This letter is near and dear to me. Honestly, writing this is the reason why I decided to start this page. I had to write my life story as an assignment in treatment towards getting close to being discharged. It’s very personal and goes over quite a bit of my life, but there’s still a lot missing out of it too. After reading this out loud to my group, I felt a little better. Actually telling my story and people listening. It made me realize something though: A room full of strangers knew more about me than any of my friends and family. They know in general what I been through, but not in detail. Only way I can really describe is like an egg. They have seen the outer shell, but this shows what’s on the inside. If that makes any sense? Enjoy…
Writing my life story is honestly the most difficult part of this program. I don’t even know where to start. My life story is depressing. Full of struggle and unfortunate events. I have no happy ending to give you, but here it goes.
One of my earliest memories and probably the start of my continuous train wreck life. Started as any other ordinary day. I was seven years old and still living where I was born, Council Bluffs, Iowa. My family was still a family back then. I lived with my mother, sister, two brothers, their father, and our grandma who had her own room in the basement. That August morning everyone was already up except for Grandma. So, my mom told me to go downstairs and wake her up. When i got down there, i found my grandma laying off the edge of her bed, still snoring but when I tried waking her up, she didn’t budge. I went back upstairs and told my mom. Thinking her mom was just sleeping hard, she told me to turn on her stereo on and jump on the bed to wake her up. Surely that would work.
So off I go back downstairs to her room, turn her stereo up, and start bouncing around on the bed. After a few minutes I realized she wasn’t working either. I got down, knelt down beside her. I tried shaking her. Nothing. And that’s when I heard it. At that moment something told me that my grandma isn’t going to wake up. My grandma was gone…forever. At that age I don’t think I knew what death even was, until that very second. I started crying. My best friend was gone.
After a few minutes past, I pulled myself together, regrouped myself. I kept telling myself that I was wrong. This isn’t actually happening. I got back up on my feet and headed back upstairs. Yet again told my mother that Grandma still wouldn’t wake up. This time though, she decided to go downstairs herself.
Suddenly she screams at me – “WHY DIDN’T YOU TELL ME SHE WAS PALE?!!” Obviously, at the age of seven I had no idea what that even meant. I believe that day put the rest of my life in motion. Everything changed. My mom was definitely never the same. Can’t really blame her though. She lost her mom at 26.
Not long after that, just a few months later my younger siblings and their father just vanished one day. We had no idea where they were and couldn’t find them. Come to find out their father decided to just up and leave, taking them all the way to Pennsylvania. Pretty much kidnapped them. My sister was about 4 years old, one brother a year old, and my youngest brother only a few months old and now separated from his mother.
On my 8th birthday, I spent the whole day with my dad. I wasn’t going to be able to see him for a good while. My mom needed to be with her babies. ALL of her babies. Which meant we had to follow them out to the middle of nowhere, Pennsylvania. Leaving everyone we knew and loved thousands of miles away.
We lived out there for about two years. I loved it there. Its beautiful. Clean, fresh air. Nothing but woods. We lived in a very small town of 430 people. Where everyone knows you and nosy as fuck.
As much I loved it there, reality was it actually sucked living out there. My siblings father was mean and controlling, at least to Mom and I. They were always fighting and I have a bad habit of getting in the middle of it. I wanted to help my mom. One time it about got me shoved down the stairs.
I remember one day I was playing outside, minding my own business when their dad came over to me. He had something he wanted to ask me. He asked me if I would like it if he adopted me. Even at the age of nine I had some of my signature attitude and told him no while laughing. He’s an asshole. Hell no I didn’t want him as my dad. I hated him. Afterwards, I went and found my mother and told her what just happened. Even to this day I start laughing just thinking about it.
Even my siblings grandparents and family treated me like dirt. I wasn’t one of them so I wasn’t family. They all favored my siblings. For example, for Christmas they all got homemade matching pillow and blankets. Did little, innocent nine year old me get on? Of course not..
