Chapter 3
Through the eyes of a child
Rebecca never visited Arron, not even once! She stayed out of the way and would not answer his calls. This was a major upheavel for him because she promised she would stay by his side all the time when he was admitted to Hospital. She didn't and it caused him great pain. I shall never forgive that girl for what she did. It took me a long time to resolve the bitterness against her.
As I sat on my own, in the little room they had give me at Nethern, I thought back over incidents in our lives...perhaps it was my fault but when he was a little boy I taught him to keep his promises and went out of my way never to break mine to him. He was a happy child, although he had some social problems. Now, when I think back, it wasn't him with the social problems but stupid people. Arron, big for his age and having a loud voice, mixed easily but at times could be classed as a bully, although he never was. The Playschool organizer called and advised me not to take him to Playschool again. For Arron, this was the beginning of feeling like a misfit. The mindless morons mistook enthusiasm for troublemaker, do as I say, not as I do. This carried on into Primary school. When six boys broke a water pipe in the washroom, Arron took the blame, holding his hand up and saying, 'I did it, Sir!' The others lied and got away with it. Arron always had a big heart and that never changed through his life. Arron often got into trouble, which makes it hard on children brought up to tell the truth and not steal. At Secondary school he was excluded...the excuse, he got up several Teacher's noses! My Husband wrote to them and told them not to hit our Son on the head. They had a good laugh, passing the letter round. Maybe my Husband and I had a bad attitude but we thought Teachers were paid to have children get up their noses and a child would have to do something serious to get excluded, like, hit a Teacher, break the furniture, burn the School down. He did none of these things but he did stand up for the vulnerable. Subsequently, Arron's schooling consisted of one afternoon per week with a retired Teacher visiting our home. We had the option of sending him to a special unit for naughty children. We declined.
At the age of 13, Arron was fast becoming an enterprising young man. He spent his time gardening, delivering newspapers and washing up at an old people's home, (Now classed as Residential). From there he moved on to a Y.T.S. course, training to be a chef, for which, it seemed, he had a natural aptitude. He travelled the U.K., working and living in at different Hotels. Included in his list was the Cliveden in Berkshire. We were very proud of him. He was getting a good, comprehensive training and ended up at 18 years of age, working at an Outward Bound Centre in the Highlands of Scotland. He was lonely there and so his best friend Mike L. travelled North to attend an interview to secure employment with him. Unfortunately, Mike did not secure the job and unwilling to stay on his own, Arron travelled back to North Wales, where we had a Bakery. We worked from 6 a.m. to 6 p.m., then through until 1 a.m., making and delivering pizzas. We made all our products from the raw ingredients. The pizzas now have nothing on them, just hype! Sadly, we could not compete with the large outlets and we had huge debts hanging round our necks. Christmas came and we closed the shop for the festive break. During this break, we took stock of our lives and decided we could only go deeper in debt if we continued on our present course. New Year came and with it the resolution to get off the treadmill we were on, cease trading to prevent debts rising further and ask for some help to put our lives back in control. While we busied ourselves with this, our children were running with unsavoury element in the neighbourhood. We made a big decision in out lives at that point. Leave this Country, away from the tax, the VAT and the utility bills that were crippling us Utilities...you get nothing for your money, and that was a fact!
By July, 1991, we were on our way to Portugal. This was to be the new start in life for all of us...
The thoughts vanished and now, here I was, a stranger in a strange place in the middle of nowhere, my Son where I did not know and the rest of my Family still in Portugal. I spent all the time I could with Arron on the ward and 12 days later, his section was lifted. He was asked what he intended doing when he was released. He said, 'Go back to Portugal to be with my Family, of course!' This is exactly what we did but Arron was on a large selection of tranquilisers and no support other than a letter of introduction to a Doctor in Portugal. (We have to say that we had no idea he was overmedicated and thought that shuffling round, with his head tucked in his shoulders were all part of the illness we knew so little about. What a shame we ever introduced him to the madness they hand out without a thought. Still, they get paid for it). These side-effects were being caused by 800 mls. of Largactil per day. It was stressed that we make sure he did not stop taking his tablets as he would be very poorly! He didn't look very well then! People were laughing at him, as he shuffled round, his head in turmoil from the constant barrage of stupid and senseless medication. He started hiding behind the booze. Add Haloperidol to this and there were no limits to his behaviour or concern for his own safety. He lost all his self-respect, control and judgement. All his confidence was gone. Over the next few months things went gradually worse and by January, 1993, he was walking round, silent, not a single word from his mouth. He took to wearing very dark sunglasses and turning his whole body round to look at anyone who spoke to him. The English G.P. in Portugal told us he was just being awkward and to ignore him...so much for the professionals! As an idea, to try and give him some direction, we suggested he return to England so he could visit his friends there. The people we worked for were getting quite upset with us, having Arron wandering round the complex we operated in. One day, bank officials from Lisbon were due to look round the complex. Arron was sunbathing at the back of the Park Terrace, a restaurant we ran there. Unfortunately, he was naked, apart from a pair of headphones and Kiss FM sticker on his belly button! We bought him a plane ticket, a lump of cash and a cheque made out for a return journey to Portugal. With our fingers crossed, we put him on the plane. For 5 days we heard nothing at all from him and knew it was too long without some form of contact. Then there was a phone call for us in the office to take a call from a Doctor at a Hospital in Croydon, Surrey. He explained that they had someone they believed to be our Son and did we want to speak to him or not? When Arron came on the phone, he broke his heart, saying he thought we were all dead. He had lost all sense of time and the Police found him storming down the middle of the road, soaking wet and dressed in shorts and tee shirt. What upset him was that the Police had put him in a headlock and held him until he passed out. When he came to, they said they would take him to a Hotel for a little while. In reality, it was a psychiatric hospital and another section for Arron. We understand how he must have looked storming down the middle of the road, soaking wet but the actions of the Police preclude any common sense about how they frighten people in that state.
I was on the first available flight into Gatwick. The hospital was good enough to let me stay in the nurse's quarters. It was a good place, with proper aftercare services but when Arron was discharged 12 weeks later, he said he was going back to Portugal to be with the rest of his Family. Once again, we left England behind. The hospital told him that if he was ill again to come back. By November, we were back at Warlingham but there were no beds and we would have to go to a hospital in Croydon. After a short stay, we landed back in Portugal. based on the events, husband and I made a decision that things were not going to get better and that Arron needed the stability of England. Much as we didn't want to, we came back for a few years to give him that stability. He went through a cocktail of different medications and diagnoses. Guinea pig is the word that comes to mind. each and every different medication pushed his self-esteem lower and lower until his life was threatened and he ended up in intensive care, on life-support at Eastbourne General Hospital. The following morning, when he was disconnected, he came straight home.
He stopped taking all his medication and was going to get his life back. Without the medication that he was used to, he sank lower and lower. He stayed in his room for 9 months, in darkness, trying to sleep, picking at his meals and saying he had nothing to live for. He told all the services he didn't want to see them and so they had gone away. The only people who knew or cared what was happening to him was us, his Mum, and Dad.