Long Blue Line: Based on a True Story

by E. McNew

  After living in our new home for only about two months, Josh and I received a call from the manager at the other complex we were interested in that offered low-income families a realistic solution to paying rent. We had finally reached the top of the list and could move in the next week. I was thrilled knowing that we would have two bedrooms. We managed to break our lease with the townhouse management and began packing for our next move right down the highway. I was six months pregnant, and it was perfect timing considering our new addition would be making an entrance soon. As I brought Chloe up the stairs to our new place, I excitedly showed her to her new room. “It’s your own room Chloe! Aren’t you excited?” I babbled. She gave me an adorable grin and clapped her hands. Our family unpacked in about two days, and it was exciting to settle into a place that could be more permanent because of the extra space it offered.

  Our neighbors were all very friendly senior citizens, and they were very curious about Chloe and my new pregnancy. They never openly questioned my age, and I truly felt as if I were an accepted part of their small community. The downside was that Josh knew quite a few people living in the neighboring building. This encouraged his drinking habit even more. It felt like the more pregnant I became the worse his drinking became. There were several nights when he did not come home until four or five in the morning if not later. I would stay up and silently cry wondering if he was okay and wondering if he still even loved me. I could not understand why he felt it was so important to be out, getting wasted, instead of being at home with his wife and daughter who loved him.

  In the classroom of the senior project presentation, I was a nervous wreck. “Who in their right mind does a senior project on soup?” I asked myself. My mother had been my required chosen mentor that I worked with for the completion of the project. She was a great cook, and we thought it would be fun to experiment with soup and make a cookbook to give to the Judges when my presentation was finished.

  They were all adults, and they were all successful members of the community. Most of them were business owners. They were very friendly to me despite the fact that I was eight months pregnant. After asking me what my future plans were, I replied “I am going to take college classes full-time to get my degree in nursing. I love to help people, and I have always loved the hospital environment.” The Judges all seemed very impressed with my drive, and they were probably surprised that I wasn’t another statistic, thus far.

  I passed my project with a 95 percent, and I was thrilled that it was almost time to live out my vision of having a normal graduation. Ironically, for the graduation ceremony, all of the graduates were instructed to wait down the hill where I had attended school for the last few years. They would signal to us when it was time to start walking to the football field. I was so pregnant and so hot that I thought I might faint. Luckily, Merri was right there with me and would most likely make an attempt to catch me if I did. The band started playing the popular graduation song and in a line and standing next to our walking partner, we started moving. Once the green field came into view, my fears calmed. I began to feel proud of myself and truly in awe that I had made it this far. Sixteen, married with a baby, and another one on the way, I knew at that point that I was officially not a statistic. With our entire family in the crowd, I knew that I had met my goals and even more. Following Merri, the principle called my name and shook my hand as I happily accepted my diploma. I had officially graduated from High School and could now start my young life as an adult who would do great things. One day I would be an inspiring example to other young parents.

  Chapter 21

  The summer after graduation was hot and miserable. I was ready to pop and desperate to have this baby. My mom had been spending a lot of time at my apartment knowing that I needed help with anything she was willing to do.

  It was a normal, hot, boring Saturday, and Josh decided to ditch the family and go fishing with Donnie. I honestly didn’t care, because he was getting on my nerves anyway. My mom, Chloe and I went on a little shopping spree, and she got me my favorite combination of the pregnancy-preferred snacks that I was currently obsessing over. Once we got home and blasted the fan, I practically fell back onto the couch, ready to chug my soda and indulge in my Kit-Kat bar. It was already late afternoon, and of course, I had no update from my husband or his whereabouts. This was sadly typical behavior to be expected from him. As it started to become dark outside, I did begin to become worried and I quickly became angry knowing that he was probably just too drunk to remember to update me…again. I was extra upset because I was so pregnant and expecting to go into labor at any moment. It hurt my feelings that he just didn’t care.

  “RING…RING…RING…” my phone blared. It was nine o’clock at night. I had a bad feeling. Josh typically either called me by six or just showed up the next day. Rarely did I get a peak-party-hour update. Picking up the phone, I could not believe what I heard.

  “Hello, is this Elizabeth? My name is Nurse Mary and I am with the Enloe hospital emergency room in Chico. Your husband, Josh, was in a roll-over car accident and flown here because he was periodically going unconscious.” The nurse gave me this information as if it were an everyday conversation. I guess it was to her.

  “Oh my gosh. Okay… is he going to be all right?” I asked with a trembling in my voice and my hands shaking as I gripped the phone. “Oh yes! He is doing well now. We are waiting on some simple test results, but other than that, he should be free to go home tomorrow.”

  After getting off the phone and calling my mother to tell what had happened, I was in a panic to get to the hospital that was five hours away to be with my husband. My mother was the only one who could take me because I had no idea where this place was and was too pregnant to go that far on my own.

