Long Blue Line: Based on a True Story

by E. McNew

  “What reason do you have to take my baby?” I demanded. “I’ve done everything that I could possibly do to prevent this from happening. I’ve completed rehab, parenting classes, drug testing, and I am on good terms with my Probation Officer. The State is pretty much telling me that I can’t have any more kids. Is that what it is?” I furiously asked. “The State isn’t telling you that you can’t have any more kids. We have case reports saying that you accused Derrick of hurting your other child, Zoe,” he said, looking at his clipboard again. “I didn’t know who to blame when that happened! There were multiple people in my house, and I don’t know what happened! The detectives never even figured it out. If you think that he is responsible, then WHY isn’t he sitting in jail right now?” I challenged. “I can’t answer that question, but Social Services has determined that leaving the child in your care will put her at a substantial safety and health risk.”

  I buried my face in my hands and cried so hard that I couldn’t breathe. The pain was all coming back – the painful reminder of all I had already lost. This was the pain of having no control over the whereabouts and well being of my babies. This was the painful reminder that no matter what sort of improvement I made, I was still a bad mother. The Social Worker left the Court ordered document on the counter and they began to leave my room. “So I can’t even see my baby while I’m here?” I yelled after them. The Social Worker slowly turned around. “Yes, you can see her in the nursery.” He walked out.

  The pain all came back to me - the pain from being in the hospital with Chloe and Zoe, and the pain from a loss that can’t possibly be understood unless personally endured. Once again, this system was defying nature. My maternal instincts were naturally fierce, and there was nothing I could do to protect my baby and keep her with me. I was wrong when I thought that my tears were gone. When I thought I couldn’t possibly cry any more, I cried even more. After losing Chloe and Zoe, this little girl was the only thing that gave me a reason to stay strong. This little girl kept me going when I was locked inside a cold jail cell for sixty-two days. I felt her kick for the first time as I was lying on my hard concrete bunk about four months pregnant. From that moment forward, I didn’t feel so alone anymore. I had someone else to keep me company, and I had someone else to love. As she grew, I held on more and more. At around six months pregnant, I was released from jail to spend thirty days in a rehab facility. I felt safe and secure and happy that my unborn baby and I could at least sleep on a regular bed. I never in my life thought I would be so excited to see and squeeze a pillow. She moved around more and more every day. She was my little angel. If I felt like crying, she moved around even more. She reminded me that I had a reason to smile. I had a reason to love, hope and live. Her life saved my life. If I hadn’t become pregnant with this perfect little girl, I could very well be on the streets today, or even worse, dead.

  I was hurting deep, deep down yet so excited to meet this baby and learn who she would become. I was looking forward to raising this baby with everything that I learned from the mistakes I made and everything that I knew I was now capable of. My actions as a mother to Chloe and Zoe were unforgivable. My love, however, was always strong and genuine. I grew up in a safe and secluded little town. I had never witnessed anything dangerous. I had never seen a dead body. I had never suffered through trauma. I didn’t know that I was one of the few lucky ones.

  Until you’ve been quickly drawn down into the world of drugs and crime, you’ll never know what it feels like to live in that world. Why? It often feels like nothing is different. It quietly creeps into your life, and your perception of reality stays the same. I didn’t even see it coming. When you’re using a substance, you lose site of what normal is. I never, ever predicted such a tragedy could happen and such a loss could result. It happened to me and it happened to my children. My new baby was my only hope. Admitting to my faults and trying with my entire being to redeem myself would never be enough. It proved to be true that I would never, ever be forgiven. There would not be a second chance.

  I cried because I was furious with the world and furious with myself. I was angry that I so tightly held on to so much hope that turned out to be nothing but a lie. Everything was a lie. I couldn’t trust anyone. I couldn’t believe anything. I also couldn’t count on the community police officers and Social Workers to help guide me in a safe direction. As a child, we’re taught that these are the people we should trust if there is an emergency or a crisis. These people are supposed to be the ones who want to help you. Then when you’re not a child anymore - you’re the bad person.

