  |
Ex-addict, in treatment, gets new baby, 2nd chanceThe house smelled of dog urine. Bisket and Bobbette, her 5-week-old cocker-poodles, clearly needed more house training. ``I don't want the baby to come and have the house all smell,'' Nezzie told her friend across the table. Seven months pregnant, the 35-year-old Nezzie had been warned not to do anything strenuous. But after her friend left, she got out the bleach and ammonia and mopped up the dogs' mess. She was still high from the two hours' worth of cocaine, but she wanted the house to be perfect for the new baby. Nezzie was so excited -- she had always hoped for a daughter. She had even named her already: Cierra. Such a pretty name. But that Tuesday night she couldn't sleep, just kept coughing and going to the bathroom. Serves me right for mopping, she thought. She still felt sick when she went shopping for baby clothes the next day. By Thursday nausea and cramps wrenched her. The baby kicked her that morning, and that night the pains kept waking her up. So she went to Piedmont Medical Center the next morning and waited for what seemed like forever. ``Well, you know the baby is dead, don't you?'' a nurse said. Nezzie screamed. The day before, the placenta had separated from the uterine wall, depriving the fetus of its blood supply. Nezzie had carried the lifeless fetus inside her for 24 hours. The doctor found cocaine still in Nezzie's nostrils. He induced delivery at 4 p.m. and also found the drug in the stillborn's blood. After giving birth, Nezzie was allowed to hold Cierra, but just for a few minutes. Nezzie hugged her and sobbed. Jan. 24, 1997. She'll never forget that day. She went home and cried some more. Her husband tried to comfort her. But she sat on the couch for days, for weeks, just sitting there, staring. No TV, no radio, no baby, no nothing. ``February, March was like a blur,'' she said. ``I think I was just in another world at that time.'' She turned to coke, needing the high to get by, to deal with the pain, the emptiness. Then it happened. April 24. Oh my God, she thought. I'm pregnant again.
At first it was just recreational, to keep her awake while out clubbing. But once she felt the adrenaline rush, that hot taste in her mouth, she craved it constantly. ``I was just a wild and crazy partier, running around having a good time,'' she recalled. When she graduated from Manhattan Community College in 1983 she couldn't find work in her field, mental health. But her big sister worked for a dentist, and whenever Nezzie stopped by, she'd watch real carefully. Nezzie was a quick study, and she knew that if she helped her sister treat patients, she'd be done earlier and they could go out and party. Soon, Nezzie got a job as a dental assistant. And a few years later, she was training dental assistants at the State University of New York's Brooklyn campus, where she met her future husband, a security guard. She kept using cocaine, but not when he was around, because he didn't approve. Then, in 1990, she got pregnant. She knew cocaine was bad for the fetus -- she had heard stories about babies born high on cocaine. So she stopped using. ``If anything's going to damage this baby,'' she thought, ``God's going to have to do it himself. 'Cause I'm not going to do it.'' Four years after he was born, she started using again. She can't explain why, she just did.
When she got pregnant with Cierra later that year, she was still using cocaine. But this time she didn't stop. Her body, her mind, told her cocaine was something she must have, no matter what the cost. After Nezzie lost Cierra, one of the nurses at the hospital suggested she get help for her drug abuse. She refused. Giving up cocaine scared her. But when she got pregnant again in April 1997, the thought of holding another stillborn baby frightened her even more. She turned to her mother, Annell, who urged her to seek help and promised to stand by her. So, on May 15, Nezzie walked into the Keystone Women's Clinic. ``I decided I would do it for my baby,'' she recalled. ``The taste for the drug was still in my mouth. I knew if I got my hands on it, I would have done it.'' Rehabilitation wasn't easy. It took her two days to say, ``Hi, my name is Nezzie and I'm an addict.'' But soon she felt comfortable in the group setting, and even invited her mom to the family day. Her mom never made it. She died a few days before the meeting -- May 23, two weeks shy of her 77th birthday. Nezzie couldn't deal with her mother's death. She fainted. Twice. Her mom was her support system, her confidante, the one who inspired her to get clean. Nezzie relapsed. She smoked pot all weekend. So when she showed up at Keystone at 9 a.m. the next Monday, she tested positive for drugs. Her counselor scolded her. From now on, the counselor said, we're testing you every day. May, June, July, August, they kept testing her. ``No way was I going to get a chance again to do anything stupid,'' Nezzie said. Finally, she was on the right track.
South Carolina had just started prosecuting women on child neglect charges for using drugs while pregnant -- the first and only state in the nation. The hospital, as required by law, had referred her case. ``I don't consider you a dangerous criminal so I'm not going to put handcuffs on you,'' the officer said. But wait, Nezzie said. I'm in treatment. I have to be at Keystone at 9 a.m. I can't miss my group. The officer told her not to worry, she'd be out in time. She sat in a jail cell that Tuesday night, fear and memories flashing through her mind. Her mother. Cierra. Her obligation to be at Keystone, for her new baby. Would they take her child from her? She sat there that night, the next morning, the next day, the next evening. All the while, worrying about missing Keystone. Boy, would her counselors be mad. She'd come so far, too. Finally, Thursday morning, a judge let her go on bail. She rushed home, washed herself and went straight to Keystone. Her new friends comforted her, told her not to worry. That's the best part about Keystone, the support. Treatment turned out to be easier than she thought, once she got going. They sit, and they chat, and they talk about stresses that might cause relapses. ``Friendwise, I don't have to hang out with the losers and the boozers anymore,'' she said. ``I can hang out with my NA (Narcotics Anonymous) friends. My life is headed in a whole new direction.''
Nezzie wanted her daughter's name to be special, so she combined Cierra and Annell and called her Channell. Channell quickly earned a nickname, too: ``Hollerina,'' because she's always hollering. Channell made Nezzie so happy, but Nezzie still feared going to jail and losing her new baby. The night before her court hearing, she sweated and didn't sleep. Going to Keystone, it turned out, not only saved Channell, but kept Nezzie out of jail. She pleaded guilty and got five years probation, as long as she stays drug-free. That, Nezzie says, will not be a problem. ``Once God gave me Channell, I knew I wasn't going back to using,'' she said, hugging Channell and smiling at her soft face. How can she be so sure? Because she'll never forget holding Cierra's lifeless body. This coming Jan. 24 Cierra would have been 1 year old. ``Do I consider it a birthday or a deathday?'' she wonders. ``I don't know. ``But I will buy some hats and cake and my family will celebrate anyway. I don't want to forget. Remembering will help me keep myself clean.''
|