Eventually, my life took another drastic turn. This time for the better. After putting up with the bullshit and abuse for two years, my mom finally came up with a plan of her own. Before school one morning she shared her secret with me. Today was going to be the last day at that school and last day I would see my friends. But I couldn’t say anything or act like anything was going on. We could not risk their dad getting wind of the plan. I wanted out of there almost as badly as she did, I promised to not tell a soul.
Later that day, my dad, his friend, and my great aunt came and got all of us and whatever my mom could pack up quickly. Two years later we were on the road, finally heading back home. Leaving that douche in our dust
KARMA’S A BITCH
We actually ended up in Plattsmouth, NE. At first living with my great aunt then getting our own home with my dad now living with us. I couldn’t of been any happier. Life was finally good for once.
I ended up losing both my grandma and my grandpa on my dad’s side when I was about 11. My grandma had a heart attack, leaving my grandpa alone in this world for the first time in ages. He didn’t know what to do and was miserable. A few months after Grandma past, he followed from a broken heart. They lived in a trailer which we ended up taking over. We were finally back where we started at, good ol’ Council Bluffs, Iowa.
Shortly after moving, my parents decided to call it quits and end their relationship. They were tired of fighting and were unhappy. Since I was older now, I got to choose who I wanted to live with. My mom or my dad. Really, it wasn’t even a question. My mom and I had a rocky relationship and also fought all the time. I was always Daddy’s Little Girl and spoiled rotten. Obviously, I chose to stay with my dad.
My dad and I were always super close. All that suddenly changed once he started dating his now wife, I didn’t like her. Thought she was a bitch and were constantly budding heads. It only got worse when we moved in with her. After only dating for a short time, under a year, they decided they wanted to get married. Not only was my dad getting married to some chick he just met, but they decided they wanted to get married in Las Vegas with just a handful of family and friends. Adding fuel to my already lit fire, I wasn’t allowed to go. I wasn’t allowed to go to my own father;s wedding.Yeah, I hated her even more.
Things just kept going down hill. When I turned 13, my dad sat me down, he needed to talk to me. That was the night I was told the man who raised me and loved me wasn’t actually my biological father. We went through the whole “This doesn’t change anything…I still love you. I’m still your dad….” talk. Either way, I was upset. Honestly, I’m not sure if I was more mad that they kept this secret from me all my life and lied to me or that I wished he never told me at all. I didn’t care. The only thing that changed was my heart was now shattered. Didn’t change anything else. I didn’t care who my biological dad was. He was a stranger. A nobody to me.
I was a young girl in middle school trying to figure out who I was and now had all this new information hanging over my head. To make matters even worse, they made me switch schools, yet again. The new school was horrible. It was elementary school, middle school, and high school all crammed together in a small, hot, old ass school. I don’t remember really making any new friends. Didn’t get close to anybody. I would just hang out with my friends from my old school. Specially my best friend Amber. Boy we were an interesting mix. Here I was just you typical girl, wore whatever the popular trends was at the time, and listened to the mainstream pop music on the radio. Then you had Amber. Goth. Wore nothing but black and parachute pants with the chains, and her crazy, intense, screaming hard rock and metal. It was all completely new to me. Put aside our obvious differences, he quickly became best friends. Even today, I don’t think I’ve ever had that same connection with anyone else. I swear we could read each other’s minds.
Over time, our friendship grew stronger and stronger until one day I realized it grew to something deeper than that. I had fallen in love with my best friend and I didnt know what to do. I didn’t want to tell her and her not feel the same way and get all uncomfortable and weird around me. I didn’t want to lose my best friend.
I eventually gathered up all the courage I had and finally told her how I felt. Not only did I not lose my best friend but that ended up being my first love. We were still pretty young, barely teenagers so of course we never actually did anything other than kiss and cuddle. Which when I look back at it now, just makes it that much more special. That was the most innocent, pure love anyone is lucky to experience.