  Sometimes I just wanted to scream - WHY DIDN’T YOU TELL ME! WHY DIDN’T YOU FORBID ME TO SEE HIM! WHY DIDN’T YOU ISSUE A PERMANENT RESTRICTION ORDER! Isn’t it the job of the community to help create a better quality of life? Couldn’t just one person - my Therapist, my Probation Officer, the Judge, or ANYONE, just tell me to run!

  The truth is they did. They tried anyway. Never directly, but the hints were there. For being so academically smart, I was actually quite stupid! I was ignorant, blind, and selfish. I was still a kid. I missed out on hanging out with friends, going to school functions, and following my dream of becoming a nurse. I spent my high school years pregnant and taking care of a family. I never thought that I would some day want those years back. I wanted to make up for those years, but no matter how much I tried it never felt like enough. I didn’t stop to think that those years would be gone, and they would never be there again. Trying to make up for the lost time ruined my life - and it hurt others in the process.

  Derrick sat next to me on the hospital bed and held me as I hysterically cried for over six hours. His aunt came to visit after she heard the news. His parents were on their way from Texas and driving as fast as they possibly could. Worst case, at least maybe they could take her. That way she would not be in a foster home, and I could try to get off Probation early so we could just move there to be with her. That had been our Plan B for a while. We didn’t talk about it too much because the thought of this happening was one that was too much to bear.

  Derrick’s aunt immediately hugged me as I sat helpless and heartbroken. “I’m so sorry,” she said. What else could she say? I didn’t even know what to say. It was sad, embarrassing, shameful, hopeless and heart wrenching. I was sick of sitting in that hospital room. I just wanted to leave. I heard my baby crying from across the hall, and I couldn’t take it. I wanted to run to her and pick her up to be with me. I couldn’t do that. I couldn’t hold my own baby in the room that I was in. I couldn’t hold her and love her in privacy and peace. It had to be under the supervision of the hospital staff. “I’m ready to go. Just take me home,” I sniffled. “There is no point in being here if I can’t have my baby. I’m just going to get attached to her and everything is going to be that much more difficult when they take her to some foster home.” I was giving up. I wanted to badly self-destruct. I wanted something to numb the pain. “I want a damn cigarette. I just want to get out of this hospital. Everything was for nothing!” I screamed. “I lost two babies, and I guess I just have to deal with losing another one,” I cried. The easiest thing to do was give up. It hurt too bad to hold on to any more hope. I was done.

  “I would probably want to do the same if I were in your position,” Derrick’s aunt offered. “But try to think about everything that you do first. The nurses are watching you and if you just walk out, they will report it to the CPS. Then it will really look like you don’t care about your baby!” she said, trying to rationalize with me. I was unstable, but she did have a point. I would have to just deal with the pain and stay. “Derrick, can you go to the nursery and hold her? I don’t want her to feel neglected. She might recognize your voice,” I cried. He kissed me on the forehead and did as I asked. His aunt followed behind. I was so overwhelmed that the only thing I could do to cope was sleep. I rolled over onto my soaked pillow and cried. I cried myself to sleep hoping that I would wake up to my baby in my arms and everything would be okay. It’s al
l a nightmare. I’m going to wake up.

  Less than two hours later, I heard my mom’s voice in the hallway. I vaguely remember talking to her on the phone in a hysterical panic. I knew that she said she was coming to visit, but I didn’t know when she would show up. She walked into my hospital room and I woke up just as miserable as before, if not more miserable. It wasn’t another nightmare. It was reality. I became angry. “Are you ok sweet pea?” She asked as she sat on the edge of my bed. “No! I’m not okay. I’m so sick of everything and I’m done trying. I just want to get out of here because there is no point in sitting here and getting attached to her! They’re just going to take her away forever, and I can’t handle any more pain!” I yelled and cried all in the same sentence. “But Liz, you can’t think like that! There is always hope, and while you can, you need to go be with her and hold her! She’s in there screaming her little head off - probably because she wants to nurse. She’s a newborn and she needs you Liz,” she tried to rationalize with me. Eventually I got up with her and went to the nursery to see my baby. Derrick and his aunt were taking turns holding her. I told my mom to go ahead and hold her first. She was getting prettier and prettier every passing hour. I could tell that she was hungry. A while later, my mom said her goodbyes and left the hospital. It was probably too sad for her too. Before she left, she told me that she and her husband would try to take her if the Social Workers would allow it. I didn’t ever see how that would work. My mom was civil with Derrick because of the circumstances, but she and my step-dad saw him for who he was, and they did not like him at all. He would never be allowed to go near their home. It just wouldn’t work.

