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- Story Listed as: True Life For Adults
- Theme: Drama / Human Interest
- Subject: Culture / Heritage / Lifestyles
- Published: 01/27/2021
Today I was driving around looking for Monique Jackson’s apartment. She was HIV positive and had a new baby. I was a public health nurse and would try to help her with medical services, free prescriptions and just about anything she could want related to her HIV. First I needed to find her.
Her apartment was in a run down neighborhood close to the DC line. Selling and using drugs and the violent crime that followed in the shadows, were an everyday problem here; weapons, flak- jackets and prowling Pit Bulls straining against tight leashes discouraged visitors. So far we nurses had been lucky. No incidents.
Hard packed dirt covered the yard where grass once grew, the screens hung lopsided off the window frames and the building’s scarred front door opened to a dark hallway. My stomach was in knots; my sweaty palms betrayed my outer calmness.
Leaves crunched underfoot as I approached the opened metal door. The smell of old urine and garbage hit me as soon as I went inside; I took shallow breaths. It took a few seconds for my eyes to adjust to the darkness. Her apartment was down a couple of steps; I rapped sharply on the steel door. Voices and sounds from a TV came from another unit. A dog barked from somewhere outside.
Anything could happen in the next few minutes; I was a sitting duck out here. Where was she? I told her in my note I’d be here at 3PM. Maybe she didn’t have a clock or a calendar. Maybe she didn’t want to meet with me. I rapped again. I heard something brush against the door of the next apartment. If she didn’t come to the door this time I was out of here.
“Who are you and what do you want?” A huge woman opened the door a crack. She bellowed.
‘I’m from the Health Department”.
She stepped back and let me in. The room, lit by the late afternoon sun, was a picture of neglect. The inviting little bar by the front door, the broken glass in the paneled coffee table, the crooked Venetian blind and the dust balls gently sliding along the wood floor, it said nobody cares about the dirt but the liquor…. Monique was a formidable woman. She sank into the overstuffed sofa her fat feet splayed on the floor. Maybe those bulging eyes were caused by hyperthyroidism or maybe in the genes.
“What do you mean coming to my door like that? Telling the whole world you are from the Health Department. Where did you get my name?”
I flinched at the attack. “My name is Yvonne,” I said in a calm voice I didn’t really feel. "I'm here because you have a new baby and we always visit new babies."
“‘You don’t know my neighbors; they talk about me behind my back. Now they’ll be saying what she need someone from the Health Department for? What am I going to tell them?” She was pleading with me now all the steam gone from her anger replaced by a whining pitiful tone.
“Tell them a nurse made a visit because of the new baby.” I suggested. “Where is your baby, Monique, I came to check him over.” I reached into my briefcase and pulled out her record. An empty picture frame sat on a side table. Who had been in that frame and what had happened to him?
With a groan she heaved herself off the sofa and shuffled over to the baby carrier by the back door and brought her son to me. His deep brown eyes looked into mine and his little hands grabbed the dingy blanket.
“Is he all right? His father say I’m an unfit mother. He want to take Georgie from me. And he the one who gave me HIV.”
“Looks fine from here.” I said. “May I sit down and check him over?” As I undressed the infant I began to tell her about the services our office provided.
“Is there any money coming? I sure could use some money right now. I’ve got an eight year old boy and a teenage daughter.” She pointed to school pictures hanging on the wall over the couch.
“No cash if that’s what you mean, but we can pay for prescription medicine to save you money.”
We talked for a while about her education and past jobs. I was ready to leave, but said, “Is there anything else I can help you with?”
“Yes, I’m worried about my daughter, Adrianne. Come with me, I want you to see what I found in her room. That girl don’t obey, does what she wants. Sometimes she stay out all night.”
On the way to the bedroom I glanced at the kitchen, dirty dishes left out, cereal bowls and cartons of milk and juice sitting on the counter. One thing at a time…
Her room was a disaster, panties, bras, tee shirts and jeans littered the floor, Monique lifted the mattress and hidden from view were bottles of beer, candy bars, snack wrappers and Baggies with half-eaten sandwiches. The atmosphere in the room tightened up a notch. The hair on my arms stood up and I had a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach that something was terribly wrong, but I had no idea what.
“How is she doing in school?” I said.