The fairy tale was short lived though. On Christmas Eve I convinced my dad to let me go stay the night at her house. We were cuddled up on the living room floor watching Lord of the Rings when the house phone went off. It was my dad. I was to get all my stuff ready because he was on his way to come pick me up. I was mad. He said I could stay the night and now I was reluctantly gathering up my stuff.
That ended up being the longest, most angry, hateful, and uncomfortable car ride of my life. I got in the car with him and his wife. After a little bit i realized we weren’t heading in the direction of our house. Confused, I asked where we were going. That’s when my dad informed me that they made a decision and that I’m going to go live with my mom now up in Sioux City. What the hell? Why? What was going on? I was even more lost and asked why. Come to find out, while I was over at Amber’s, my dad found my journal so of course he just had to read it. And well of course he didn’t like what he read. A lot of it was about how much I hated his wife. But you need to understand anytime she pissed me off, instead of running my mouth and getting into trouble I would go write in my journal and let off some steam. So, I’m sure there were parts that crossed the line and didn’t appreciate me calling her nothing but a bitch. With all that said, I don’t think that was what they had the hardest time processing or accepting. Not at all. The thing that caused the pot to boil over was that my dad learned I was dating my best friend. A girl. A girl who I was just cuddling with at her house just moments ago. So they did the only thing they knew would stop us from having ANY contact – kicking me out and forcing me to live with my mother 100 miles away. Merry fucking Christmas right? But we didnt let the distance between us stop our relationship. We would send each other letters at first, then once chatting online started becoming a thing we communicated that way. We ended up dating for over a year before we decided to go our separate ways. Over 13 years later we still catch up every once in awhile.
So, that’s how I ended up in this damn town. Needless to say, my relationship with my dad was never the same. A few years ago, when I was living with my son at the Children’s Hospital, I did attempt to repair it, but it just wasn’t the same. He’s still married to her and has four kids now. Three adopted and one actually his.He has everything he ever wanted now, his perfect little family.and there’s no room for me in that family picture. I’m the troubled child now, the embarrassment.
After only living up here for a little over a year, home life went from bad to worse. I was now living with my mom, my brothers, my mom’s boyfriend, and his son who was the same age as me. I always did good in school. When I wasn’t in school, I avoided being at home as much as I possibly could. Spent most of my time at the skate park. Alone. Didn’t bother me none though, was better than being home. There was always fighting going on. Either me and my mom, me and her boyfriend, her and her boyfriend, her and his son, or him and his son. It was always someone. I remember spending nights up at the top of the stairs, by where us kids’ rooms were, with my step brother. Just listening to my mom and his dad fighting, screaming, yelling, hitting, shit being thrown and breaking. I was just thankful it never woke my little brothers up and having to hear it. Or at least that’s what I choose to believe.
It was complete chaos. My mom’s boyfriend would even go to the extent of hiding or disconnecting the house phone so that my mom couldn’t use it. Which in return would end up pissing me off because that also meant I couldn’t use the phone. The cops were starting to become familiar of them. Same shit, different day. Well, until one day their dumbasses fucked themselves and the rest of us. Like idiots, they called the cops on each other. Not going to go through the details but they both ended up in jail that day and a good family friend came and got my brothers and I. We ended up in Carroll, Iowa at the family friends house since my mom wasn’t sure when she’d be getting out,
Well we never ended up being able to go back home. Instead CPS got called and forced us to go to the Crittenton Center. That place is fucking horrible! If it weren’t for my little brothers also being stuck there, I would of ran away.
After eight days, we got lucky. Really lucky. A married couple was willing to take all three of us. Not only did they keep my brothers and I together, they also gave us a good home. You always hear horror stories about really bad foster homes and parents. I’ll admit, I didn’t act really grateful at the time. I was angry, disappointed, and depressed. We just got taken from our mom and also learned she had a problem. She’s a meth addict. My little brothers were able to leave the foster home before I did. They ended up back in Pennsylvania, at their dads.I had the option of going back to my dad’s but i refused. I would rather live with a foster family than with a parent who disowned me for being bisexual and still dating her.
