Long Blue Line: Based on a True Story (32 page)

Derrick’s parents ended up staying with us for about three weeks after the baby was born. They came with us to all of our baby visits and cooked dinner for us every night. It was a very sad time for everyone, but it was also one of those defining moments. Everything that a family is supposed to do for each other was reaffirmed. The first visit that we had was in the lobby of the new Social Services office. It was probably about a mile down the highway and in a nicer part of town. I was happy to learn this because I didn’t want to go back to that same room that held the vivid memory of Chloe putting on her jacket and wanting to go home with me. I didn’t want to have to associate that with my current situation because it would only be a hard reminder of what I had lost and what I could potentially lose again.

After taking a seat in the waiting room, the four of us twiddled our phones until a man walked through the front door carrying the car seat that securely held my little girl. I was so happy to see her but at the same time so heartbroken that it had to be under these circumstances. I had been pumping breast milk every day and freezing it in sterile bags - hoping that the Social Worker and Foster Parent would be willing to give her my milk instead of formula. Under different circumstances, I probably could have been a millionaire if I found a medical facility willing to pay for it. I can’t even count how many times I heard nurses in the past call this strange booby milk “liquid gold.” I knew that even a small amount would help with her immune system. It was just unnatural for a newborn baby to immediately begin drinking formula. Before leaving for the two-hour visit, I grabbed the cooler bag that came with my breast pump and packed it full of icy milk. I hoped that the Social Workers wouldn’t think that I was totally weird. It was an instinct on my part, and I just couldn’t help it. When the Social Worker arrived I asked her about this, and she said that she would take it to the Foster mother. She couldn’t guarantee anything, but I was very happy that she was at least willing to try for me.

She took my baby out of the car seat, and I eagerly reached for my sleeping little bundle. She was wearing a really cute pink outfit with cozy socks and a cozy hat. She was very clean, and she looked totally content. I immediately felt that the foster mother was taking very good care of her. Just being able to hold her and see her was extremely reassuring for me. It felt like a pound of bricks was lifted off my shoulders. After 20 minutes, I knew that Derrick’s mother was probably dying to hold her too. I handed her over and everybody passed her around. When she woke up and cried I wanted to see if she would nurse. I didn’t have my hopes up because I knew that she had been drinking out of a bottle and that was probably what she was used to. I awkwardly sat in the chair and prepared to nurse her as discreetly as I could with a blanket over my shoulder and covering most of her little body. She began to nurse immediately. I was in complete awe that it was so easy and natural for her to do this after being away from me for five days. The hormones that are released when you breast feed are like a natural antidepressant. When she was nursing, and even when I would use the pump, I became extremely relaxed and tired. It was a good tired. It was just enough to calm my worried thoughts and let my mind rest. When she was through nursing, I burped her and passed her around again. This was the point that I no longer felt constant fear for my baby and our future. Instead, I felt a strong sense of hope and determination. These visits were just enough to keep me going because I knew that the reward at the end of this dark tunnel would be so incredibly worth it.

My next visit was the very next day. It started well but didn’t end well. The entire family came for the first hour, and then they went to the store for the second hour to let me spend time alone with her. I wanted to nurse her again. Only a few seconds after they walked out the front door, the same male Social Worker poked his head through the door and called me back to his office. I felt like a little kid who was in trouble. He wanted to go over the report that he had prepared which he would be presenting to the Court at the next hearing. I was surprised that the report wasn’t completely horrible. It wasn’t glowing, but it wasn’t as bad as I expected. He was facing his computer, and I was holding my baby and sitting in a chair behind him. She began to cry, and I knew it was a hunger cry. She was not at all content. Out of common courtesy, I asked if it would be okay if I nursed her. I told him I would be discreet and not show anything. I’m still angry with myself over this because it was not a question that I should have had to ask anyone. It was my right, and it was my daughter’s right. “I wouldn’t,” he said in a tone that was somewhat sarcastic and somewhat firm. I concluded that he thought I was completely stupid, or crazy, or both. Maybe he was just uncomfortable with the idea altogether because he was a man and he just didn’t get it. “Can I ask you why?” I said, unable to keep my tears back. “Because we have events, and we don’t have a drug sample from you yet. We have to confirm that you’re not using drugs because it passes through the milk.”

