Hazel McHaffie

safeguarding children

‘Perfection’? or ‘Good enough’?

A couple of weeks ago I happened to catch a bus into the town centre already crowded with students from a science faculty outside the city boundary. There was a healthy buzz of conversation everywhere but the voice of the girl behind me dominated because she was speaking loudly into her mobile (as people tend to do).

She appeared to be agonising over some end-of-term exams they were taking and suddenly said: ‘Why am I putting myself through all this stress? I could have been an artist! … No, I’m too much of a perfectionist to be an artist.’

Hello? You think creative people don’t suffer stress? Aren’t perfectionists? Why, only this week I was reading about an author, Madeline Miller, who took ten years to write her first novel, five of them spent writing and rewriting the first few chapters over 50 times! She describes herself as an ‘incorrigible perfectionist’.

It was Voltaire who allegedly first penned the famous aphorism: perfect is the enemy of the good, although other well known writers and philosophers have come to a similar conclusion.

We all have to achieve a balance between our ideals and our realities, don’t we? I first really absorbed the concept of ‘good enough’ when I was a researcher looking into parenting issues. I remember in 1988 quoting in my PhD thesis, the British pediatrician and psychoanalyst Donald Winnicott who coined the phrase ‘good enough’ mothers way back in 1953.

And all through my academic life I had a post-it on my screen: Perfection is always one more draft away. Theses, journal articles, books, conference presentations – there came a point with everything, when I had to say, ‘Stop! It will do’. No merit in constantly striving for perfection and never letting anything try its luck in the real world.

It hadn’t occurred to me until that student’s conversation impinged on my brain in the bus, that here I am, right now, in my fictional world, worrying away once again at what constitutes good enough parenting.

My protagonist is a new mother, a perfectionist, a brilliant academic, stressed by the demands of a fretful baby who simply hasn’t read the manual! And when bad things start happening to the infant, the professionals responsible for safeguarding have to decide where the line can and should be drawn between the ideal and the realistic. Get it wrong and a baby’s life might be in jeopardy as well as a mother’s mental health. We’ve all seen the vilification of social workers and community health professionals when a child is horrendously abused and dies in real life; the press have a field day.

I’m also somewhat preoccupied with the point at which the current novel itself is good enough to publish; it’s far from that point at the moment. Indeed I’ve scribbled several possible new opening sentences just over Christmas – the brain doesn’t recognise official holidays! And I know it won’t ever be perfect; they never are. It just has to be good enough to satisfy the reader that it’s a tale well told and worth writing. And believe me, young-angst-ridden-student-scientist, artists most certainly are perfectionists too!

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Reflections on a golden summer

It certainly was quite a summer, wasn’t it? Wall to wall sunshine for weeks on end – no craving a Mediterranean break this year! And it seemed to fly by, often leaving little time for reflection. But September has brought a brief lull in my diary and inevitably I’m looking back and wondering what I’ve learned from the experiences; after all it’s the job of a writer ‘to see what everyone else sees and think what no one else thinks’ – or so they tell me!

Our beautiful city is currently in the process of dismantling the trappings of the biggest arts festival in the world; it looks rather forlorn, much as packing away Christmas feels. But the memories of a feast for the senses are bright and lasting. I’d like to share two reflections which are relevant to the blog and impinge on my decisions as a novelist.

When I first decided to fictionalise medical ethical dilemmas it was because I was increasingly aware of how story-telling can bring an issue to life and touch us more deeply than any textbook or lecture or internet search. This reality was reinforced during the Festival. I understand the life and times and motivation of Martin Luther the Protestant reformer,

and of Dr Josef Mengele the German SS officer and medical experimenter,

far better than I knew before, having watched superb dramatisations from their perspective.

I have greater empathy with the children of Dresden (another beautiful city) since seeing it through the eyes of a young Eleanor (performed by her real-life granddaughter) hiding from the bombs unleashed by ‘our’ side, picking her way through the rubble of flattened streets, cobbling together a life from the ruins of war.

And the second reflection? There’s a huge wealth of talent out there! I witnessed only a miniscule fraction of it. In total there were some 317 venues across the city; 3,548 different shows were staged; 2,838,839 tickets were issued. Mind blowing, isn’t it? And the standard was high. Only two of the many shows I saw disappointed in any way, and even they were professionally executed (the content was simply not to my taste). And most had a serious message behind them.

