Nurse Shriner looked up from her desk at Tamara’s approach, raising an eyebrow and looking a little nervous that Tamara was approaching her. She pasted on a determined smile.
“What can I do for you, Tamara?”
Tamara stopped on the other side of the desk. She bounced on her heels, anxiety bubbling up from her middle.
“I need help.”
“What do you need?”
Tamara tried to shut off the competing voices. She only needed to talk to one. Nurse Shriner. She was right there in front of Tamara and Tamara didn’t have to guess at whether she was real or not.
“My head is messed up,” Tamara said. She held it for a moment on both sides. “None of this crap is helping.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. You want a med review? Want to talk to Dr. Sutherland about what is working and what isn’t?”
“Nothing is working.”
“Are you having more issues today?” Shriner walked around the desk to put herself in front of Tamara. “What’s going on?”
“I don’t know. I want… to do something to make it stop.”
“What is it that’s happening?”
“They want me to do things. And I want… I don’t want to have this.” Tamara put her hands around her more prominent baby bulge. “Can’t they take it now? Why do they have to wait longer?”
“We have to make sure the baby’s lungs are developed. You’re almost there, honey, but not quite. The best place for him right now is right where he is, growing and developing until he’s big enough to be born.”
Tamara squeezed the round basketball and then let go.
“Zobel said… it’s wrong to harm anyone. Even it.”
“You know that’s true,” Shriner agreed. She motioned to someone behind Tamara. “Are you having thoughts about hurting him again?”
Tamara nodded. She rocked back and forth, trying to stay connected. Anchored. Focus on all five senses…
“What’s up?”
Tamara jumped at Burgess’s voice in her ear. She swung toward him, hands up defensively.
“Easy,” Burgess warned. “Just be cool.”
“Don’t sneak up on me like that,” Tamara snapped. She backed up slightly so that she could see both Burgess and Shriner at the same time.
“Tamara is having thoughts about harming the baby,” Shriner told Burgess. “I think we should get her into an observation room or the infirmary. Call Dr. Sutherland and see what he wants to do about it.”
Burgess nodded his agreement. His eyes were intense as he stared at Tamara. She wanted to tell him to stop looking at her and go away, but he needed to watch her. Somebody needed to watch her to make sure she wasn’t going to hurt herself. Zobel said it was wrong. Zobel said she could choose whether to do the right thing or not.
“Let’s get you into a watch room, then,” Burgess said, “and we’ll give Sutherland a call.”
Tamara ground her teeth. The last thing she wanted was to be shut in one of the fish tanks, exposed to view, unable to find privacy anywhere, even behind a sheet. It was the worst feeling of exposure, having to sit there without anything to do, without being able to make a move that wasn’t scrutinized.
Burgess held his hand out to either motion her forward or take her by the arm. Tamara took a deep breath in, let it out, and headed in the direction of the observation rooms. Burgess trailed just behind her, keeping his hands to himself and letting her take it at her own pace. The new meds didn’t sedate her quite as much as the previous cocktail had, but everything was harder than it had been when she was unmedicated.
When they got to the observation rooms, Burgess talked to the staff and got her into one. Tamara sat on the bunk with no blankets and stared at herself in the mirrored glass. She hadn’t seen her own image for a long time. Seeing herself after so long, the changes were startling.
Her brown-dyed hair had grown out, with only the very ends of her hair dark, and the rest her natural blond. Her belly wasn’t the only part of her body that had matured and for the first time she had a real figure. But even with the changes to her body, it was her face that she found herself staring at. In spite of the weight that she had put on, her face seemed narrower and more worn. It was the face of an older woman. In the course of just a few years, she had gone from child to teenager to grown woman, and her experiences had worn their way into her face.
Tamara stared at the teardrop tattoos beside her eye. The prison ink wasn’t high quality and the amateur tattooing process left a lot to be desired.
The woman in the mirror was a stranger to Tamara.