  “Honey, it’s almost ten at night and Josh is fine. We need to wait until morning to go get him, Liz. Maybe this will teach him a lesson,” my mom affirmed. She was right, and if no one rushed to his rescue, maybe it would force him to think about it even more. I felt like I was reliving that Thanksgiving night that he went to jail, except I felt a different kind of sympathy. It was an exhausted sympathy that was running out. The one thing that these two incidents had in common was alcohol.

  The next day we made the long drive to get Josh. He looked beat up and hung over. I was glad that he was at least alive. I forced an explanation out of him once we got home. Apparently a tire on Donnie’s truck just suddenly “fallen off” causing them to flip. That was total crap, and I knew it. I also knew that he would stick to this lie to protect Donnie. He wouldn’t admit that the two of them had been drunk and speeding.

  The accident caused Josh to slow down on his drinking for a couple of weeks. It was good timing. I was really pregnant and really needed him to just grow the hell up.

  In a desperate attempt to put my body into labor, I went on five-mile walks with Josh, gagged down castor oil and orange juice, had miserable sessions of sex, and made a pathetic attempt at jumping jacks. This baby was going to come when it was ready, and there was nothing I could do to change it. After taking a long cool shower one hot afternoon, I dried off to realize that my leg continued to stay wet. I dried it again, and it was soaked again. My water was leaking. Happy and nervous, I called my mother to come pick me up, and I called Josh at work instructing him to head over to the hospital. The nurses admitted me and ran a test to make sure I was correct, and sure enough, one of them announced “Let’s put it this way; you aren’t leaving this hospital without your baby in your arms.”

  I let out a sigh of relief. Although I knew that it would never be the same, I wanted my body back. Chloe’s birth was painful, but I was confident that I could deliver Zoe without an epidural. I would be induced the next morning at 7:00. I tossed and turned the whole night in anticipation with Josh by my side. My mother spent the night so she could be with me in the morning.

  Seven o’clock finally rolled around. I explained to the nurse that I just wanted to go with the flow, and if I en
ded up needing medication I would let her know, but I could probably do without. My mom had dropped Chloe off with Hilda, which didn’t happen often because Hilda was seldom sober. When she was sober, though, she was a good grandma.

  Merri was hanging around the hospital room pacing nervously. She somehow got stuck with my mother and had no way to get home. She wasn’t the type to be a part of anything that was gruesome involving humans. Pets yes, but not humans. She helped out with surgeries on animals for her senior project, but that was a different story for her. By ten o’clock the pain was nearly excruciating. The pressure, once again, was overbearingly nauseating. At that point, I couldn’t handle any more. “I need the epidural, like now!” I demanded to the nurse. “Well, you are already eight centimeters. I will call the anesthesiologist, but don’t get your hopes up because he may not arrive in time.” You have got to be absolutely kidding me, I angrily thought. I was so disappointed that it was borderline heartbreaking. The memory of the intense pain was all coming back to me full-force.

  Unlike the last time, I was in a full-blown panic and scared to death of what I knew was to come. I fought it pretty hard. I really wanted no part in this ordeal - not to mention the nurse’s lack of caring enough really fueled my fire. Merri became so scared of the screams coming out of my mouth that she had to face the wall and plug her ears. I later learned that she was actually in the corner of the hospital room having a full-blown panic attack.

  “AAAAAAAAH!! Get this thing out of me NOW!” I wailed. I was in so much pain that screaming was the only way to release it. Finally, the Dr. had to get in my face, force me to make eye contact with her, and tell me to push instead of scream. I came to my senses and understood that she was right. On the next contraction I pushed as hard as I possibly could, and that familiar and beautiful sense of relief overcame me. It was finally over. Our new baby, another girl, was a beautiful little screamer that looked just like her sister. Her face was a little swollen from the quick entrance she made into the world, but she was gorgeous, and I was immediately in love. We had decided that if we had another girl, her name would be Zoe.

  After the doctor tested my patience with stitches, and who knows what else, I was finally able to sit in a normal position and hold my baby girl. Visitors came and left, and the night fell. This time, Josh was by my side the entire time. He helped me when I asked, and he said nothing about leaving to go anywhere that surely would have led to alcohol streaming down his throat.

  For once, I actually felt like we might be okay, and he might have just grown up a little bit. In the middle of the night, Zoe started to cry out of hunger. I was happy to have more confidence than I had had with Chloe. I picked the sweet, little life up from her bassinette and brought her to my chest. “I love you so much little girl. I am so happy you are here and part of our family.” I whispered, as I welcomed her cuddly embrace. The most innocent creature to ever greet the planet is, without doubt, a newborn baby. A newborn is incredibly innocent and helpless. Unlike Chloe, Zoe didn’t make many creaky door noises. I noticed that she had a frown on her face, and a lightning-fast thought came and left my mind all in an instant. What if she knows something that we don’t? What if she foresees a sad future? The thought of anything sad that might happen to my precious little girls’ lives hurt my feelings. I quickly erased it and fell asleep with her on my chest.