  I held my baby girl and rubbed her head as she nursed. She latched on immediately, as if she sensed that she would soon be deprived. I cried as I held her and thought about what was going to happen. She would soon be taken from all she had known. She would not get to have my warmth while I cuddled her, and she wouldn’t have my scent to calm her down. She wouldn’t have the food which nature provided for her - she would have a stranger and a plastic bottle. I held her in the rocking chair and cried and got up only when I had to use the bathroom. I didn’t want to sleep because I was afraid she would wake up crying. I wanted to give her as many antibodies as I could while I had the chance. I asked the nurse to please wake me up if she cried, and I asked her to not give her a bottle. Mother Nature took over and I held and loved my baby until I physically couldn’t stay awake. After hesitantly retreating back to my hospital room for the night, Derrick reassured me that he would wake me up if he heard her cry. As I was beginning to doze off and Derrick was ending a conversation with his parents who were now twelve hours away, my hospital door opened. One of the nicer nurses came in rolling the bassinette holding my baby. She wheeled the bassinette up to the side of my bed. “Here is your baby,” she said quietly, as she handed me my swaddled little girl. “I can’t make any promises, and you’ll have to go with it if I suddenly have to take her back to the nursery, okay?” “Of course,” I replied. I didn’t know exactly what was happening, but I did know that my baby was in my arms again, and it made me feel better to hold her in my own room. Derrick walked toward the bed to say hello to his baby as I began to feed her.

  “I don’t know the exact situation, but I’ve seen lots of mothers abandon their babies. I know a good mother when I see one. I am documenting in the report that you’ve been holding her for hours on end and quietly crying. This isn’t the first time I’ve seen this happen to decent parents. It’s happening all the time now,” the nurse confided. “We wanted to ask you, is there an official document or order saying that they can legally do this?” Derrick asked. “Actually, I was going to let you know that I haven’t received anything yet. For all I know, the order could come through the fax machine in a few hours, but I did ask them to send something over and they haven’t done it yet. I began thinking about Plan B. Part of me wanted to take our baby and just go. We could start driving to Texas. They couldn’t touch our baby if we could get to another state that was so far away. The only thing that held me back from this was that my Probation had not ended. I still had two years to go. I knew that being a fugitive on the run wouldn’t solve anything, and it would just make everything worse in the long run. I still considered it for a moment. Derrick and I talked it out and decided to deal with the crappy hand we got. I got to hold and feed my baby for four hours in peace that night. The nurse somehow saw and believed in my love for my baby, and she’ll never know how much those four hours meant to me. She put her job on the line just so I could have a few precious hours holding my new baby and cherishing the short moments that would be abruptly taken away. When the nurse on the new shift walked in, she quickly took my baby out of my arms and returned her to the nursery.

