodie’s confidence, but she remained inert, staring straight ahead. Dr Burrows made another note in her pad.
‘Would you like to play a game, Jodie?’ she asked. ‘I could bring in the doll’s house.’
I looked at Jodie hopefully, but she made no move.
‘How about a drawing? You drew a lovely picture on your first visit. I’ve still got it.’
Jodie didn’t even look up.
‘I tell you what.’ The doctor rose from her chair. ‘Before we do anything, Cathy and I are going to put these toys back in the boxes. We’d like you to help us, please.’
I took my cue, slipped my arm from Jodie and joined the doctor on the floor. Presumably the aim was to engage Jodie in physical collaboration, in the hope that it would ease her into saying something. But as we repacked the toy boxes and picked up the crayons I could see out of the corner of my eye that Jodie wasn’t even looking at us, perhaps wasn’t even aware of us. A few minutes later we finished, and returned to our seats. Dr Burrows made some more notes in her pad, while I sat with my arm around Jodie. I couldn’t begin to guess what she was writing, but I supposed to her professional eye there were indicators, and possibly even a diagnosis, despite Jodie’s non-cooperation.
She closed her pad and smiled kindly. ‘That’s enough for today. Thank you both for coming. I’ll be in touch.’
I was taken aback, and wondered if this was another ploy to spark Jodie into communication. The psychologist stood up. ‘I’ll see you again soon, Jodie.’ The session was definitely finished.
I looked at Jodie, who was still motionless, wearing the same impenetrable stare.
‘OK, sweet, we can go home now.’ I took her hand and lifted her from the chair, as the doctor opened the door. As we walked out into the daylight I had an awful sense of foreboding.