by E. McNew
I walked down to the Social Services office for two reasons. I wanted to see if there was anything else that I could do to have one more chance to get my girls back - even if it meant leaving Derrick. The other reason, which I deliberately would not bring to the surface, was to find out if they knew that I was pregnant and if so, what their plans were. I wanted to find out if they would offer me services again. If they mentioned my pregnancy, I fully intended to beg them to give me the Court-ordered list of improvements I would need to make. I wanted to get this done before my baby was born to prevent them from taking my baby.
“Can I help you?” the receptionist kindly asked. For the most part the women at the front desk were always nice to me. “Yes, I just want to find out if I can talk to one of the caseworkers who was in charge of my recently closed case.” The woman dialed an extension behind the glass window and had me take a seat. I was out of breath and trying to carry myself in a confident manner. It was just impossible. I couldn’t even pretend. Finally, a short man opened the door and called my name. He didn’t smile as I approached, and he stayed quiet and cold. He led me down the hallway and into his office. I thought it was strange that a man in his late 50’s had an office overflowing with toys and stuffed animals and cartoons all over the walls - yet he was such an ass at the same time. Maybe he needed the extra distraction in his office to avoid scaring little kids to tears. I was almost scared to tears.
“How are you Elizabeth?” he nonchalantly asked. He really could care less. “Your caseworker is on vacation for two weeks, and I’m taking on her responsibilities until she returns.” Great, I thought. As soon as he mentioned this, I knew there wasn’t any hope. There was a very small chance to appeal my case, and I knew that there was nothing else I could do. This man would have no mercy. “I just wanted to see if there is any way at all to appeal the decision of the Court. I’ll do anything for a chance to prove myself. I’ll leave Derrick if that’s what it takes. I’ve completed my 6-week intensive outpatient treatment, parenting classes, voluntary drug testing, anger management, everything I’ve been able to think of. I can’t stand the thought of never seeing my daughters again, and it’s taken a while for the seriousness of everything to sink in. I think I’ve just been in shock.” Before I could say another word he interrupted me. “Like I said, your caseworker is on vacation. I have no say in any of this, and all I can do is leave her a message.” My heart sank to my stomach. This man wasn’t about to answer any of my questions or offer any kind of hope. Before I could respond to him he quickly added, “So when is your due date?”
The familiar adrenaline rush of fear pumped through my body and I became weak. I had to think fast. This was a clear indication that he was going to take note of my due date and file for state custody. I lied. “It’s in March,” I simply replied. Maybe it would buy me enough time to have my baby before the hospital got the memo. Just maybe they’ll forget about me and let me move on with my life, I silently wished. “Are you planning on taking this baby too? Can you offer me services so that doesn’t happen?” I pleaded. “Well we can’t offer services for something that doesn’t even exist yet,” he sarcastically replied. Does he really think my baby doesn’t exist yet, I thought. His response confirmed his lack of compassion for human life – especially babies. There couldn’t be a worse person than him to do this job. After getting nowhere and ultimately making things more difficult and possibly even setting myself up, I left and started the walk back home.
“Well, he didn’t say they were taking the baby, right?” Derrick asked. “Of course not. They’re not going to tell me something like that!” I fired back. “Don’t they have to tell you if there is an open case or a pending case?” he asked. “I don’t know, but I don’t have a good feeling.” I curled up in bed and tried to be strong and stop the tears. I was so sad. I was sad because I hadn’t even met my baby yet, and I just knew there was going to be trouble. “Don’t worry Elizabeth. They won’t take her. I won’t let them. If we have to, we’ll get my parents involved. They’ll get a Lawyer if it comes down to it. We’re not going to let them take our baby away.” He had that believable and convincing tone that I always believed and trusted. It was much easier to just believe him and focus on getting through the rest of the pregnancy. I knew that this baby was a fighter. This baby went through grief and jail and rehab with me and then lost Chloe and Zoe with me. I knew that my baby had to have felt my pain. My new goal was to bring this baby into the world and offer him or her a life that was safe, quiet, happy and peaceful. I was going to offer this baby all that I had failed to offer Chloe and Zoe. I wanted so much to do this right.