I eventually ended up back with my mom around like 15 or so. Got my first job the day I turned 16, had a car, paid my own gas and car insurance, bought myself my first prepaid cell phone. I paid for everything, my parents didn’t just give me shit. I was still doing decent in school. I actually ended up graduating a year early and became a manager at my job once I turned 18 and had my own apartment.
Shortly after getting out of school, I ended up pregnant with my oldest, Brayden at the age of 19. I left his dad and kicked him out while I was still pregnant. He would always be on his phone, not even say ‘hey baby! How was your day’ when i would come home from a long day at work, huge and pregnant, ankles and feet swollen. He was too distracted by his phone and to top it all off, wouldn’t do a damn thing to help around the house. I could barely move because of how swollen I was. So, I got rid of the dead weight.
Even after I had our son, we’d hardly ever see him. Instead of the father calling to see his own son, it was Grandma always asking for him. His own mother saw his child more than he did. My then boyfriend, Greg, and father of my next two children, was more of a father to my son than he was.
Brayden ended up having Chiari Malformation and had to have surgery to treat it. I ended up losing my job because of being with him at Children’s Hospital in Sioux Falls. On top of that, his babysitter now refused to watch him because she was too worried and scared something would happen. My boyfriend had a job but his income alone couldn’t cover our bills, so we ended up not being able to pay our rent and losing our home. I had no idea what to do. Didn’t know where we were going to go. So, I made one of the most difficult decisions I’ve had to make, the RESPONSIBLE decision. I called my son’s father and told him what was going on and if he could take our son temporarily. Biggest mistake I ever made. He would just toy with me and never let me see my baby. The two or three times he did let me see him was only because I’d play along to his fantasy of us ever getting back together, being a family, and he wanted us to have another baby together. Once I put my foot down and refused to feed into his delusion, I never saw my son again. Every time I asked, he just played mind games. I even tried just showing up at their house one time. It was his birthday and i just wanted to see my baby and give him the presents I bought him. But his dad figured out what I was up to and was able to leave the house, with our son and go hide out at his buddy;s house. He knew I didn’t know where the person lived and wouldn’t be able to find them. Using a child just to hurt the mom because she refuses to be with you. It’s fucking sickening. I even begged him to bring him down to Omaha to meet his baby brother who was in critical condition and came close to losing him. To no surprise, he refused. Even to this day, Brayden has never been able to meet his siblings. His family. Unfortunately the law doesn’t do anything to stop these types of situations. Since he is the father he could do whatever he wants. No way in hell did I have enough money to get a lawyer. So, he pretty much just kidnapped my son. He actually just had a birthday. Turned 9 years old on September 14th. His dad ended up coming up with the money for a lawyer and got custody since has had him over the years. My son doesn’t even know who I am.
After all that I was smoking weed all the time. Drinking and popping pills here and there. Anything to help bury the pain. I was never the partying type. Never even smoked weed until after graduating. Never touched a pill until I had my wisdom teeth removed.
Fast forward to 2013, Greg and I had our son Andrew. It was one of the best days of my life,quickly followed by the worse. The celebration of my handsome little man was short lived. The day after having him, the nurses were doing their regular newborn tests before we can go home. He ended up not passing on the tests. He had a heart murmur. Greg and I had no idea what that could even possibly mean. The nurses kept trying to reassure us saying that it’s probably nothing. Some babies are just born with a murmur.
Lord how terribly wrong they were.
The next few years were the hardest, most challenging, and darkest time of my life. My son was born with congenital heart disease, more specifically he had Hypoplastic Left Heart Syndrome. Basically, he was born with his left ventricle too small and non functioning. He also had valves that leaked. He had his first open heart surgery at 8 days old down at the Children’s Hospital in Omaha. The surgery itself went well, but he had some complications afterwards. He had to be placed on a pacemaker because his heart went into complete heart block ( his heart stopped beating on its own ). After about three weeks he slowly started getting his rhythm back and was able to get rid of the feeding tube and start eating from a bottle.