So I’ve returned to my own novel with renewed energy. I too can contribute, albeit in a small way, to this wonderful resource. And autumn seems like the perfect time to knuckle down to it. The crops are almost ready for harvesting. The nights are lengthening. The weeds are slowing their pace. Visitors have returned home. I have space to prioritise work; poring over every word, every comma; ruthless in my editing. I already have two pages of questions to take to the experts to ensure every aspect is authenticated. Ahhhh, yes, authentication. I’m struck by how often truth is stranger than fiction; if I’d written such-and-such real-life story reviewers would have condemned it as ‘far-fetched’, ‘not credible’, ‘hyperbolic’.

A case in point: this weekend I read a summary of a serious case review published by Wigan Safeguarding Children Board, which featured a 10-week old baby who died after being strapped in a car seat in a hotel room for 15 hours. Tragic in itself. But, more alarming still, 3 of the parents’ children have died in the space of two years. Indeed, of the 7 children the mother has given birth to since June 2015, only 4 have survived longer than 16 months.The authorities were aware of the history: alcohol abuse, neglect, domestic violence, frequent referrals to child social care, mental health challenges. The review reported ‘The commitment of the services that supported the child and family in the years preceding the child’s death was unquestionable, and the reviewers have identified many examples of good practice by professionals in providing information and support.
What’s more, all 4 surviving children remain with their parents. Would you have believed this in a work of fiction? ‘Far-fetched’, ‘not credible’, ‘hyperbolic’, come to mind!

Notwithstanding, I’m making every effort to make my own tale, Killing me Gently, ring true. And much as I love the buzz of summer, it feels like coming home myself to be back in the study, lost in my writing. And who knows, maybe one day this story will be dramatised! Screenwriters, film directors, out there, if you’re listening ….

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To act or not to act

Remember last week I mentioned the cases of child abuse or mistreatment that go to court? That got me thinking.

I’ve been creeping uncomfortably close to this area in my current novel, Killing me Gently – the delicate relationship being built up in the early weeks and months following the birth of a new baby and mysterious things happening which perplex the professionals responsible for ensuring everyone’s safety. We know that some children can be very difficult to love; some appear to reject overtures of maternal affection; some parents struggle to bond with their child for assorted reasons; some parents actually harm and even kill their children. Cruelty and rejection can come in many guises (as I’ve had brought home to me recently in the experiences foster carer Cathy Glass recounts), but so sensitive and nuanced is this whole topic that primary care teams and social services can be unsure of how best to support such families, when to intervene, when indeed to remove the child from the biological family.

Perhaps it was this preoccupation in my writing life that reminded me of a recent news report that I filed away for reference purposes. At the beginning of August a serious case review found that professionals had missed a series of opportunities to save the life of a little girl, Elsie Scully-Hicks, in Cardiff. Pause for a moment and just look at that gorgeous little smiling face … And then take in the fact that this precious life was snuffed out before she even saw her second birthday.

Elsie had been placed with fitness instructor, Matthew Scully-Hicks, and his husband, Craig, at the age of 10 months, and following due process, formally adopted by them just two weeks before her death aged 18 months. The couple were described as well educated and articulate, and highly regarded by each of the involved agencies as good positive parents. They’d already successfully adopted an older child. Indeed, such was their standing that a catalogue of significant bruises and fractures were dismissed as normal childhood accidents (as Elsie’s adopted father alleged). There was indeed a conspicuous lack of professional curiosity about each of her many injuries.

In reality the stay-at-home dad was struggling with her care – he described her as ‘Satan in a babygro’. And when she was just 18 months old, he shook her so violently before throwing her to the floor, that he killed her. Last year he was jailed for life after being convicted of murder at Cardiff Crown Court.

The agencies concerned have promised to learn lessons from this review, but of course, nothing can bring little Elsie back. No one involved in this case will ever forget her. I rather suspect some professionals will never forgive themselves. I shudder to think what it’s like to live with these weighty responsibilities; just getting inside the skin of health visitors and social workers grappling with such judgements in my fictional world is more than enough for me – and I know the outcome! Pause for a moment and think of all those courageous people engaged in making these momentous decisions every day. And living with the consequences. I salute them.

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