30
TAMARA WAS PACING up and down the corridor when Mrs. Henson got there. Dr. Sutherland had once again adjusted her meds, hoping to shut down Tamara’s thoughts about harming the baby, and still, hopefully to help get rid of her delusions.
Rather than being too tired, the new med, or its combination with one of the others Tamara was on, made her anxious and restless. She couldn’t sit down on her bunk or read. She paced up and down the hall, to the nurses’ complaints that she was going to wear a hole in the tile.
“Need to meet with your visitor in one of the meeting rooms,” Sardis, one of the older guards told her.
“I can’t sit still. This is better. You can still see me.”
“Needs to be in a meeting room. Controlled environment. Out here, anything could happen.” He gestured to his surroundings as if perhaps there were medieval weapons hanging on the walls or a stash of firearms behind glass. Break glass in case of emergency. Tamara rolled her eyes at him, but didn’t share the images.
“I can walk in the meeting room?”
Sardis considered. It was technically against the rules, but he knew how restive Tamara had been since her last med change.
“You can pace in the meeting room,” he agreed. “Unless I think you’re losing control. Then you’re either going to have to sit down or go back to your room.”
Tamara nodded her agreement. It was the best offer she was going to get. The three of them went to the biggest meeting room and Sardis removed the extra chairs so that Mrs. Henson was sitting down and Tamara had room to walk.
Mrs. Henson looked uncomfortable sitting down while everyone else was standing or walking. She shifted in her seat a couple of times. Tamara breathed out heavily and paced the short distance up and down the room.
“I’m glad you asked to see me,” Mrs. Henson offered tentatively. She didn’t speak the rest of the thought. That Tamara had never asked for her to come before. She’d never asked for anyone.
“Yeah.” Tamara nodded. “Thanks for coming.”
She tried to get into a rhythm pacing back and forth, but the room was too short and she couldn’t move quickly in the narrow space between the table and the wall.
“How have you been?”
“Not so good. Doctor’s changed meds around again.”
“Did it help? Is it any better?”
“Don’t know. Maybe. I’m trying…” Tamara stopped pacing and put one hand on top of her rounded tummy. “I’m trying to do the right thing, but it’s hard to know what that is.”
Mrs. Henson nodded slowly. “You’re in a very challenging situation,” she said. “Like a lot of the girls that I get.”
“At least they can decide what they want. They won’t let me do what I want.”
“I know. But a lot of the girls I deal with feel the same way, even if they do have more freedom to choose than you do. A lot of them feel trapped, whether because their parents have told them that they only have one option, or because social services is pushing them in a particular direction, or maybe they can’t do what they want to because they don’t think they have the skills or the education. They end up losing jobs, dropping out of school, kicked out of families, dumped by their boyfriends… I don’t think it’s ever easy.”
Tamara resumed her pacing, arching her back slightly to try to ease the ache caused by the extra weight in front. She didn’t feel like she was eve
r going to be rid of the baby and be herself again.
“I’m just trying not to harm,” she told Mrs. Henson. “The nurses say just a few more weeks… I just have to hold on… that long.”
“It probably seems like forever,” Mrs. Henson sympathized. Tamara heard the unspoken words in her mind. But it’s not. It’s just a little longer.
For Tamara, the time stretched out in front of her as far ahead as she could see. She kept telling herself that everything would be okay and go back to normal once she had the baby out of her. But she was afraid of what Dr. Sutherland had said. Maybe the pregnancy had triggered a permanent shift in her condition. There was no guarantee that once she was through the pregnancy, she would feel better.
“I don’t know what to do.”
Mrs. Henson shook her head slowly. “There’s not much you can do at this point. Just hang in there like you’ve been doing. The real question is what you are going to do afterward.”
Tamara looked at her. “After? Nothing… just… go on.”
“What do you want to happen to the baby after? Do you want to keep him? Do you have someone you want to raise him? Surely you’ve thought about this.”