After about 45 days, I was finally able to bring my newborn home. As exciting as it was, it was equally as stressful. He was nowhere near out of the woods, never will be. He would need a minimum of 4-6 open heart surgeries, not including any emergencies or anything.
Andrew did really well that first but eventually it was time for his second surgery. This time we were there for a few months and ended up doing two surgeries. After that things started not going as well. After the most recent surgery, he wasn’t able to keep anything down. Not food. Not formula. Nothing. No one could figure out what had happen, he was perfectly fine before the surgery. Without any improvement on his vomiting, they just sent him home with a feeding tube down his nose and throat. It just made it worse by irritating the back of his throat and causing to gag even more. His vomiting had gotten worse so I got him an appointment Monday. But by the weekend he had taken a turn for the worse. On top on not being able to keep anything down, he was now fussy and not feeling good, then started getting lethargic on me ( pretty much non responsive/almost unconscious ). We went to the ER and Children’s was once again. By the time they got there, his body was going into shock. He had to be put on a breathing tube before being able to begin the trip to Omaha.
After getting some tests done, they found out he had caught the rhino virus, which is just a common cold to you and me. But for him, it ended up almost taking his life. I was told if I wouldn’t of taken him to the ER when I did and waited until Monday or even the next day, that he probably would not of made it. It ended up causing damage to his heart and needing more surgeries. After months of me complaining about his vomiting, they finally put in a more permanent feeding tube through his stomach called a ‘G Button’. It finally helped and he actually still has it to this day.
We were at the hospital a good six months, went home for almost two months when he went completely blue on me. I was pregnant with my daughter, Nevaeh at the time and she thought she needed to try coming 2 months early. Had to stay at the hospital for two days to stop me from going into preterm labor. Within an hour of me getting discharged, i was rushing my son into the ER. His blood sugar had gotten dangerously low. Back to Children’s we went.
This time was worse than any of our previous stays. Within 3 weeks he had 3 more heart surgeries. I had his heart give out on me not just once, but twice. Was even shoved out of the way by a nurse we he suddenly started to code and needed CPR. Yet, it only kept getting worse.After the second surgery, it was already after 5:00 AM, and in need of a coffee. Greg was starting a new job there in Omaha by 6:00. We were trying to move there officially to be closer to the hospital. I had Greg take me to the McDonald’s two blocks from the hospital to get my coffee before he had to head off to his first day at work. I was only gone maybe ten minutes, got dropped off at the hospital, and made my way to our floor. Right as I was approaching our room, I saw everyone running into his room, quickly followed his alarms going off. His blood pressure was so low that it wasn’t actually circulating. I had to call his dad to turn the hell around and rush back to the hospital, We had no idea to know if he was going to be okay or not. Which consequently cost him his job. His surgeon had to do an emergency surgery right there in the room with us watching right outside the doors.He had to be placed on ECMO ( a form of life support that controls your heart and lungs when someone’s body isn’t doing it on its own ) and his chest remained open, you could see everything in his chest. Later that day they were able to get off the ECMO and placed back on just a normal breathing tube.
The next few months were hell. I ended up having Nevaeh by 1:00 AM that night due to the stress. She was a month early, but perfectly healthy. As for Andrew, he had to be placed in a medically induced coma because his body couldn’t handle being awake and had one of his lungs collapse. Once again here i was with my new baby, my beautiful daughter, and being robbed the enjoyment and celebration of finally meeting her while my son was in the hospital and pretty much a vegetable at this point.