“She was doing good but lately she doesn’t seem to care; some days she doesn’t go and I don’t know where she is. Like I said sometimes she stays out all night,“ her tone angry.
“Would you give me permission to let a counselor see her at school?”
“Yes, maybe she can find out where she is going.” She said her voice pitiful.
“Here’s a paper with information about a teen clinic for Adrianne. Will you give it to her for me?”
“Miss Yvonne could you find us some food?” Monique was now groveling, her personality changed from moment to moment, that would that be difficult for a child to live with. It was for me.
“I’ll bring by a bag of food tomorrow,” I said. “Will you be in around one in the afternoon?”
“I’ll be waiting for you.”
After stopping in our church pantry I drove over to Monique’s place, juggled the bag of food so I could knock. She peered through a crack in the door, recognized me and opened it immediately. Once I was inside, Monique began thanking me.
“How did yesterday go with Adrianne?” I said.
“She’s a liar; she is seeing some man not any girl friends.”
“Did you give her the clinic paper?”
“She took it; I can’t say she’ll go. She shows me no respect, anymore.”
“I will give her name to a counselor. She’ll be getting in touch with her.”
I gave Monique her appointment for a physical exam at the clinic and said good-bye. The fresh air was a welcome change form the sour smell inside. I felt a chill that had nothing to do with the temperature. I wondered what the food hoarding meant. A group of teen-age girls were strolling home from school as I drove by. One resembled Adrianne; I wondered whom the man was she might be seeing and what the scene would be like today when she opened the door.
Right after I got back to the AIDs office, I phoned Mental Health and asked Ruth if she could see me for a minute.
“What mess do you have for me now, girl?” she said. We sat in her office and I told her what I had seen and heard. Ruth nodded her head and said, “I ‘ll make room for her in my schedule, give me a referral. I already had one written and handed it to her. I’ll get back to you later in the week. You sure can come up the weird ones.” Ruth couldn’t know how true her words were until months later.
It had been ages since I heard from Monique. She still had no telephone; the only time I heard from her was when she needed medicine or transportation to a doctor’s appointment. Holidays were around the corner. One day I found a pink message slip in my box; Monique called when I was out; she wanted a Christmas basket.
Cold wind blasted me when I got out of the car. In spite of the overcast skies Monique wore tights and a snug top with a ruffle at the hips. Standing beside her was her son, a chubby eight –year old and a skinny man she called Ricardo.
“He doesn’t live here; he’s just staying with me while he looks for a job.” She poked him with her elbow. “This is my son Alphonzo.“ Monique said. “Ricardo is Georgie’s father”.
I opened the trunk and handed Ricardo one bag while Monique ordered Alphonzo to be careful with the other. They went inside and we had a chance to chat for a minute. I reminded her about safe sex and gave her some condoms. Sometimes I felt like fool speaking to women about safe sex that were more experienced than I was. Than I realized that if they knew so much why did they have sex with men they hardly knew; I continued with my little lecture. All Monique’s appointments were up to date and she told me how much she liked her doctor who I knew had HIV too.
When I came back to the clinic I headed over to Ruth’s to get caught up on Adrianne.
“I found her a job at the school office during Christmas break.” Ruth said. “The staff really seems to like her. What that kid has seen and done you don’t want to know. I plan to see her a few more times.”
The teen-clinic nurse called looking for Adrianne; did I have a new address for the family? Her letter had been returned. Adrianne had a blood test done and they wanted to give her the results. It was urgent. I gave them the name of her high school. As I replaced the receiver I wondered what kind of test, pregnancy or a sexually transmitted disease? A week later I got another call from the teen- clinic nurse. Adrianne hadn’t been in school for weeks and she wasn’t living at home anymore. The nurse told me the teen’s blood test was positive for HIV and pregnancy. Later I learned she was living with Ricardo, the man that infected her mother and was Georgie’s father.
Dark Times(Mary Eileen Callan)
Today I was driving around looking for Monique Jackson’s apartment. She was HIV positive and had a new baby. I was a public health nurse and would try to help her with medical services, free prescriptions and just about anything she could want related to her HIV. First I needed to find her.
Her apartment was in a run down neighborhood close to the DC line. Selling and using drugs and the violent crime that followed in the shadows, were an everyday problem here; weapons, flak- jackets and prowling Pit Bulls straining against tight leashes discouraged visitors. So far we nurses had been lucky. No incidents.
