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Literature Short Stories Put Up Your Dukes
Literature Short Stories Put Up Your Dukes
| Put Up Your Dukes |
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| Written by Dr. Julie Pestella |
| Wednesday, 20 May 2009 11:37 |
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The voice on the other end of the phone sounded sorrowful: "He is seven months old and weighs seven pounds. He is not well, but the hospital can't keep there any more. He has been there ever since he was born," With hope in her voice she said, "Can you take him?" There was a pause as I was thinking, " How could I ever help this child?" "Isn't there a better place for him?" I asked. "No," the caseworker replied. "OK, bring him" I said. Foster parenting back in the 80's was quite different from today. There were very few of us and no one wanted to take children that were cocaine affected, so I did. Most of the babies came straight from Jackson Memorial Hospital. Many had been abandoned by their cocaine-addicted mothers after birth. I already had 8 children besides my 2 that I had previously adopted. This baby would make 9. I reminded the caseworker that we were over the limit allowed, but I was told that an exception would be made because there was nowhere else to place all these children. I had eight cribs and full time around the clock help. I felt so bad for these children who were born cocaine affected through no fault of their own. The least I could do was provide a safe, clean and loving environment until Children and Family Services (then HRS) found a loving adoptive home for them. I had already adopted two children that were born cocaine effected, and did not want to adopt any other. When the baby arrives, I inquired about his name. I was told that he did not have one. He was called "baby boy" like so many other cocaine effected abandoned babies. He looked so small in his car seat as he came through the door. He was on a tremendous amount of medicine. I had to administer several doses every two hours around the clock. This seemed like way too much going into his little body, and he would hardly want to eat after all the medicine he had to take. When I questioned the treating physicians, I was instructed to continue his doses as prescribed. And when I gave them to him, he would attempt to resist and make little fists in protest. It was as if he was putting up his dukes as a resistance to the medicine. Therefore, I named him Duke. It was the only emotion he ever showed. He had a blank stare, and I only was ever able to make him smile once, despite continued attempts to talk, sing to him and hold him. Duke was transported to the health department every couple days, but he seemed to be failing to thrive. I was on the phone with the caseworker on a daily basis. At that point Duke was going to the doctor on a daily basis. The doctor said he was fine, but in my heart of hearts, I knew different. Then Duke would no longer make eye contact with me. To me, that one on one relationship with eye contact was crucial, especially for a baby. I panicked and called the caseworker and said that I felt that Duke was dying and he needed to go to the hospital. She came and took him to the doctor. The doctor said he was fine. Duke came home and he was no better. I knew this was not true, after a couple hours of trying to connect with and love him; there was still no response, just that blank stare. I called the worker and told her that she needed to come immediately an remove Duke from my care, that I could not be responsible for him any longer. My intuition was pulling at my insides. "Help him, help him!!!!!!!!!!." But I could do nothing for him so I felt that if he went to someone else, he could survive. The worker came and removed him to the home of a 74-year-old foster mother. Four hours later I received a call that Duke had died. I sobbed for hours for him. This sweet little soul had come into this world and was snuffed out so quickly, unknown. I called the coroner several times to find the actual cause of death. He had no answer. I called the health department and insisted that a funeral be held for him. I was outraged that these children suffered at the loins of their mothers, conceived of drugs and born to suffer and die of drugs unknown. The least we could do is respectfully put this child to rest with love in our hearts and honor him as a child of God. I received a call that the funeral was at BCC. I drove south to pick up the foster mother so she could also honor this child. We arrived at the prescribed room. There was a little wooden box with a few flowers on it. We both went up to it and prayed for him. Then we sat down in the front row. Behind us were 3 nurses and caseworkers from the health department. They were as frustrated and as sad as we were for Duke and the plight of all the children in the system that suffered the effects of cocaine. We all sat there for a long time, crying, sobbing, with one loving heart for these children that no one wanted. I found out 3 weeks later from the coroner that Duke died from Ryanauds disease and that casket at his funeral was actually empty. I also became a TPR senior counselor (termination of parental rights) to try to be of more effect for children who were born cocaine affected. Duke needs to be remembered with love. As I write this tears are streaming down my face. I became very depressed after his death and left foster parenting. I felt that I could not save these children. But I did adopt one more child, Sara. She came from an aids foster home. She had been HIV positive with elevated t-cells. Today she is 18, disease free and in college. My gift to the world was to raise 3 children who were born cocaine affected to full responsible adulthood. But that is another story. This one was for Duke. |
| Last Updated on Thursday, 21 May 2009 18:59 |
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