Long Blue Line: Based on a True Story (26 page)

The Defendant will plead guilty to felony charge 273(a), child endangerment.

The Defendant will serve six months of incarceration, with thirty days served.

The Defendant will serve three years formal Probation, not break any law, and avoid all drugs and alcohol, including marijuana.

The Defendant will be permitted to serve the remainder of her sentence at a Substance Abuse Treatment Facility, and she will have to be escorted to the facility by an employee of the Police Department.

I read the agreement. I could safely serve six months and be out in time to have my baby. With good behavior, my six-month sentence would really only be four months. For this reason, I took the deal. I pleaded no-contest. Before the bailiff escorted me back to the H pod, my Lawyer handed me another piece of paperwork. This was for the custody case. Josh’s Aunt Mary wanted to take the girls out of foster care and home with her. I remembered how nice she was when she came to the hospital and how Chloe appeared to feel secure with her. The Court wanted to know if I agreed with the decision because Mary lived four hours away. It would be more difficult for me to visit so I ended up saying ‘not decided’ on the form. I really wasn’t sure if this was a good thing. I just didn’t trust anyone. I went back to tell Crystal what had happened in Court. I was happy that I was at least not going to prison, but I was still sad to be there. I knew that I would have to tell them I was pregnant because I needed prenatal care.  

The days slowly crept by, and I got into somewhat of a routine. Crystal made it a lot easier for me to be in jail. I always had someone to talk to and she was always positive about things. She was really funny too. A lot of times when we were bored we would just sit there and make fun of the other inmates who were really disgusting. They tried to put Crystal in a cell with a woman who was missing a leg. She was afraid of the woman’s prosthetic leg and it was hilarious. The woman had some sort of mental disability as well, and it took the jail about two months to realize this. I guess the lady was always trying to steal Crystal’s snacks which we had to pay for through the commissary. Crystal got to the point to where she refused to go in her cell.

My situation wasn't a piece of cake either. I think I went through about nine different cellmates because I just could not stand them. After I was moved from my first cellmate, I was put into a room of my own. I was really excited but it only lasted a day. After dinner one night, I was laying down reading, which is mostly what I did in jail, and a girl walked into my cell with her green tub. I rolled over and pretended to sleep. I wasn’t in the mood for the drama of a new cellmate. She was close to my age with blond hair and a curvy build. She was crying and it was annoying. She climbed to the top bunk and lay there crying. Two minutes later she had stopped crying and I heard a rhythmic sound coming from up top. It was going on and on. After five minutes of wondering if she had a really bad itch, it sank in. She was masturbating! Two feet away from me! I flagged down the passing guard doing his walk-through. “Mister, my new cellmate is masturbating in here!” I frantically exclaimed. He looked at me and laughed and rolled his eyes. “Okay, Jeter. I’ll have her move to her own cell, and I’ll tell her that she’s not supposed to do that.” I wanted my own cell but they were all upstairs. I was pregnant and they didn’t let pregnant people go upstairs. I was miserable. My next cellmate was no better, but at least she didn’t masturbate! I had to eventually complain about her too. She never shut up, and her squeaky voice just about killed me. She hung all these colored pictures from coloring books on the wall. I did not want to stare at that every day. I felt like I was in a mental hospital when I was locked up with her.

My next cellmate also had some serious problems. She reeked like a dead fish. After she showered, she reeked like a wet dead fish. When I realized that it had to be coming from her privates, I panicked and ran out to flag another guard down. He could have gotten me beat up with what he did next. “All right, ladies!” the guard yelled as he quickly opened and closed the heavy cell doors. “I hear someone smells like a dead fish!” he roared in his manly, military-toned voice. I told Crystal about my dilemma and we were both sitting in the corner of the day room hysterically laughing. I was relieved that he was nice enough to not make it obvious that it was my cell that stunk. He finished his sniffing of all sixteen cells, and he went back to mine after to ask what smelled so bad. She must have been used to her own stench because she was dumbfounded. I felt kind of bad, but I couldn’t handle it any more!

I had been in jail for about six weeks, was around five months pregnant, and had my first doctor appointment the next day. I didn’t want to go because of the complete humiliation I knew I would face, but I had to make sure my baby was growing and healthy.

The Sheriff, who sometimes escorted me to Court, was the one who was transporting me to the doctor. This was the same office that I went to for my first two pregnancies. I was really hoping that I wouldn’t have to see the same doctor that knew me. It was so sad that things had fallen apart the way they did. I was shackled but at least only on my wrists this time. My bright orange outfit was beyond noticeable; I would surely stand out in the waiting room. The doctor’s office was right next to Donnie’s house. I had a fantasy of sneaking out of the office window and running away. I knew it wouldn’t really be possible, but it was fun to imagine. It must have been lunch hour because there wasn’t a single person in the waiting room. I was called back to the examination room and the Sheriff followed me. A female doctor greeted me. I hadn’t seen her before. She was very nice and treated me like a person, not a criminal. After the exam, she told me that she was going to have a nurse draw my blood and do an ultra-sound. “There is a new test that we do to screen for spinal cord defects. It is optional, but if you want to do it just let the nurse know, okay?” I thanked her and waited for the nurse to come for me.

