by E. McNew
Derrick’s parents and his aunt followed us back to the house. His parents were going to be staying with us, and his aunt lived right down the street. By the time we pulled into the driveway, it was almost dark. As much as I appreciated his parents coming all the way from Texas, I definitely was not in the mood for any sort of company. It’s not that I didn’t want them to be with us; I just didn’t know how to grieve in front of so many people. As I got out of the car, I grabbed the bag that was next to the diaper bag that we had packed for our baby. Seeing the diaper bag made me sick to my stomach so I just left it in the car. I didn’t want to bring it in the house because I would be even more upset than I already was. I really wasn’t prepared for how hard it was going to be to go home without my baby. I went straight to our bedroom to lie down. I told Derrrick that I was just tired. He went back to the living room to visit with his family. The house was extra cold that night, and I had never felt such emptiness in my life since I lost Chloe and Zoe. My baby was not in my belly anymore, and she wasn’t in my arms either. I felt cold and alone and empty. I wondered if she was okay and who was taking care of her. I wondered if she could sense that I was not with her. I just wanted to hold her and make her feel secure and safe in my arms - in the arms of the only person that she had known from the beginning of her existence. I pulled my blanket over my head and cried myself to sleep.
Derrick let me sleep for a couple of hours. He came into the bedroom to tell me that his parents were hungry, and they wanted to know if I wanted to go with them to grab something to eat. The only place open at that hour was Denny’s, and it actually sounded really good. I hadn’t eaten hardly anything while I was at the hospital because I was so distraught. My appetite was definitely catching up with me, and it would only get worse as my milk started to come in. I didn’t know what I was supposed to do about that either. I didn’t have my baby to feed, but I wanted to be able to nurse her every chance that I could. Everything was so frustrating, and I just didn’t know how I should handle the basics anymore. We all drove together in one vehicle down the highway to grab a late dinner. I ordered strawberry crepes, and I slammed down a Pepsi. I hadn’t had a Pepsi in a long time because it gave me really bad acid reflux when I was pregnant. I felt a little bit better after I put something into my stomach. After we ate, Derrick’s mom asked me if there was anything that I needed from the store. I didn’t want to spend her money, but I desperately needed to get a few things including a breast pump and pads. Dealing with the symptoms from post-pregnancy is not the most exciting thing. When you have a brand new baby, you hardly even notice these inconveniences.
I almost felt like I could understand what it was like for the women who had to suffer going through the loss of a child. My situation was very different from an actual death, because I knew that my baby was alive and okay. However, emptiness and then loss immediately after pregnancy and delivery is one thing that I’ll never forget for as long as I live. If Derrick’s parents hadn’t come all the way from Texas to show their support and do what they could to help, the entire situation would have been much more difficult. Derrick and I probably would have been fighting, and we wouldn’t have been able to tolerate each other’s emotions very well. At least we had a set of parents there to help us. They made us dinner every night and took us shopping to get things that we needed. The day after I was sent home, a very heavy snowstorm kicked in. It lasted for a couple of days. When the snowstorm eased up, there was only one day left until we had go to Court and try with everything in our power to get our baby back. I was still in my recovery phase, but it wasn’t going to stop me.
I spent every waking hour researching the law and printed out documents from all of the self-improvement classes that I had taken over the last six months. I was going to go to Court prepared, and I was willing to do anything that it took to get my daughter back. I really didn’t know what to expect from the Attorneys and Social Workers, but I imagined it probably wasn’t going to be anything nice. The night before Court, I came to the conclusion that the only way that I would ever be able to get my daughter back would be to get the CPS on my side. If I couldn’t get them on my side, I would never see my baby again. The Judge automatically did what they wanted. I hadn’t heard of one case where the Judge ruled in favor of the parents if the CPS objected. I didn’t know exactly how I was going to do this, but if it meant leaving Derrick, I wouldn’t think twice. I was sure that my mom would let me stay with her if it came down to that - as long as I wasn’t bringing Derrick along with me.
Our first Court Hearing was on Tuesday morning. We made sure we brought along Derrick’s parents as well as his aunt. We wanted to look into any and all options to keep our baby as close as possible to us. I hated this place. I hated this Courtroom and I hated the people in it. I never wanted to go back to this place again, and I had done everything that I could think of to avoid that happening. Here we go again, I thought to myself as we were nearing the entrance to go through the metal detector. My stomach was in knots and I was worried that I was going to get a full-blown panic attack. Our case was the first to be called. It was the same scenario as it always was. The Attorneys were laughing and joking with each other, and to them, it was just another typical Tuesday morning. To me, it was a hearing that was extremely important, and I was so desperate to see that it would go as well as possible. I took it upon myself to hand every single Attorney in the room a packet that I put together with copies of my progress. My Attorney arrived at the very last minute. She advised me that I probably should have gone over the paperwork with her before I freely gave it out. She made a good point, but I wasn’t thinking about that. Each folder for the individual Attorneys also had a cover letter. I did my best to explain the current situation I was in, as well as how the events in the past led to my progress today. I made it clear that I took full responsibility for my actions, and that I had every intention to do whatever necessary to better myself as a mother. It was my desperate plea; it was the only way for me to get the point across.
Luckily the Judge that was in charge of the case was the same Judge that I had with Chloe and Zoe. If it had been this Judge instead of that temporary Judge who terminated my rights at my last hearing for the girls, things just might be completely different. Everyone updated his or her arguments, and we went through the same routine that I was unfortunately all too familiar with. The Judge had compassion for me. Despite the snow and the inconvenient traveling that the Social Workers would have to do, he ordered that Derrick and I would be allowed to have five visits per week with our baby. I was completely surprised, and although I was very disappointed that we clearly were not going to be able to take our baby home, I felt as if this was a very good sign. I didn’t see why the Judge would allow me to have so many visits with my baby if his long-term plan was to terminate my rights. This was another little glimmer of hope that I was given, and it certainly helped me carry on with what was left of my motivation. The Attorney for the Social Workers argued against this and attempted to get the visitation schedule reduced to two days a week. The Judge was firm with his order, and I was so relieved and happy. A small amount of my pain and fear was lifted that day.
Chapter 48
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.”