  The next morning my mother brought Chloe to the hospital just as we were getting ready to check out. The sweetest sight that I had ever witnessed and the most symbolic sight as well, was when Chloe, with assistance at only fourteen months old, held Zoe on her lap. She became so excited that she laughed out loud. Chloe was thrilled to have her baby sister. It was almost as if she knew that her best friend had finally arrived. They were meant to be in each other’s lives for more reasons than anyone will ever understand.

  Bringing Zoe home was a new experience. I was lucky to have my mom’s help with Chloe when Josh was working because without my mom around, I was alone with my two babies. It became a blur, but I remember asking myself, at one point, if I could handle it. Physically, I only had so many arms! Mentally I felt okay, just unsure if I would be able to keep up with the demands. My day was diaper change after diaper change, nursing Zoe, feeding Chloe, battles over naptime, and meltdowns over competing for attention. Bedtime didn’t even provide any relief because I was too nervous to keep them in their own rooms. I was afraid of a variety of scenarios: someone might break in, the house would catch fire, or one of them might stop breathing…you name it and I worried about it. When Zoe had her first birthday, I finally started to feel like I was adjusting to having two babies in diapers. I had lost most of the baby weight and I started to feel like I had more energy and a better grip on the routine.

  I was excited when I learned that Megan would be moving back. Apparently she was sick of Utah and couldn’t stand James’ mother bossing her around. I was interested to see how we would go on our joyrides with three babies in the back seat. In order to be a happy mother I needed to have a routine of getting out of the house once in a while. I was enrolled in community college courses full time, and my goal was to transfer to nursing school after two years. I was a bit nervous when college started, as I hadn’t done much socializing in what felt like forever. I managed to get the girls enrolled in daycare part-time, and I had my paperwork turned in for school and my schedule set. I was approved for financial aid as well, and I knew that would help tremendously.

  On my first day of school, I was nervous and sad about dropping the girls off at daycare. I was worried that the girls might flip out and think that I was abandoning them. It was definitely more difficult for me than it was for them. Chloe wandered off infatuated with the mounds of new toys and other kids, and Zoe had no idea what was going on, but she didn’t cry and that is all that mattered at the moment.

  My classes were laid back, and after going through each syllabus, I realized that I could easily get through them. The more I did my homework and aced my tests, the more confident I became. I was completely driven and motivated to get into nursing school. I knew that I loved to help people, and I had a way of putting myself into other people’s shoes. My first round of final exams had come and gone, and, eager as hell to know how I had done, I pulled up my grades online. Three As, and one B! I was so excited that I let out the most high-pitched, girly scream that was totally foreign to me. “Sorry…!” I said to Josh. He was startled and looked my way, annoyed. I had proven myself right once again and beaten the odds. I was a mother, a housewife, and a full-time student and doing all of these tasks exceptionally well. Life couldn’t be better. Except for Josh. I knew deep down that if I ever wanted to offer my babies a good life, I was going to have to do the hard work and become independently successful. Josh didn’t have the drive that it took, and his drinking problem was getting worse by the day.

  Our marriage felt childish, and fake. The more he drank and the more he failed to come home at a decent hour, the more respect I lost for him. Josh was still a boy. By no means was he ready to be a man and really be around to support his family. I was not ready to leave Josh, but it was fun to daydream about other options. Maybe I let myself daydream too much. Each time Josh brought the bottle to his mouth, I fantasized even more about finding a person to be with who could genuinely take care of me and the girls. I wanted a normal family environment, and I was so sick of worrying each night whether or not Josh was going to come home, or if I would get a knock on my door from authorities stating that he was dead. If he had ended up joining the Army and dying in combat, at least it would’ve been an honorable death and his girls would grow up proud, knowing that their dad died a hero. Dying from the resulting damage of getting behind the wheel while drunk was the absolute opposite of heroic. It was shameful and selfish.

  I began to realize that it was becoming more and more unfair for the girls and myself to base our lives around his drinking and the stupidity that came along with it. I called a local recovery center to inquire ab
out treatment for Josh. “You can’t force your husband to come to treatment, and unless it is Court ordered, there is nothing we can do. He needs to come in himself and agree to stay.” I sighed and thanked the lady for the information. There was no way in hell he would agree to stay in treatment. It was so easy for me to just want to give up on him. It would be one less thing to worry about if he wasn’t in my life. Of course, I would always want him to be a part of Chloe and Zoe’s lives, but I was tired of babysitting a now twenty-two year old man. He was clearly not going to grow up any more.

  Chapter 22

  The holidays came and went, I was in my second semester of college, and Megan, James, and their daughter, Kylee, had moved into the apartment complex a few buildings down from us. We were happy to be neighbors and began hanging out like the old days. It was good for Josh to have a friend that wasn’t a raging alcoholic. Megan and I managed to squeeze all three of the girls into the back seat of the car any time we wanted to go somewhere. Kylee was between Chloe and Zoe’s ages. It was adorable lining them up from biggest to smallest. We no doubt resembled a teenage version of the Desperate Housewives.