Long Blue Line: Based on a True Story

by E. McNew

  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.

  Chapter 49

  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.

  Chapter 50

  Derrick returned to work rather quickly because he really had no choice. He went to attend as many visits as he could, but there were times that he had to leave the car with me or drop me off because the visits were so frequent. His boss didn’t yet know about our situation. Every time they dropped her off for a visit, she had a bottle and I could tell it was formula. It was getting more difficult to pump when I needed to because of all the things that I had to do on a daily basis.

  I continued Intensive Outpatient treatment per the Judge’s order. These classes were held three times a week for four hours per class. Since I had already been through this, I wasn’t really learning any new information. Sometimes the classes would be interesting, but mostly it was just a long annoying ramble from another drug addict with serious legal problems. I couldn’t help but wonder who was really sober. Of course they all claimed to be, but I had my doubts. I did, however, find the most comfort from this group on a sad day in May. I woke up in the morning still groggy and made my way to the coffee machine. When the coffee was made, I sat down to my computer as usual to check my email and try to get my day started. I had an email from my mom. The moment I read it my heart sank and I began bawling my eyes out.

  Chloe is four today. I’m so sad and heartbroken. Take care of yourself Sweet-pea. Love, Mom

  This would be the first of many birthdays that I would be away from her. I had been so busy and focused on getting my baby back home that I didn’t even know what day it was, but I knew my mind tried to block it out. I sat at the computer desk and just cried. I was so sad. It felt as if my heart were breaking all over again. I went to our visit that day with puffy eyes. I tried to present myself as best as I could, and I hoped that they wouldn’t think anything bad about me. She mostly slept for the visit, which was for the better since I wasn’t mentally there anyway. I was with Chloe - wondering if she was okay and wondering if she still thought about me. Nothing was her fault, or Zoe’s fault, and I was so very sad at the thought of them maybe thinking that it was. I wanted desperately for this pain to go away and to wake up from this horrible nightmare. I wanted my babies to be back with me. I really couldn’t accept that they were just gone. I was dropped off at my scheduled class at the Outpatient Center and didn’t know how I would get through it. The counselor started the group off with everyone going in a circle giving a quick rundown of how their progress had been and how they were doing in general. I knew that I wasn’t going to be able to hold my tears in. I was typically pretty stable in the group sessions and didn’t show too much emotion. Everyone looked surprised when I couldn’t explain what was wrong because I was crying so hard. They knew that there was really nothing that could be said to make it better. They were just there for me. They gave me hugs and pats on the back and zero judgment. It was probably the best help that I could have gotten from anyone at the time.

  I started Drug Court shortly after our last Court Hearing. It was extremely nerve-racking. The Judge, along with Social Workers and my Attorney, would go over all of the progress that I had made for the last two weeks and make any revisions if they felt it would benefit me. One of the first things that I did was explain that going to Alcoholics Anonymous groups were not helpful because the members made it clear that it was only for a group for alcohol abusers. They kind of seemed like they believed that alcohol abusers were better than drug abusers. God forbid if I were to accidently say, “My name is Elizabeth, I am a drug addict.” I had to be sure to say, “My name is Elizabeth; I’m an alcoholic.” It felt more strange to call myself an alcoholic than it did a drug addict - whether that makes me a bad person or not. The Court understood my position and they allowed me to replace the Alcoholics Anonymous meetings with Narcotics Anonymous meetings or Cocaine Anonymous meetings. Either way, I had to go to a lot of meetings. They wanted me to go to five meetings a week. I was extremely busy with my schedule every day, and it was more difficult to sit through the night meetings. This was the time that I just wanted to put on my pajamas and watch TV. But after attending each meeting, I was always glad that I went. I always felt better about my situation because it was clear that I was not alone.

  I began to wonder why the Court didn’t order Derrick to do anything except drug testing, and he refused to go to the meetings with me for support. Deep down I knew that he really needed these classes - probably more so than I did. I started to resent the fact that I had to do more work than he did to get our daughter back. He definitely helped put me in all of the horrible situations and allowed some really low-life people into my home and life. He was the one that put drugs in my coffee and exposed me to substances that I never wanted to even be around. It was hard for me not to become irritable over this, and I was quick to snap at him. I understood that I made my own choices and I was responsible for them, but at the same time he had issues just as much as I did, and he should have been doing just as much work to better himself for our daughter.

  He started to come home with that look on his face again. It was the same look that he had when I was pregnant, and it was the same look on his face that I vividly recall when we used drugs together a year ago. I carefully questioned him - only for him to lash out at me and t
wist the conversation around to where it somehow ended up being my fault. He never confessed to using any substance, and once again it was easier for me to accept his lies than deal with the truth. Deep down, a part of me knew that if the Social Services were to order a hair follicle test, he would surely fail. The better half of my brain desperately wanted this to happen. Then the Court would see that it wasn’t just my fault, and I wasn’t the only bad person who made mistakes. This would give me an excuse to take my daughter and leave.

  Occasionally, I would daydream about taking my daughter and going to my mom’s house. I knew she would take care of us while I got on my feet, and I would be away from this person who gave me so many conflicting messages. We were speaking more now, and she was always supportive when I would tell her about my new accomplishment or the last visit with my baby. I tried to avoid talking about Derrick because I already knew how she felt, and I knew that it wouldn’t be a productive conversation. I made sure that I was on time for every visit, and every time I saw my little girl she got bigger and bigger. It was adorable when she started smiling, and I always remembered to bring my camera with me to the visits. Eventually, the visitation was transferred to the Foster Care office. The staff agreed to supervise the visits because they were so frequent, and the Social Services had other visits to supervise as well. I liked the visits better here. The women that supervised them were always really nice, and they never made me feel uncomfortable or bad about my situation. The next Court Hearing wouldn’t be until my baby was 6 months old. It was horrible to have to think about waiting so long to get her home, but at least being able to see her grow and visit her almost on a daily basis gave me the opportunity to bond with her and let her know that I was her mom.