Even though I failed so miserably, I still held on to hope. If I didn’t at least have hope, I would have nothing. Hope gave me a reason to live. The dreams I had of coming out on top of everything helped me trudge through the mud every day - and it sure as hell was muddy. I remember how attached I became to country music and the lyrics. The songs were always about real people with real problems and heartache.
Chapter 45
It was Super Bowl 2007, and I was just about as big as I could get. Everything hurt. It hurt to walk, breathe, roll over, and to try and put up with Derrick. He would come home from work with that familiar, gut-wrenching tightness on his face. After nailing him and guilt-tripping him as best as I could, he still denied using any sort of drugs. It was easier to just believe him and drop it. My intuition knew better but I ignored it. I couldn’t deal with his crap at that point in time.
I was excited that it was Super Bowl time. It was a good way to take my mind off of everything. I made tons of food that day. It was freezing cold outside, and I welcomed the idea of lounging on the couch with an enormous plate of hot food, which sat perfectly on my pregnant tummy. Just as I was about through with the cooking, Derrick announced that he invited his brother to come over and watch the game with us, and his brother was bringing three other friends and a baby. Part of me hated the idea, but part of me wanted to be able to hang out with other people and just be normal. I wanted to be a part of the world again and do things that everyone else did. More than anything, I wanted to prove to myself that I was normal and the people whom I was around were normal. Everything that had happened to me was all some freak accident, I recited in my head. Derrick’s words invaded my mind and found their own way to my hippocampus and became stuck in my frontal lobes for years. Sometimes I wondered how a person could have such control. At different times over the years I thought he was some sort of supernatural demon.
Everyone showed up with alcohol, cigarettes and marijuana. My dinner wasn’t so exciting anymore. This included a younger couple with a newborn baby. I became angry because I saw myself from an outsiders standpoint. I allowed my babies to be around these people and the substances. It was pathetic. It was bullshit. There was no excuse that could make this scenario okay. I simply couldn’t handle it. I went into my bedroom and locked myself away for the night. I was hoping that Derrick would at least come in to see what was wrong, but he could care less. I didn’t see him again until about 2:00 a.m. The next morning when I woke up and rolled out of bed, he had already left for work.
As I walked into the living room to make something to eat, rage came over me. The house was absolutely trashed. I saw empty beer bottles everywhere, old rotted food left out, and dishes left all over the place. I called Derrick. “You call those people your friends? If they can’t even respect your home, what makes you think they respect you? I cleaned house and made dinner all day yesterday! Am I just your bitch now or what?” I screamed. “You know what hoe? Shut the hell up! It’s my house and I’ll have any one I want over, and I’ll tear it up if I feel like it. If you hate it so bad then clean the mess up!” he hung up. He had an excellent way of making me feel worthless. I picked up the tall glass cups off of the hutch and threw them as hard as I could onto the front door. As they shattered, the purple mixed drink stained the walls. It reminded me of blood. Then I wished it were my blood. I wanted to just d
ie and get it over with. I didn’t even care if Derrick killed me. When he returned later that day he had his bipolar mood shifted back to normal. He was decent and he cleaned the house.
There was nothing left to do besides wait. Wait for the unknown. Wait for the next set of daggers to cut mercilessly into what was left of my heart. When the daggers were finished with my heart, they would stab holes of grief into my brain. The holes would take a very long time to heal. They would be there until I took my last breath on earth.