Tamara shook her head, frowning at the suggestion. “I can’t keep it. There’s no babies in juvie.”
“Maybe not, but you’re coming up on your anniversary before too long. If you get out on parole, you could take custody. You would just need someone to look after him for the period between your delivery and getting out on parole.”
“They won’t let me be near children. That was one of my parole terms. No children under the age of five.”
“They can’t apply that to your own child.”
Just like they hadn’t been able to keep Mr. and Mrs. Baker from having another child. They hadn’t taken Amy away from them when she was born, despite the Bakers’ history.
Tamara shook her head, shaking off the images. Mr. and Mrs. Baker weren’t there and she wasn’t going to think about them. Likewise, she wouldn’t consider having a baby in her life. She knew how she felt around babies. She couldn’t take care of one. She had no desire to.
“I don’t want it. I don’t want anything to do with it.”
“You may feel differently once he’s born.”
“You think they would give me any choice? They wouldn’t give custody of a baby to me. They’d be crazy to.”
“You’re not a proven risk to other children. You acted to protect Amy.”
And Sybil’s little sisters, though Mrs. Henson didn’t know anything about that, and neither did the parole board or social services. As far as any of them were concerned, she was a child killer, and they would be stupid to allow her near any child, even her own.
She wrung her hands. “I don’t want it,” she repeated firmly. “They can put it up for adoption. I don’t care. I don’t want it.”
Mrs. Henson nodded. “All right,” she agreed.
Tamara had been expecting an argument and Mrs. Henson’s answer left her feeling let down. She continued to pace, taking a couple of long, slow breaths. “I just want it to all be over.”
Mrs. Henson didn’t answer right away. She considered Tamara’s statement. “You want the pregnancy to be over? Is that what you mean?”
“No. Yes. I don’t know. I mean… everything. Not just having it out of me… I don’t want to be here. I don’t want to be in prison forever. I don’t want my brain to be messed up. I don’t want to deal with all of this.”
“You sound… depressed.”
Tamara snorted. Depressed didn’t begin to cover it.
“I guess.”
“Are you… considering hurting yourself?”
Tamara looked at Sardis. He was watching her carefully, listening to every word, even though he was trying to look uninterested. She knew he was waiting for her answer. Just waiting to report back to Dr. Sutherland and the medical staff.
“I was already under watch,” she said. “I just got off. Dr. Sutherland said these new meds would help. I’m not going to hurt the baby, but…” She trailed off. What was she going to say? That she was going to hurt herself? She would just find herself slapped back into the fishbowl, and she couldn’t stand the scrutiny any longer.
“Tamara. If you’re feeling depressed and feeling like you might harm yourself, people need to know. It’s not your fault and you’re not going to be punished. You need help.”
Tamara nodded.
There was silence in the room. Tamara didn’t know what to say. How to deal with the sucking sinkhole of depression that she found herself in. They couldn’t take it away with all of their medications. Tamara couldn’t just put her troubles aside and cheer up. She didn’t know what she was supposed to do.
“Um…” Mrs. Henson cleared her throat and looked at Sardis. “I know the answer is probably no, but… can I give Tamara a hug?”
Sardis scowled. He was already treading on thin ice by letting Tamara walk around during the visit when he was supposed to ensure that she stayed in her chair. His jaw clenched and he looked at Tamara. Finally, he nodded his head.
“Pat-down first,” he said. “Both of you. I’m not supposed to allow any contact…”
Mrs. Henson was looking at Tamara, trying to meet her eyes. “Is that okay with you, Tamara? Can I give you a hug?”
Tamara didn’t remember ever having any physical contact with Mrs. Henson before. Maybe a touch on the arm or the hand. She certainly would never have allowed her foster mother to get close enough to hug her before.
“I dunno. I guess.”
For a minute, none of them said anything or made any move. Then Tamara moved over to face the wall and put her hands up. Sardis gave her a thorough pat-down and didn’t find anything. Mrs. Henson got up and Sardis stepped her through a pat-down as well.