The nurse and the Sheriff were chatting up a storm and laughing. She opened the door and had me follow her around the corner. I sat in a chair and she began to draw four tubes of blood from my arm. The Sheriff was hovering over me, and the flirting between the two “professionals” was getting on my nerves. When she was drawing the last tube, I mentioned the other test that the doctor told me about. “Oh, yes, that one. You would have to go over to the hospital to get it done and make sure that the state would approve it since they’re paying for it,” she said, in a loud and sarcastic tone. The Sheriff decided that he wanted to add to the conversation as well. He looked at the nurse and said, “I don’t know about you, but I pay taxes, and I don’t think I want to pay for that test.” The nurse sarcastically laughed and agreed, “Um, nope. Me neither!” I felt my face turn red with fury. My medical care was not their business, and they went out of their way to make me feel worse than I already did. I felt as low as I could. Once again, my self-worth rolled over and died.

I was very grateful that the doctor had been so nice. After my blood test, she walked me into the ultrasound room so we could try to see if she could determine the sex of the baby. The Sheriff closely followed behind me. I thought he was being extremely nosy. I thought it was totally unnecessary, and I think my doctor thought so too. We walked into the sonogram room, and the doctor asked the Sheriff if it was necessary for her to leave the office door open. He said no, and she shut the door immediately. My ultrasound was definitely not a moment that I wanted to share with him - a total jerk making it completely clear that he hated his job.

Before my downhill spiral, I was quick to judge people who were in bad situations because I assumed that it was entirely their fault and they could have prevented it. Because of my experiences, I no longer judge anyone. You never know why someone may be in the situation they are in. You can't know what they're feeling inside, and you'll never know who they could one day become. Never, in a million, years did I think that I would be a teenage mother shackled and pregnant for the third time, degraded by law enforcement and shunned by people whom I had once respected and looked up to. I was mad that this was becoming my new identity. That was never supposed to be me.

The doctor put the jelly on my stomach and apologized for it being cold. She then put the machine’s sensor on the cold jelly so she could get a clear picture. I didn't know what I was having, but I assumed it would be another girl. I saw for the first time a sweet and tiny little picture of the miniature body. The baby's legs were crossed so she could not give me a definite answer, but she said that if she had to guess, she would say that it was a girl. I was really excited. After seeing my baby I began to feel like I really was pregnant, and not just in a state of denial. Before the ultra-sound, I hadn’t connected with my baby. I was terrified that I would end up having her in jail or lose her to Social Services when she was born. After the ultrasound, the doctor gave me about ten pictures to take with me along with a folder full of prenatal information. I was really happy that I had so much literature to take back to the jail because there wasn’t a whole lot to read there, especially about pregnancy. The jail staff only let me take two of my ultrasound pictures with me. I had to leave the rest of them with my confiscated personal property. It was pretty stupid because the pictures weren't even on photo paper. They were on thin paper, and I knew that they could have made an exception. But the woman felt like being a bitch as usual. This was the same person that had ‘credit-carded’ me the previous year.

I showed my jail buddies the pictures of my baby, and everyone was excited to have something new to talk about. That night I laid down to read one of the books that saved me from getting too deep into my fear and grief. For the first time, I felt my baby move. I knew what to expect, and I knew that it would initially feel like a very light thump. The baby's movements became very strong and very frequent. I thought it was kind of cool that I had a little friend with me through this horrible nightmare. It was so bizarre to think that there was a living baby inside of my body again. That gave me an unexpected comfort. It just goes to show that I ended up pregnant for a reason. If it had been just me sitting there in jail for those sixty-two days with nothing to love or anyone to talk to, I might have just called it quits. I did wonder about how people committed suicide while in jail. One way would be to take the sheet and strangle yourself, but you would have to do it carefully and be creative. There weren’t very many places to hang the other end of it. If you didn't do it the right way, you would just fall to the ground taking the ceiling light fixture with you, and the jail population would be surrounding you as you woke up wondering what the hell your deal was. I never thought about killing myself while I was in jail, because it would be too much work and I had someone else now that needed me alive. Her survival depended on me.