  Chapter 47

  It was around 6:00 a.m. when the nurse took my little girl back to the nursery. I was so exhausted, and although I had only gotten around five hours of sleep in the last 48 hours, I still couldn’t sleep knowing that she was in the other room. We took shifts to spend time with her, and as every hour passed, I became more and more anxious. As delusional as the idea was, I still had a desperate hope that it was all a big mistake, and they were going to soon realize this. The compassion that I received from the nurses allowed me to hang on to that last tiny little shred of hope. If a nurse who had been working in the hospital for over 20 years could see my intentions, then surely I could get the Court to see them as well. On day three, the same Social Worker showed up in my hospital room. He was delivering the Court order and informed us that the Court date would be on Tuesday. It was only Saturday. I was trying to think of ways that I could prolong my hospital stay just so I could spend more time with my baby and avoid her being placed in a foster home. If I could stay with her until Tuesday, then I could go to Court with all of my documents as proof that I had rehabilitated myself. The Court would have to give her back to me. I still held on to hope because I had no other choice, and, of course, I was very attached to her.

  Around midnight that night, Derrick’s parents finally arrived from Texas. They walked into the labor and delivery unit, and they looked completely exhausted. They had been driving for 29 hours straight. We all stayed up with our baby until about 4:00 a.m. His mother cried most of the time. I finally went to sleep dreading what was going to happen in the morning. I had a feeling that the hospital was going to discharge me. My feeling was right. I slept until about 8:00 a.m. and woke up to one of the nurses taking my vitals while explaining to me that the doctor said it was safe for me to be released and spend the rest of my recovery time at home. Luckily, the same nurse who let me have my baby for four hours in privacy was working that day. She went out of her way to extend my stay for as long as possible. I was able to spend the remainder of the day in the nursery with my baby until later in the evening.

  Derrick’s aunt and parents returned to the hospital to visit. I was still sad and miserable but having the extra support around made it a little bit more bearable. I forced myself to take a shower and put on my clothes. It was nice to get out of the hospital gown. I was afraid to go back to my room to pack my things. If I took too long, they might take her sooner. Then I wouldn’t get to see her again. We all passed her around for the remainder of my stay and talked about what we could do to fight the system. Around 8:00 p.m., one of the Social Workers arrived holding a car seat. I felt sick to my stomach. My baby was supposed to be going home with me in the car seat that we had for her - not some old and used Social Welfare System car seat. I said goodbye to her before Derrick. I knew I wouldn’t be able to handle staying in the room as the Social Worker prepared my baby for a 2-hour drive down the hill to stay in some foster home that I knew nothing about. I cried, and then kissed her, and I told her that I loved her and I would see her soon. I really had no idea when that would be. I handed her to Derrick and picked up my bags. I stood there for a minute and watched him cry while he held her. That’s when I walked out. Between him and his mother crying, it was
just too much.

  I paced outside the nursery room and then walked through the halls and out the entrance door. As I walked down the long hospital corridor, I held my head down. I didn’t want anyone to see my tears. I would save the hysterics until I at least got into the car. When I went through these same doors only four days ago, I was so excited to meet my new baby and start a new life with her. I had erased any fears that I had, and I was absolutely certain that she would be going home with me. When I walked outside, I noticed that the weather was perfectly fitting for this misery I was feeling. It was dark, cloudy and raining. It looked like hell and it felt like hell. I was now living in another hell.

  I finally found the Jeep in the parking lot, opened the door and sat in the passenger seat. It stunk like stale cigarettes. For the first time in nine months, I lit a cigarette. I knew that it wasn’t going to help anything, and I knew that it was flat out ridiculous to start smoking again, but I didn’t know what else to do. I wanted to rip my hair out, bash my head into the windshield, or even down a bottle of booze. I knew that I was just thinking on impulse, and I would not normally do any of that again, but I was so depressed. I saw Derrick walking to the Jeep. He opened the door and got into the driver’s seat. We just sat there for a few minutes waiting for his parents to come. I saw the same nurse who had treated me so decently running towards our car. I rolled down my window to see what she wanted. I thought I might have forgotten something in my hospital room. She had tears in her eyes, and she reached through the passenger window to give me a hug. “You take care of yourself okay? And you bring that baby here to see me when you get her back okay?” I had tears in my eyes as I hugged her back and thanked her. “I promise I will. Thank you so much for everything.” She had to go back in to finish her shift. As she walked back towards the hospital, we backed out of the parking lot and drove away. It was the saddest drive of my life.