Over a month had past and Andrew hadn’t made any progress. We have had a lot of close calls and dodged a lot of bullets in the past but we never had to have “The Talk” until now. One of his doctors sat down with us to discuss our options at this point. We only had two options, really only one real option. It came down to either we continue what we been doing, Hoping and praying for him to start making progress. He had already been like this for almost two months. The likelihood of him ever bouncing back and get better was about slim to none. And there’s no way I’d allow my child to lay in a hospital bed as a vegetable for the rest of his life. That’s just cruel and selfish. Option number two was to have another surgery but this one to put a trach in. That was his only chance at maybe getting any better. There was no way he’d be able to inflate his lung when laying on a bed 24/7 and not up moving around. As much as a trach scared me, that was the decision. Our last, single, sliver of hope we had left.
Andrew was finally able to meet his new baby sister when she was almost two months old. H had to relearn everything, he couldn’t even sit up on his own. He lost all of his muscles. We had a long road of recovery ahead of us, but at the moment, I was just thankful to see his big, beautiful brown eyes once again. I was so happy to have my little man back.
Yet again, at slightest glimmer of hope, it was quickly squashed. A little over a month later, December 16th, 2015 to be exact is the day my boyfriend of the past 7 years and father of two of my children laid his hands on me. We were over at my best friend’s house that night. We were outside when we got into an argument. That argument quickly turned into a full on brawl. I had never been hit so hard in my life. He was hitting me like a man. Of course I didn’t just stand there and take it, I fought back. I probably wouldn’t ne here today, especially with him strangling me. It was an apartment complex so multiple neighbors saw everything and called the cops. He went to jail and I went to the hospital.
My whole world had suddenly crumbled all around me. Here I was with a 2 ½ month old baby, my son in the hospital fighting for his life and now me trying to protect mine from their father, my best friend. Even today he denies everything, claims he doesn’t remember any of it. Pretty convenient. I don’t get how you can deny it when you have seen the photos the hospital had taken and all the eye witness accounts. Naturally, I wasn’t in a good place in my life after those last few months, hell I hadn’t been since Andrew was born.
Before I had my daughter I would go to a park near the hospital with another couple we met at the hospital and had grown close to. We’d go back in the woods where we built a decent little for where we’d go have our daily “therapy sessions”. We’d get high, smoke some weed and usually have a few beers after spending all day at the hospital with our sick babies. Afterwards, we’d go back to where the parents like us stayed at and went to bed just to wake up and relive our nightmare of a life.
I was usually high all day, every day just to stay sane. Occasionally drink and maybe take some pills. My friends, the couple from the hospital were one of the families that had been there the longest and everybody knew. Unfortunately, their story didn’t end happily. Their daughter ended up passing and they went back home. After awhile I realized we were now that family. We had been there for a good portion of the past 2 ½ years, this year alone we were there 11 out of 12 months. I was now that parent everyone felt bad for and whose kid has had the most heart surgeries. I absolutely hated it. I’m not a people person and was surrounded by hundreds of people every day. I hated all the attention. Always felt like all the eyes were on me.
After the beating, it probably took a good week or two before I showed my face back up there. It was embarrassing and I was beyond depressed on top of it. I didn’t want to be around all those people! Specially now. I just wanted to be left alone. As much of a train wreck I was, my kids still needed me. I might not of been taking the best care of myself at the time, but my kids were taking care of. Even after everything that had just happened, I still made sure they had a Christmas. Even if we were spending it in the hospital.
January came. Andrew was making great progress, but ended up getting sick. Which after everything, automatically got my brain on panic mode.I was trying to be a parent for the both of them, but it was starting to get a little challenging. Nevaeh was a good baby, usually only cried or fussed if she was ready for a bottle or getting her butt changed, but even that would affect Andrew’s sats. For example it seemed to agitate him whenever she’d start getting nosy causing his blood pressure to rise. I had his nurses ‘politely’ ask me to leave so he wouldn’t stress out. The hospital was starting to make it nearly impossible to be there for both my kids.