Tears were rolling down my face and I felt extremely humiliated and degraded. How any mother could give birth and resort to using drugs one week later, even if their child was taken from them, is beyond me. I was so upset that they actually believed that I was that kind of person. Even though I had been given so many mixed messages about the perceptions of what others thought, I knew for a fact that this was not the kind of person that I was. I would never be that kind of person. My baby continued to cry as I tried to offer her the plastic bottle with disgusting formula that smelled like a sewer. She would not take the bottle. She knew that I was with her and she knew that I could provide her nutrition. Holding her in my arms and not being able to at least offer to her what was definitely available only built up my frustration and anger. The only way that I could express this was by crying. If I said anything or reacted in any kind of hostile manner, they would certainly document it, record it, and give it to the Court. I was being watched constantly and I had to prove that I was stable and could remain stable under stressful circumstances.

When the female Social Worker walked into the office to transport my daughter back to the foster home, I was sad to part with her. At the same time, I was relieved to get the hell out of there. I knew that the car ride would probably put her to sleep, and I definitely had to vent to Derrick and his parents about what had just occurred. Before leaving the office, I turned to the Social Worker as I was approaching the door. “Can you please schedule a drug test as soon as possible?” “Yes, I’d be happy to do that.” He actually looked surprised that I was the one requesting to do this. I’m sure that the majority of the parents he worked with didn’t insist on taking a drug test. After he spoke with the local Recovery Center, he told me that I could go in at noon before my visit the following day to give a urine sample. I was happy that they scheduled me in quickly, but I also knew that the results would not be in for three days. The next day, we all left early so I could go to the Outpatient Recovery Center for my test. All of the drug tests I had previously taken were in an environment where I had a decent amount of privacy. Even the female Probation Officers let me do my business behind a closed door. There was just one time when an officer went into the bathroom with me, but she completely faced the corner of the room. I walked into the lobby and signed my name on the clipboard to wait in line for my turn to pee in a cup.

The lady at the front desk was very nice and she called me back within a few minutes. I was a little bit taken aback when she walked into the restroom with me so casually. “You know, I swear I’ve seen you before. Have you been here for classes?” “Yes, I went through 30 days of inpatient and several months of outpatient. But I was pregnant so I was probably really fat when you saw me.” She thought that was pretty funny and laughed. As I very awkwardly dropped my drawers, it was extra humiliating because I was still dealing with the three-week period that women go through after having a baby. My granny panties were pink with flowers. I felt like I was back in my potty-training days. I really, really hoped that nothing unexpected would happen and completely gross her out. She must have seen me struggling, both awkwardly and mentally, because she went out of her way to reassure me that this was nothing new. “Don’t worry about it - you are totally fine, and I know you just had a baby. Trust me I’ve seen a lot worse.” She started laughing. “I can only imagine,” I said as I laughed with her. After the ice was broken and the weirdness was confronted, I felt like I could trust her. She seemed to be really down to earth and super open-minded.

She asked me about my current situation. “So what’s going on? Now that I’m remembering you better, I thought that you were doing really well.” “Well, I have been doing really well. I’ve done everything that I’ve been asked to do -
and more
. I was afraid that this was going to happen, so I did whatever I could to prevent it. Of course, it still happened,” I sighed. “What
happened
?” She looked at me with serious concern in her eyes. “They took my baby away about eight hours after she was born,” I replied, still feeling grief and embarrassment. “Are you
serious
? I can’t
believe
that!
Why
would they do that when you’ve been working so hard, and it is documented that you’ve been clean?” “I keep asking myself that same question,” I replied. “I did everything that I could, and I guess it wasn’t good enough. They won’t even let me nurse my baby until this drug test comes back clean. I have a visit with her in about 20 minutes.”

She glanced to the side and thought for a minute. “Usually they can take 2 to 3 days to come back. But wait a minute!” Her eyes lit up and she rushed over to a cabinet that was in the hallway next to the bathroom. She pulled out a dipstick test kit and walked over to the counter holding my bottle of pee. It was kind of funny to see someone so excited and rushing around while holding my pee. I knew I liked this lady for a reason. She wasn’t afraid to be herself, and she didn’t judge or hold any past mistakes against anyone. She followed the directions using the test that would provide instant results. She put the negative drug test on the fax machine to scan a copy of the results panel for me to take with me so I could nurse my baby. I was so excited. I thought that it was so nice of her to go out of her way to show me she
really
cared and that I was worth it. She was also one of the few people who kept me going. Just that one, simple act of kindness and compassion made me feel human again, and it made me feel like I could still find myself and be okay… at least maybe some day.

