Before my daughter could be brought to me, I had to be brought to a private room. Thirty minutes after giving birth, I was once again handcuffed and chained, and wheeled to another floor. We are not allowed our state uniforms, so the nurses provided me with extra gowns. In fact, when we are kept at any hospital, our state uniforms are taken back to the prison with the transport guards, then brought to the hospital before we leave.
My daughter was allowed to stay in the room with me, instead of the nursery. I was able to care for her during the short time I had with her. That night I fell asleep with her in my arms, fully awaken when the nurse tried to take her from me. During that time, I forgot that I was a prisoner. I was a mother.
Michigan Department of Corrections Policy states that a woman can only spend twenty-four hours with her child before she is brought back to prison. I had to figure out a way to spend more time with her and refused to eat.
I’ve seen the state of other women who have come back lost after giving birth. In a total state of shock and confusion. One woman I know turned to pills, getting high by taking others’ psychotropic drugs. She walked around the unit like a zombie, trying to dull the pain from the separation of her child. One night she OD’d on these pills, was rushed to the hospital, lucky to have survived. She was then taken to segregation and placed on suicide watch. It was so hard seeing her like that. At that time I wondered how I would feel after I had to leave my baby. I used to lay on my bunk at night feeling her more, talking to her or reading a children’s book I found in the library. I couldn’t imagine the day I wouldn’t feel her more or couldn’t talk to her anymore. When that day came, I was desperate.
Refusing to eat gave me a total of three days with my baby. In the end, I was told if I did not eat, that she would be placed in the nursery until I went back to prison. There was no use in staying any longer; I wouldn’t be able to see her.
Before the handcuffs and chains were placed on me, I was given a chance to say goodbye. How do you say goodbye to your newborn child? I felt like I was in a dream, these people were not really telling me I had to leave her! I didn’t want to understand that the world could be that cruel. I couldn’t leave her. The guards began rushing me, telling me it was time to go. What did they mean, time to go, where were we going? My baby was staying there, I couldn’t go with them?
On that day I made promises to my daughter that I would always keep her safe, that I would be home soon, and that I loved her with all my being, body & soul. I told her that she would always be my Angel and my light. I named her Helen after my baby sister. Helen means “light.” She was the light of my life. She is my reason for living. Even though she couldn’t understand the words I was saying, I wanted to comfort her with my voice, it gave me a peace of mind to know that she heard me.
I heard the guard say “Come on, Warner,” and I gave her to the nurse. With every click of the handcuffs and the sound of the chain being locked, my heart shattered. It seemed as if an eternity had passed. Before I was escorted out in a wheelchair, the nurse took Helen out of the room. My heart and soul went with her.
I was taken back to prison, tears streaming down my face, hoping to wake up from this nightmare, left in a state of shock and desperation. The opinion of the guard, “If I wanted to have children, I would have stayed out of prison.” I can remember looking at her with my being full of hatred.
In my pain, anger, and desperation, I became defiant against the system that took me from my baby. With no other emotional outlet, I began fighting with other women, receiving misconduct tickets by the guards, and labeled a management problem. I wasn’t thinking about the consequences, I was hurt and angry, my emotions tumbling out of control.