Since Andrew was sick, I really didn’t want to leave him alone. If I had learned anything from all of this it was how quickly things can go from good to horrible. I called my mom and asked her if she could come down to Omaha to give me a hand. Once my mom got there, I left Nevaeh with her in my room and I headed back up to Andrew. Stress, anxiety, and worry had me up all night. I can’t sleep when my mind is just racing.I had forgotten my meds back in my room. It was already in the afternoon and had now been up over 24 hours. I asked my mom to bring me three of my xanax. My body was used to my meds by now and my doctor knew if I had to use them to help me sleep, I had to take more than just the one. When she came I told her to just put then on the counter, I was busy doing something else at the moment. I then went to one of the sleeping rooms, took my meds, and finally got some overdue sleep.
I woke up about THREE hours later ON MY OWN. As I was on my way back to my son’s room, his nurse met and and stated she was just about to check on me. Which I didn’t understand why. I had been up for over 24 hours, have a newborn baby, and then add all the depression and stress from the last few months. Sleep was well needed and beyond over due at that point. Then the social worker walked up to me. I don’t remember the full conversation but it ended with me pissed off and her accusing me of being “xannied out”. I told her she must not know what the hell that even is because I was nowhere near being fucked up. If I would of over done my meds, my ass would of been knocked out and sleeping. But no. I woke up in an appropriate time frame and was ready to go on with the day. But instead it ended up going to shit and the hospital yet again harassing me/my family. At that point I was angry and had to get out of there.
And that right there is how I ended up losing my kids. The hospital and I hadn’t been getting along for awhile now, harassing us, or simply crossing the line by sticking their nose in my business. Like how we had one of Andrew’s DOCTORS come and talk to Greg and I about our relationship and how we should really try working out our differences and just be together. Pretty sure you sir are MY SON’S DOCTOR, not MY THERAPIST. That was completely out of line and not their place to tell me what I should do with our relationship. Hope he felt like a real dumbass when I walked into the hospital with bruises everywhere, two goose eggs on my damn head, and a busted lip. The hospital called CPS on me and took my babies January 20th, 2016. I was now accused of abusing prescription drugs, being homeless, and not providing a safe living environment for my children because of the domestic.
Fast forward to the past year or so. I spent the last 2 ½ years fighting for my kids back. Which just recently ended with me reluctantly signing over my rights voluntarily. In that 2 ½ years I had 5 or 6 different case workers so really none of them truly new my case or the history. My case isn’t going anywhere. All my court orders had been done and every time I tried asking what could I do to show more progress, I’d just get the same answer every time – “Just continue what you’re doing.” Which was simply keep a roof over my head and continuing to work. Which I did but it didn’t do anything to help.
In the summer of 2017, I ended up making a teenage mistake, Here I was 27 and ended up accidentally knocked up. I was with both my kids’ fathers YEARS before ever having children. I was embarrassed to say the least. I was hanging out with people who were no good for me. They ended up being completely different from who I thought they were. It just kept getting worse and worse, They were also starting to use a lot of meth. I watched as it slow started taking over their lives and ruining it. That wasn’t my thing and ended up just walking away one day and never looked back. Found out I was pregnant after I had already separated myself from the path they were heading.
About a month later is when things between me and my now boyfriend started flaring up. I’ve known since high school but never saw him like that. It was only recently, after spending more and more time with him that I started to develop feelings for him. He knew about my situation and never once judged me for it. Instead he embraced it and we starting dating in September.
At that point in my life, I wasn’t really doing anything. I wasn’t drinking of course was barely even smoking any weed. Maybe once or twice a month, if even that. I wasn’t really hanging out with anyone other than Tony. Really, I mostly just worked and slept.
It only took about a month before the distance between me and Tony really starting eating at me. About the same time I learned my heaters didn’t work and the landlord didn’t want to spend the money to fix them. So either way, I had to move. DHS would never let the kids live there with no heat. So I ended up doing what I swore I would never do – moved back to this damn town. Within a couple months I already had a job and was working and also travelling to Omaha 3 days a week to see the kids.