Tamara and Mrs. Henson looked at each other. Mrs. Henson reached out tentatively to touch Tamara on the shoulder. Tamara was uncertain. She waited for the rush of anger and anxiety, but it didn’t come. She swallowed once and breathed shallowly, just feeling Mrs. Henson’s warm hand on her shoulder. Mrs. Henson reached out with the other hand, reaching around Tamara to embrace her. Tamara put her arms out tentatively, not sure where to put them. The awkwardness was just magnified by the fact that Sardis was watching them like a hawk, just waiting for one of them to make a suspicious move.
Mrs. Henson pulled Tamara gently toward her, and then against her, their warm bodies meeting. Tamara tightened her grip.
“It’s going to be okay,” Mrs. Henson murmured. “I know this has been so hard on you but it will all work out. Things will get better. I’ll do whatever I can to help you.”
Tamara nestled in her arms. She hadn’t had a hug like that, a real hug, since her Gran had died. So long ago, she could hardly remember it. How it felt to feel warm and safe and protected.
Tears flooded her eyes without warning. She gasped, her diaphragm jumping jerkily. She tried to control the sobs, but couldn’t.
“Sh, it’s okay. It’s okay, Tamara.”
“I just want… I want to feel better. Like I used to be. But everything is gone bad. Nothing…” She tried to catch her breath, her chest and stomach jumping with each gasp. “Nothing is ever going to be right again!”
“You’re making progress.” Mrs. Henson rubbed her back soothingly. “I know it’s slow and it’s hard to see, but you are. You’ve had so much to process. You’ve had so much trauma, and then the pregnancy and psychosis. But you are doing good. You calling me, telling me that you need help? You would never have done that before, would you?”
Tamara shook her head. “No.” Her voice was muffled from pressing her face against Mrs. Henson.
“No. You didn’t trust me. You couldn’t ask me for anything, because I might say no, or I might hurt you and take advantage of you.” Her grip on Tamara tightened, giving her a squeeze. “You would never have let me touch you.”
Tamara agreed.
“It’s better if you can trust and reach
out to people. Because people can help. You might feel like you’re alone, but there are people who want to help you. I promise.”
“What can you do?” Tamara snuffled and swallowed. “You can’t make them change their mind about the baby.”
“No. But you’re almost at the finish line with this pregnancy. At this point, he’s viable. You’re just giving him a little more time in the nest, to get nice and strong.”
Tamara tensed. She reacted viscerally to the thought of the baby getting stronger. She didn’t want the life inside of her getting stronger than she was. Overpowering her. It already kicked her until she was sure all of her internal organs were black and blue with bruises. It controlled her thoughts. It made her crave things she hated and get sick from things she used to like. She didn’t want it growing and strengthening until it tore its way out of her like some horror movie sequence.
“It’s okay,” Mrs. Henson soothed. “It will be okay.”
Tamara clung to her. “I’m scared.”
“Of course you are! Everybody is scared with their first pregnancy. And sometimes scared with every one of them. It’s a big, scary thing. And yours is even bigger and scarier than normal, isn’t it?”
Tamara shuddered. “Yes.”
“I’m going to have to ask you to sit down now,” Sardis said. “Before someone happens by and I get in major trouble.”
Mrs. Henson helped guide Tamara into one of the two chairs Sardis had left in the room. Tamara sat with her arms around her belly, squeezing. The baby kicked strongly against her.
“Has anyone talked to you about what is going to happen when you go into labor?” Mrs. Henson asked. “I mean… physically?”
Tamara shook her head. “I know, though,” she said, and sniffled. “I’ve seen on TV.”
“Well, it isn’t quite the same, seeing it on TV and going through it yourself.”
“Yeah. I guess not.”
Tortured Teardrops (Tamara's Teardrops Book 3) Page 34