Hard packed dirt covered the yard where grass once grew, the screens hung lopsided off the window frames and the building’s scarred front door opened to a dark hallway. My stomach was in knots; my sweaty palms betrayed my outer calmness.
Leaves crunched underfoot as I approached the opened metal door. The smell of old urine and garbage hit me as soon as I went inside; I took shallow breaths. It took a few seconds for my eyes to adjust to the darkness. Her apartment was down a couple of steps; I rapped sharply on the steel door. Voices and sounds from a TV came from another unit. A dog barked from somewhere outside.
Anything could happen in the next few minutes; I was a sitting duck out here. Where was she? I told her in my note I’d be here at 3PM. Maybe she didn’t have a clock or a calendar. Maybe she didn’t want to meet with me. I rapped again. I heard something brush against the door of the next apartment. If she didn’t come to the door this time I was out of here.
“Who are you and what do you want?” A huge woman opened the door a crack. She bellowed.
‘I’m from the Health Department”.
She stepped back and let me in. The room, lit by the late afternoon sun, was a picture of neglect. The inviting little bar by the front door, the broken glass in the paneled coffee table, the crooked Venetian blind and the dust balls gently sliding along the wood floor, it said nobody cares about the dirt but the liquor…. Monique was a formidable woman. She sank into the overstuffed sofa her fat feet splayed on the floor. Maybe those bulging eyes were caused by hyperthyroidism or maybe in the genes.
“What do you mean coming to my door like that? Telling the whole world you are from the Health Department. Where did you get my name?”
I flinched at the attack. “My name is Yvonne,” I said in a calm voice I didn’t really feel. "I'm here because you have a new baby and we always visit new babies."
“‘You don’t know my neighbors; they talk about me behind my back. Now they’ll be saying what she need someone from the Health Department for? What am I going to tell them?” She was pleading with me now all the steam gone from her anger replaced by a whining pitiful tone.
“Tell them a nurse made a visit because of the new baby.” I suggested. “Where is your baby, Monique, I came to check him over.” I reached into my briefcase and pulled out her record. An empty picture frame sat on a side table. Who had been in that frame and what had happened to him?
With a groan she heaved herself off the sofa and shuffled over to the baby carrier by the back door and brought her son to me. His deep brown eyes looked into mine and his little hands grabbed the dingy blanket.
“Is he all right? His father say I’m an unfit mother. He want to take Georgie from me. And he the one who gave me HIV.”
“Looks fine from here.” I said. “May I sit down and check him over?” As I undressed the infant I began to tell her about the services our office provided.
“Is there any money coming? I sure could use some money right now. I’ve got an eight year old boy and a teenage daughter.” She pointed to school pictures hanging on the wall over the couch.
“No cash if that’s what you mean, but we can pay for prescription medicine to save you money.”
We talked for a while about her education and past jobs. I was ready to leave, but said, “Is there anything else I can help you with?”
“Yes, I’m worried about my daughter, Adrianne. Come with me, I want you to see what I found in her room. That girl don’t obey, does what she wants. Sometimes she stay out all night.”
On the way to the bedroom I glanced at the kitchen, dirty dishes left out, cereal bowls and cartons of milk and juice sitting on the counter. One thing at a time…
Her room was a disaster, panties, bras, tee shirts and jeans littered the floor, Monique lifted the mattress and hidden from view were bottles of beer, candy bars, snack wrappers and Baggies with half-eaten sandwiches. The atmosphere in the room tightened up a notch. The hair on my arms stood up and I had a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach that something was terribly wrong, but I had no idea what.
“How is she doing in school?” I said.
“She was doing good but lately she doesn’t seem to care; some days she doesn’t go and I don’t know where she is. Like I said sometimes she stays out all night,“ her tone angry.
“Would you give me permission to let a counselor see her at school?”
“Yes, maybe she can find out where she is going.” She said her voice pitiful.
“Here’s a paper with information about a teen clinic for Adrianne. Will you give it to her for me?”
“Miss Yvonne could you find us some food?” Monique was now groveling, her personality changed from moment to moment, that would that be difficult for a child to live with. It was for me.
“I’ll bring by a bag of food tomorrow,” I said. “Will you be in around one in the afternoon?”