Months flew by and before I knew it Jax decided he was ready to meet his momma. He was born 3 weeks early on St. Patrick’s Day. Since my other children weren’t in my care, DHS ended up paying me a visit to make sure he had everything he needed and was taken care of. Lady had no concerns and was even going to put a good word in to my worker in Nebraska. A few weeks later another worker came knocking on my door. This one not as friendly. My drug test and his UA came back negative, but his umbilical cord tested positive for tramadol. I admitted to taking some for the pain I was in. I use to be prescribed it up until my pregnancy. And well that opened a whole new can of worms.
She made me do a hair stat and drug evaluation. I got the hair stat completed and mentioned to my Family Support Worker why would I do a drug evaluation if my hair stat came back negative? Just seemed dumb to me, but I still had one scheduled for April 16th. Before I ever even had the chance to get it done, the worker was at my door once again. This time she took Jax with her. Simply because of the statement I made. She didn’t even have the results from the hair stat back yet. But said I wasn’t “complying” with what she said I had to do.
The next day, I was lucky and able to get in somewhere else to get my drug evaluation done. After completing it I was told they didn’t think I needed treatment, but recommended mental health. I had to go to therapy. Once my worker found out, she was pissed. She called the person who did my evaluation to try changing their mind. The lady called me and told me what had happened and asked about the xanax incident at the hospital. My worker had told her about it to try persuading her. I told her what had happened and she said she still didn’t believe I needed treatment, but since my worker had called questioning her decision, she had to talk to her supervisor about it. Well the supervisor ended but siding with my worker and I was forced into treatment even after passing my drug eval.
I was hardly smoking weed as it is so doing treatment and random UA’s really wasn’t that big of a deal. More of a nuisance really. Time consuming. I have learned though, that it’s more tempting to do something when told not to. My hair stat did come back testing positive for weed. Which I was actually shocked. But the levels were very low, just enough to count as positive though. So, hair stat showed weed, but my son’s umbilical cord didn’t. Both go back three months. Weird, but okay then.
Fast forward to today, my youngest is now six months old, I voluntarily signed over my rights for my other two children, have never had any positive UAs, still fighting for my youngest to come home, hopefully here in December.
My biggest obstacle right now is my caseworker. She firmly believes I have a drug problem that I’m now “owning up to” and has actually told me I’m full of shit and not taking any of this seriously. And if I don’t make any changes, I won’t be getting my son back. Firstly, you took my child, so yeah I take this pretty damn seriously, and secondly, I don’t know how I can prove myself anymore than what I’m already doing. By going to treatment, going to groups, going to therapy, and never having a dirty UA which I take full pride in. Doing all this extra stuff on top of everyday living and working. She’s the only person who has these beliefs. My substance abuse counselor and mental health counselor both don’t truly believe I need to be in treatment. Which I’m actually going to be discharged here soon against her wishes.
Come December, it’ll be my job to show the judge that no one shares her opinion of me. Everyone else’s reports are nothing but positive. I refuse to lose my son just because of my workers personal dislike of me.
I have been with my current boyfriend for over a year now. Best decision I’ve ever made. He’s what a real man should be. Responsible, manners, hard working, not out here running the streets like all these guys, and girls, do these days. We’re happy and actually expecting one of our own in April. Ironically, the same due date as my youngest.
I plan on just to keep heading in the same direction I been going. This past year I’ve been the happiest I’ve been in a long time, minus DHS. Just trying to take it one day at a time. My son has been out of the hospital since April 2016 and been doing great. My daughter is happy and healthy and a split image of me. As for my youngest, we just recently found out he was born missing four ribs and has pretty bad scoliosis. He doesn’t have to have surgery or anything. Just keeping a close eye on him as he grows. Was told to treat him just like any other baby. No different.
We found this out after finding out I was pregnant again. If I would of known he had these issues, I would of thought twice about having another baby. But everything happens for a reason. Just got to see what the future holds for us.