Inside the prison, I was placed in a “pregnancy unit,” or “medical unit.” It surprised me to see so many pregnant women in prison, some coming to prison soon before their due dates. When I first came in, there were about twenty or so of us, the numbers fluctuating as women had their baby and were moved to other units. It made me wonder of the cold-heartedness of the judges, who would send pregnant women to prison, when there are other alternatives to incarceration. Was there anyone to speak up for these women, who were bringing life into the world?
A lot of us became close, and I was able to share my fears and worries with older women who had been through childbirth before. There was also a childbirth instructor who came from Children’s Services. It was through the Wayne County Incarcerated Pregnant Women’s Program. We had group therapy sessions in Parenting, Substance Abuse, Domestic Violence, Prenatal Care, Childbirth, and Postpartum. She also came to the hospital after delivery and checked on our progress. If a woman had no one to care for her child, she would set them up with a social worker from the Family Independence Agency. At times, she tried to talk me out of allowing my husband to take care of our babies, but I insisted.
At seventeen weeks I received another ultrasound. Again the technician got up and ran from the room. I couldn’t believe I was pregnant with triplets and knew that something was wrong. Again, she returned with the doctor, who looked at the monitor, looked at me, stating that he was so sorry, but twin B’s heart had stopped beating. I was devastated, how could my baby die and why? I had so many questions left unanswered. There was no reason, “Sometimes things happened like that.” Even after assurances that this would not affect the remaining fetus, I spent the rest of my pregnancy in a state of fear, afraid that I would loose the other twin, too.
Behind prison walls, women are not allowed to show emotion. Our anger, pain, and other feelings, must be kept under tight control. Even outbursts of laughter will be told to “quiet down” or “shut up.” We have no outlet. I tried to talk to my husband, but he couldn’t understand what I was going through. This was also his first child and he was not with me. To speak out or show our true feelings, could lead to misconduct tickets from the guards. So, except for tears, I kept all my emotions inside, never dealing with my incarceration.
During this time the communication with my now ex-husband became almost non-existent. He was in the world doing his thing. I tried to hold onto the hope that he would be there for our child, but it was not to be. At seven months along, he disappeared, never to be heard from again.
Again the woman from Children’s Services approached me, telling me my child would have to go into foster care. I just couldn’t believe this and decided to contact my parents. I hadn’t spoken to them in over a year, they did not know of my pregnancy of my existence in prison. After the first letter, they agreed to take my child until my release. We had our first visit when I was eight months along.
The visits were full of healing, or what I thought was, at the time, healing of old wounds. There were promises of change and unity in the family. Promises that they would keep my child, until my release, with regular visits, photos, and letters. Our estranged past was exactly that, the past, it was time to move toward the future.
On June 25, 1998 after seventy-two hours of hard labor, I gave birth to a healthy baby girl. She was perfect from head to toe. After first sight I forgot about the pain and only wanted to hold my baby.
During the labor, no one is allowed in the delivery room. My family didn’t even know I was in labor or had her until after I left the hospital. During the three days, some of the guards stayed in the room, but most of the time, when the nurses asked them to sit outside the door, they complied. I have heard horror stories of women being chained to the delivery bed. I am so grateful as to have not experienced this. Most of the nurses treated me as a human instead of a prisoner.
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