“I’ll be waiting for you.”
After stopping in our church pantry I drove over to Monique’s place, juggled the bag of food so I could knock. She peered through a crack in the door, recognized me and opened it immediately. Once I was inside, Monique began thanking me.
“How did yesterday go with Adrianne?” I said.
“She’s a liar; she is seeing some man not any girl friends.”
“Did you give her the clinic paper?”
“She took it; I can’t say she’ll go. She shows me no respect, anymore.”
“I will give her name to a counselor. She’ll be getting in touch with her.”
I gave Monique her appointment for a physical exam at the clinic and said good-bye. The fresh air was a welcome change form the sour smell inside. I felt a chill that had nothing to do with the temperature. I wondered what the food hoarding meant. A group of teen-age girls were strolling home from school as I drove by. One resembled Adrianne; I wondered whom the man was she might be seeing and what the scene would be like today when she opened the door.
Right after I got back to the AIDs office, I phoned Mental Health and asked Ruth if she could see me for a minute.
“What mess do you have for me now, girl?” she said. We sat in her office and I told her what I had seen and heard. Ruth nodded her head and said, “I ‘ll make room for her in my schedule, give me a referral. I already had one written and handed it to her. I’ll get back to you later in the week. You sure can come up the weird ones.” Ruth couldn’t know how true her words were until months later.
It had been ages since I heard from Monique. She still had no telephone; the only time I heard from her was when she needed medicine or transportation to a doctor’s appointment. Holidays were around the corner. One day I found a pink message slip in my box; Monique called when I was out; she wanted a Christmas basket.
Cold wind blasted me when I got out of the car. In spite of the overcast skies Monique wore tights and a snug top with a ruffle at the hips. Standing beside her was her son, a chubby eight –year old and a skinny man she called Ricardo.
“He doesn’t live here; he’s just staying with me while he looks for a job.” She poked him with her elbow. “This is my son Alphonzo.“ Monique said. “Ricardo is Georgie’s father”.
I opened the trunk and handed Ricardo one bag while Monique ordered Alphonzo to be careful with the other. They went inside and we had a chance to chat for a minute. I reminded her about safe sex and gave her some condoms. Sometimes I felt like fool speaking to women about safe sex that were more experienced than I was. Than I realized that if they knew so much why did they have sex with men they hardly knew; I continued with my little lecture. All Monique’s appointments were up to date and she told me how much she liked her doctor who I knew had HIV too.
When I came back to the clinic I headed over to Ruth’s to get caught up on Adrianne.
“I found her a job at the school office during Christmas break.” Ruth said. “The staff really seems to like her. What that kid has seen and done you don’t want to know. I plan to see her a few more times.”
The teen-clinic nurse called looking for Adrianne; did I have a new address for the family? Her letter had been returned. Adrianne had a blood test done and they wanted to give her the results. It was urgent. I gave them the name of her high school. As I replaced the receiver I wondered what kind of test, pregnancy or a sexually transmitted disease? A week later I got another call from the teen- clinic nurse. Adrianne hadn’t been in school for weeks and she wasn’t living at home anymore. The nurse told me the teen’s blood test was positive for HIV and pregnancy. Later I learned she was living with Ricardo, the man that infected her mother and was Georgie’s father.
Sylvia Maclagan
01/28/2021Mary, I understand from your story that this is your real life work. I admire you so much. It takes courage to head into the broken social fabric of many modern day neighborhoods. The ending strikes hard. A vicious circle that will probably go on to future generations. You have described it all so well, Mary
ReplyHelp Us Understand What's Happening
Sylvia Maclagan
01/28/2021That's good to know, about there being so many people with courage and strength. Odds are certainly against them.
Help Us Understand What's Happening
Mary Eileen Callan
01/28/2021Thank you Gracy. Yes it is hard work yet there is strength aand courage in so many people I met with all the odds against them.
Help Us Understand What's Happening
Aziz
01/28/2021You dived the depth of social truth and hardship. You highlighted the contradictions that destroy the social fabric of societies. A vicious circle of problems that seems to be endless and unsolvable.
Excellent piece of work Mary.
Help Us Understand What's Happening
Mary Eileen Callan
01/28/2021Aziz, Thank you for your comments. Our helping agencies can only do so much. Problems go much deeper.
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