I remembered when the Social Worker asked me for my due date, and I gave him a date that was actually past my due date. I came to the conclusion that it would actually be better for me to have this baby as soon as possible. I knew the nurses were already informed of my high-risk status. Derrick and his entire family behaved as if everything would be perfectly okay. His mother and I exchanged emails on a daily basis, and she actually became a very good friend. She was really the only person I had to talk to that wouldn't swear at me or attempt to throw random objects my way. She sent a new crib, baby clothes for a boy and a girl, toys, and pretty much everything that we would need. The baby's room was all set up with everything in place.
When I was in my 37th week of pregnancy, I went to the health food store and purchased a small bottle of castor oil. I was tired of being pregnant and sick of living with the suspense and fear that I wasn't going to be able to take my baby home. Whatever was going to happen, I just wanted to get it over with. Derrick was mostly enthusiastic and optimistic about the entire situation. He did make good points. He pointed out that technically CPS would have no reason to take our baby away from us. I could easily pass any drug test, and I had done everything that the Court ordered me to do. CPS would not be able to prove that the baby would be in immediate danger. He told me over and over again that he would not let anything happen. I thought maybe nature was trying to hide the possible outcome so I could get through childbirth - and maybe my own denial.
I opened the bottle of castor oil around 9:00 p.m. It took me a couple of hours to drink the entire bottle because it was so disgusting and oily, but I was determined. I wanted to have his baby on time. The contractions finally came and they came frequently. At one point they were about 2 minutes apart and lasted for 30 seconds. Eventually they slowed down and completely went away. Luckily, I'm quite experienced when it comes to meditating my way out of throwing up. I went to bed miserable and sick and even more frustrated. I was hoping that my next doctor appointment would confirm some sort of sign of impending labor.
As the technician scanned my very pregnant belly, she was focusing on the monitor to determine if there was a recent loss of amniotic fluid. She pointed to the red area and the blue area. The red indicated my uterus and the blue area indicated the water that was supposed to be in it. There was hardly any water. My doctor informed me that if the ultrasound detected a loss of fluid, they would induce me that same night. “If that’s what your doctor says, then it looks like you’re definitely going to be heading to labor and delivery tonight." I was excited, and seeing my baby on the screen erased any fear and doubt I had been struggling with. I was going to live in the moment and focus only on a having a safe delivery. Something came over me that completely allowed me to relax and let go of all of my fears.
My doctor poked her head into the ultrasound room to ask the technician about the status of the scan. She informed her that I had little to no water left. That was all she needed to hear. "Are you ready to meet your baby?" she asked. I smiled and nodded, and she knew she was asking me the question I'd been waiting for. After wiping the gel off of my stomach, the doctor led Derrick and I down the hallway to the labor and delivery room. I was so excited to meet this life that was hiding in me for so long.
After I was strapped in, and practically stuck to the bed, the nurse informed me that they would begin my induction around midnight. There wasn't anything to do except wait. After watching the clock relentlessly, midnight finally came and the nurse started the induction. About 2 hours later, I was in full-blown labor. I made it clear from the start that I wanted an epidural. I really didn’t want to go through the same pain that I struggled with previously. Since Derrick fell asleep before my induction, he wasn’t any company to me. I was becoming upset and annoyed. He didn't try to help or reassure me when he knew I was going through the pain of the contractions. I was sure he would probably stay asleep during the birth of our child. At that point, I didn't even care. If he was going to behave like an arrogant jerk, then he didn't deserve to see our new life arrive.
Around 2:00 a.m., the contractions were as strong as they could get, and I began to feel that horrible pressure. The nurse came in and I requested an epidural. After waiting in pain for another half hour, I was relieved to see the anesthesiologist walk into my room. This was when one of the nurses woke Derrick. They had him assist with the process by holding me as I slouched over his shoulder. I didn't even feel the pain of the needle tapping into my spinal column. I was worried that the epidural wasn't going to kick in soon enough for the delivery. The anesthesiologist was taping the catheter in place, and I knew that this baby was literally right there. I didn't tell them this because I was worried that they would stop the process. Thankfully, I was completely numb just in time for the Ring of Fire.