About a week after I got out of the hospital, Derrick’s mother was on the phone with Derrick’s brother, Donnie, planning a time that he could come over for dinner and visit while they were still with us. After she hung up the phone, she rolled her eyes and informed me that Donnie asked about bringing Megan over for dinner as well. “Hon, I told him I had to ask you first. I’m not sure what kind of terms you’re on, but last time we talked about her it didn’t sound good.” 

I had a feeling that she was playing dumb. Even from what Derrick had told her, she knew very well that Megan and I were definitely not on good terms. I could understand her position though, and I could understand how she wanted to stay neutral. Both of her sons had girlfriends who were once best friends and now were complete enemies. I knew that the only reason that Megan wanted to come with Donnie was because she wanted in on the gossip and she wanted to be a part of the drama. She wanted to involve herself in everything, and she was so two-faced that it made me sick. I knew for a fact that she was a huge contributor to the horrible and disgusting rumors I had heard.  “Yeah, I don’t think that it would be such a good idea. I’m still pretty hormonal, and I can’t honestly tell you how I would react if she walked into my house.” I tried to stay as calm as I could when I said this, but I was really furious, and I already had adrenaline pumping through my veins.

They must have gotten the message because the next night when Derrick came over for dinner he handed me a sealed card. I faked a smile and told him
thanks
, but I’m sure that he saw the irritability behind my grinding teeth. I really didn’t even know how to react. After all, she told the world that I was a horrible person for being with Derrick. If she
really
believed that, then
why the hell
was she sending me a sympathy card? It seemed that CPS taking my baby from me would have been more of a victory to her. I opened the card after going into my bedroom. I didn’t want Donnie to be present for my possible reaction - whether it would be my hysterical laughter or shredding the card to pieces in pure rage.

Elizabeth,

Even though you probably hate me, I just wanted to let you know that I am sorry about your baby. When I found out, I cried. Let me know if there is anything that you need or anything that I can do for you.

-Megan

Once again, I was confused as all hell. Every person that I had once trusted with my life had sent me completely mixed messages pertaining to the kind of person I was. I didn’t know what to think about it…but I did know that it definitely wasn’t love. It was her insecurity and reaction to the trauma that occurred. They all wanted an answer - even if it meant making up some delusional lie that made sense to them. It angered me. I was the one that wanted an answer. I was the one that lived
every day
not knowing for certain if I would be safe.  There was always a constant uncertainty in my future. There was no one that wanted answers more than me. Outwardly I may have concealed this desperate desire for the truth out of fear of further judgment, but on the inside I was dying more and more with each passing day. My identity became what others assumed me to be. I was a little bit of everything - a drug addict, a loving mother, a psychopath, a great college student, a liar, and a role model teen mom. That was who I was.

To go from living with a definitive purpose and a clear direction, to hardly surviving the loss of everything, is an emotional trauma on many different levels and to many different people. As I lost my self-identity, every person around me lost my identity as well. I no longer knew who I was, and neither did they. The only thing that I ever needed to hear that would have helped me and the situation I was in was a simple
I’m here for you
.

To run around town and openly disclose information related to the trauma, whether it was a fact or a lie, was the ultimate disrespect. It was just as bad as stomping my skull into the cement when I was already down and bleeding. Not only did it push me further down into the hole of hell that I was already frying in, it also showed a lack of character and ill-intentions by exposing and exploiting an innocent child - only to cause them further harm. There was nothing that anyone could do or say to apologize. The damage was done.

We had another Court date during the second week I returned home from the hospital. This particular hearing would tell us which direction the case was going to go. It could only be one of two ways - services or no services. It was going to be a chance to get my baby back or not a chance at all. I woke up feeling nauseated because I was so worried and nervous about what the recommendation would be. The Hearing was at eleven in the morning, and I couldn’t seem to sit still as we watched the clock. I put on the best outfit that I could squeeze into and prayed that the Judge would at least see my willingness to follow any direction that pointed to my baby girl coming home.

