Pregnant & On the Way To Prison

In February of 2008, I was feeling ill and went to the emergency room.  They performed an ultra sound and there it was; a little baby the size of a jelly bean.  Mixed emotions began to overwhelm me, excited about the life growing inside me but disappointed in myself for not being more responsible.  My baby's father was in jail (yet again) and I was on my way there. 

I called my sister.  She and I didn't speak much but before all the mess, she had been my best friend.  I cried and cried to her.  "I don't want to have his baby," I told her.  He was abusive, in and out of jail and had six other children that I knew of.  He'd have his preferences of which kids he'd deal with based on his relationships with their mothers.  I heard him tell his mom once, "I told ya'll if I don't fuck with them, you don't either!"  Then it'd just be birthday and holiday appearances for them if he didn't.  I felt SO bad for those babies and here I was bringing another one into the same situation and I myself was facing prison time.

I went to trial in April charged with Delivery and Manufacturing of a Controlled Substance but I wasn't a drug dealer and I knew it was clear the drugs weren't mine so I figured a jury would have no reason to convict me.  

My lawyer was horrible.  After jury selection and during breaks,  he would talk to the prosecutor about their colleagues and what they planned to have for lunch that day, right in the courtroom, right in front of me.  I felt so alone in that court room... defenseless.

In the middle of the trial, the prosecuting attorney moved to add the lesser charge of possession, which the judge allowed.  I was oblivious to the fact that she could even do such a thing and knew right then that I would be going to prison.  I was so pissed at my lawyer and felt so helpless.  Sure enough, I was found guilty by jury of Possession of a Controlled Substance.  The judge postponed my sentencing because of my pregnancy.  I was to turn myself in the next day, remain in jail for the majority of my pregnancy, be released in October for the entire month to be able to deliver my child and then return to court in November for sentencing.

I broke down in the court house.  They had to ask my son's father to take me outside because I was weeping so loudly it was disturbing the other courts.  I cried to my son's father, wanting for him to go inside and say, "They were my drugs, take me" but instead he was just quiet.  He dropped me off at home and left. I'm not sure where he went.  I was so numb that day, I'm not even sure if I really cared.

I was taken to jail the next morning.  I had told myself not to stress because I didn't want to hurt the baby.  But while using the bathroom one day, I saw blood in my underwear.  I asked for the nurse and was told there was nothing the nurse could do because she wasn't qualified to deal with pregnancies and that I'd have to go see my OBGYN.  They took me to my appointments in the jail jumpsuit, shackled at my wrists and ankles with two officers to escort me.  I waited in the lobby, people staring but I was so scared for my baby, I didn't care.  I ended up learning I had cists that had burst which caused the bleeding but thankfully they had resolved on their own.  My midwife explained to me that despite my situation, it was very important to try to not stress myself or the baby.  I promised her and myself that I wouldn't.

The jail became overcrowded and a month later I was sent to finish the remainder of my time in a probation facility, similar to a halfway housing center.  There, I was able to wear my own clothing and get passes to go to any appointments I had.

I would call my son's father to pick me up for my appointments and he'd tell me he couldn't and that he was busy.  That was a hot summer, lots of flooding and 95* weather.  I'd wal, big and pregnant, taking the bus to my appointments and more than once, I'd see him with another girl while the bus passed by. 

I'd call him for money for bus fare and food and most of the time, he'd tell me he didn't have it.  His friends and their girlfriends would bring it instead.  One time, when he did bring money to the facility, I remember watching him leave with another girl, my co worker that had shared the paper around my work place.  But I didn't have time to worry about him cheating or what he was doing in the streets.  I didn't have time or the emotional capacity for my feelings to be hurt or to hate him.  I was getting closer and closer to my due date and thus closer and closer to going to prison.  I had to figure out what that would mean for my son.