My baby girl was born less than an hour later. Her cry was so sweet, and I rubbed her head and spoke to her hoping she would recognize my voice as they put her on my stomach. The doctor then said, "What's her name?" "I don't know yet," I calmly said. Derrick immediately said, "Her name is Danielle.” I had gone over this with him on a daily basis for the last nine months. He wanted her to have a name beginning with the letter D. He was trying to get as close as he could to naming her after himself.
"It's a girl? Oh my gosh!" Derrick’s mother, Wendy, was screaming over the phone with excitement. My baby was quietly sleeping in my arms. We were full of complete joy. My fear was replaced with elation. I felt completely euphoric, and I loved this little girl so much. Derrick was surprisingly good with her. He remained calm when she cried and fell asleep cuddled up to her so I could rest.
The sun had risen and the nurse woke me up to check on my vitals. Derrick and the baby were still sleeping, and I was trying to figure out what I would name her. It’s not that I didn’t like the name Danielle. I actually thought it was kind of cute. What annoyed me was that Derrick only wanted that name because it would complement his own. It was irritating that I was the one who carried this baby for so long, and he wouldn’t even consider other possible names. I was excited his parents were coming to meet their first grandchild. They began driving from Texas when they got the news that I was going to be induced. The drive would probably take two or three days. The nurse brought my breakfast into my room and raised the head of my bed so I could sit while I ate. My left leg was still slightly numb from the epidural, so I wasn’t quite mobile. The nurse came back into my room a few minutes later. It was time for my baby to have her first bath.
Chapter 46
The nurse needed to wake Derrick so she could take the baby over to the nursery to clean her up. He yawned and stretched across the cot-sized hide-a-bed. “Well, it looks like we’re in the clear,” he said. “If they were going to take her they would have done so already.” I glanced at the clock and it was nearing eleven. It was a weekday and his conclusion made sense. We definitely would have heard something by now. I was so happy that things were happening as they should and without incident. I was eager to take our baby home and settle into my new routine. I heard some chatter coming from the hallway. Shortly after, I heard one of the nurses laughing loudly. “Whew, that scared me for a minute,” I said. Derrick started snoring. I was still exhausted and thought it would be good to get some rest myself while the nurses were giving the baby her bath. I immediately began to drift off.
Suddenly I heard the door to my room open. I assumed that the nurses were just returning my little girl. I wanted to see if she was hungry enough to nurse. I
wanted to establish breastfeeding right away, and so far she hadn’t had any problems. When I opened my eyes and looked toward the door, two police officers in their black uniforms slowly walked in. Adrenaline and shock slammed my entire body. A man with shoulder-length hair wearing a badge followed behind them. “Derrick!” I yelled in a panic. He didn’t budge. “DERRICK!” I yelled even louder. He sat up as if he were ready to fight. “What?” he asked, still in a daze. “There are cops coming in here!” I cried. His face went from confused, to concerned, to pissed off all in an instant. He stood up and walked toward the end of my bed where the officers and Social Worker met him. The Social Worker looked down as his clipboard. “Are you Elizabeth?” he demanded. “Yes. Why are you in my hospital room?” I replied, making an attempt to get myself together. “Is this…uh…Derrick?” he asked, again glancing down at his clipboard. “Yes I am Derrick,” he replied. “The State has ordered us to assume custody of your child, and I’m here to enforce the Court Order.” Tears ran down my face. Derrick stepped toward the Social Worker. “You’re not going anywhere with my baby. If I have to go to jail, I will. Trust that,” he sternly replied. One of the officers stepped closer to Derrick to guard the Social Worker. “Hey man, just sit down for a minute. You don’t want to go to jail. I don’t know your situation, but I would be upset too. I do know that if we have to take you out of this room in handcuffs, it’s just going to make your situation a hell of a lot worse.” Derrick sat down. I was surprised at the empathy that the officer was showing.