In the beginning, our relationship with the male Social Worker started off badly for obvious reasons. As we began to see him on a regular basis and allow him to get to know who we were, he also opened up to us in return. He presented himself as more of a person, versus a judgmental Social Worker.
Maybe that was my mistake with Chloe and Zoe. Maybe I should have just let the Social Workers get to know me…
I would frequently ponder this idea. Surely, if they
really
understood who I was, they never would have taken my babies away from me. I think this was a factor.

The Bailiff called our case number as we nervously sat in the lobby. The four of us eagerly stood up and walked in to the Courtroom as the Bailiff held the double doors open. Luckily, there wasn’t much of an audience. The only people present were those who absolutely needed to be there which included all of the Lawyers and the Court staff. I approached the Defendant’s table that I hated with a passion. I took my seat next to my Attorney as she was scribbling notes into her agenda. She looked up at me with a smile, and I immediately knew that it was probably good news. “I can’t say for sure what the Judge is going to do, but I think that they’re actually going to offer you services.” I was so relieved that I felt like crying. They were actually going to give me a chance to be the mother to my newborn daughter when just a few months back they took my other two girls away from me forever.

The Judge walked in from his break and we all stood up as the Bailiff announced his presence. He instructed everyone to take a seat and reached over to retrieve the file that the Clerk was handing him. He opened the case with the same speech stating names, case number, and what the ruling was about. As usual every party had their argument but because I had taken so many steps to improve myself the best that I could, the Child Protective Services recommended that we get a chance to be unified with her daughter. The Judge didn’t seem to argue with this recommendation or even question it. He ruled in the favor of the Child Protective Services and ordered that the visitation stay the same. Four visits a week for two hours per visit. Of course, I would have loved to be able to take my baby home with me, but I was trying to look on the bright side. I realized that I was very lucky to have the opportunity to be able to be with her on a limited basis for the time being. The also ordered everything else that the Child Protective Services recommended including continued outpatient drug treatment courses, random drug testing for both of us, parenting classes, and regular attendance of narcotics anonymous meetings. I was fine with all of this. I just wanted to hurry up and start so I could once again provide documents of completion and move forward with everything. Before the Hearing ended, we learned that they found a foster home in our local town that was able to take our baby. Ironically, this was going to be the same foster home that Chloe and Zoe were in. I was happy that she was at least going to be in the same town, but I was also a little bit nervous because I knew that the person who had taken her was taking excellent care of her. I hoped that changing homes wouldn’t affect her.

When the hearing was over we walked out into the lobby. Derrick’s mother was so relieved that she actually walked up to the Social Worker and gave him a hug as she cried. She thanked him over and over again, and he patted her shoulder and replied with “You’re welcome.” The sense of loss and sadness that we all had was immediately transformed into hope and promise.

Derrick’s parents stayed for another week after the hearing so they could visit with the baby before they had to go back to Texas. As much as I appreciated their help and support, I was eager to get back into a normal routine and begin everything that the Judge ordered me to do. When Derrick’s parents started to pack up their things and load them into their car, his mother began sniffling. “It’s just been so bittersweet. I really hate to leave, but at least we can leave knowing that you’ll be able to see your baby and eventually have her back home.” As she hugged me goodbye she whispered to me that she left something under my pillow in the bedroom. I was surprised and couldn’t figure out what it could be. Derrick hugged both of his parents, and I could tell that the two men were fighting back tears. They walked out the front door and got in their car to drive 29 hours back to their home.

I walked into my bedroom to see what Derrick’s mother left and I found a card. I opened the envelope and a check for $1000 fell out of the card. She knew that we were struggling financially, but I didn’t expect her to help us out this much. It was definitely a relief to have this kind of help because we had so many things going on. When I went into the living room to show Derrick what she had left, he was sitting in a chair in front of the stereo system. He had a Tim McGraw song playing, and there were tears streaming down his face. The only other time that he had cried was in the hospital when we had to say goodbye to our baby. I can only imagine that he had a lot of emotion built up that he felt he needed to conceal because there were so many other people around us. I decided to tell him about the check later on, and I didn’t ask him what was wrong because I already knew. Now that his parents had left, reality was going to set in and the hard part was about to begin.