I didn’t want to be dead, but I had moments where I felt so empty and alone that I thought it would at least relieve my pain. It was like a chronic illness except it wasn’t physical pain. It was deep and cold. It was lonely and tragic. My heart was struggling to beat. It had to beat extra hard because a big part of it had been taken away. I didn’t know if I would ever be able to really get through it. How am I ever going to be happy if I don’t get to watch my babies grow up, I asked myself. How could I ever possibly return to the ambitious, motivated, and happy girl that I once was? It really didn’t seem possible. The only thing offering me just enough hope to hold on was the new little gift that God wanted me to have.

There were two other pregnant women in jail when I arrived. One of them was close to my age or maybe a little older, and she was much further along than I was. She was about seven months pregnant. She had been arrested for fraud. She and some others managed to make fake checks. The Judge sentenced her to a year in jail. That meant that she would have her baby while she was incarcerated. I was sure that she was numb to her situation just as I was to mine. Her Public Defender was trying to get the Judge to consider releasing her in time to have her baby, so she was still not sure what would happen. I felt so bad for her, and her situation scared me. I was so worried about being in the same situation. It was a terrifying thought. The other lady who was pregnant was about four months along, and she had four other children that she and her husband had permanently lost custody of. I didn’t ask why, but she appeared to be pretty levelheaded and normal. I assumed that it was probably a drug addiction that she couldn’t kick. Drugs will change people and alter their ideas of reality. I was happy that I was clean and away from that.

The next night after diner, Derrick showed up for his visit. He was really good about consistently showing up for as many visits as he was allowed, which was only two per week. I showed him the sonogram picture. He told me to stand up and show him my belly. It was definitely looking pregnant, but I could still hide it if I had to because the shirts were so baggy. My medical information was going to be kept completely confidential, and the nurse reassured me that legally they could not tell anyone. Derrick always put money in the books he brought me, and every week I had $50 to get what I needed from the commissary. He also somehow paid the outrageous collect call fees so I could talk to him for fifteen minutes every night before I went to bed. I’ll admit that he did make the torture I was going through as comfortable as it could possibly be. He also wrote me letters on a daily basis so I had something to read every night before I went to sleep.

In one of the letters I wrote to him, I told him I wanted to have my pregnancy book that I had read when I was pregnant with the girls. I wanted to be able to refer to it every week to see how my baby was growing and developing. He could not send me the book because it was a hardback copy. Instead, he scanned and made copies of every single page. Every week of my pregnancy he would send me the relevant information. I began to believe that he really did have good intentions and he really did love me. As far as I could tell, he was not using drugs while I was in jail. He was his regular weight, and he never came to a visit with the pale and tense face he had when he was high.

I was proud of him, and I started to gain respect for him again. He stepped up and took care of me in the best way that he could - even more so since I was stuck behind bars. Over time, we became more emotionally connected. He was the only person that knew what I was going through. He went through it with me. The struggles that we endured would cause other relationships to weaken or fail. The opposite was happening for us. We thought that if we could make it through this, we could make it through anything. I don’t know if it was the Court battle we were fighting together or the pregnancy, but I became more attached to Derrick than I had ever been to any other person. I felt like I knew him even better than before and that he just wanted to take care of me as well as our new baby. Throughout letters and rare visits, we fell in love all over again.

My dad tried to visit me towards the end of my jail stay. When the correctional officer announced it over the loudspeaker, I knew that it was someone unexpected because I already had my visits for the week. “Can you tell me who it is that’s requesting to see me, please?” I yelled into the speaker. “It is a man by the name of Ron,” he replied. “Okay, I am not going to accept this visit. Can you please tell him not to visit me in the future?” I asked. He said that he would relay the message. I knew that my dad was only there to give me a guilt trip and that was the last thing I needed. Plus, he didn’t know that I was pregnant. It was becoming more difficult to hide the pregnancy and I had to move up a size in my orange pants to make room. I called my mom later that night just to talk because I felt most lonely at night when I was supposed to be at home and in bed.“

Have you heard from your dad lately?” she asked. “Actually, he tried to visit me today,” I replied. “Oh no, Liz, you didn’t see him?” she asked sounding worried. I knew that something was up because rarely did my mother have sympathy for my father and vise-versa. “Merri told me that your Grandpa passed away a few days ago. He was probably there to tell you that Liz!” Damn it! I thought. “Now I feel horrible! I didn’t want him to see that I was pregnant, and I figured he was just going to yell at me!” I felt so bad. If I had known, I would have just dealt with the possible conflict and accepted the visit. I didn’t know my Grandpa too well because they lived five hours north, but my Grandparents were both so nice to Merri and me as we were growing up. Our Grandma always had pies in the oven and our Grandpa always kissed us on the forehead and pretended to rub it in so it would stay there forever when we left. I had hurt another person I loved when he was already hurting. It seemed as if the only thing I could accomplish was to hurt people in spite of my good intentions. Life was no longer in my control in any way, shape, or form. The only thing I could do was pray for God to take the wheel and help me get through my mistakes and the pain they caused.