In case you missed it, the day before court last week an anonymous (but identified) child abuse call was made against me. I was so devastated by Jacket leaving that I didn’t have any emotions left over to freak out this time. I was very blase with the OSI ACS worker (investigator):
“Just tell me when and where to get tested. Of course I wasn’t smoking crack and weed at the same time outside of the foster agency while pulling Jacket’s hair. I get a babysitter when I do drugs and I like to smoke pot hours after I do a hit of crack to help me come down. I’m actually glad you’re here because when Jacket goes back to her mom you’re going to be in her house all the time, right? Good, the more the merrier.”
Remember, I was crying the whole time so it didn’t come across as snarky- just defeated. I was supposed to go for a drug test a few days later but that landed in the middle of packing Jacket’s stuff and sending her home. I had lots of friends helping and, with a bit of convincing from Brian, I said ‘fuck it’ and didn’t go. I called the OSI worker nonetheless on Monday and apologized offering to go in for surprise testing anytime in the future to clear my name.
She called this past Friday at 3pm asking me to go in Saturday (yesterday) between 10am-2pm. I had already scheduled to go to the children’s museum with Jacket and her mom (which of course didn’t happen) so the other option given was to take the test by 4pm the same day. I was emphatically told that they close at 4pm. It was 3:30pm. I told the investigator that I would make it happen.
Fast-forward to t 3:57pm and I’m having a heated argument with a livery (taxi) driver about letting me out of the damn car so that I can run to the clinic. “Clearly it’s not just one more block because you said that 10 blocks ago!” Walking HAS to be faster. I have no cash so I have to pay an extra $10 to use my credit card. Fine, I don’t care. Just hurry, please.
I make it into the clinic at 4:03pm and am sent to a window where they pull that bank teller move of looking you in the eye and then closing their shade. It must of been the atmosphere because I turned into a junkie “Please, please please- I have to be tested today. I’m supposed to see my foster child tomorrow and blah blah blah.” Ok, photo I.D. please.
SHIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIT. I left my driver’s license at the YMCA two weeks ago when I enrolled Jacket in swim lessons. I hadn’t been back yet to get it because I knew that I’d break down crying when the lovely receptionists inquired about Jacket’s whereabouts.
I gave the lady my work I.D. That’s all I have seeing as I stuck all my other I.D.s in Jacket’s purses. No good. They need to see my date of birth. I caught a break when I figured out that my job probably has a copy of my license on file and they could fax it over. They turn their phones off at 4:30pm. It was 4:29pm. Three fax numbers and three more years shaved off my life-expectancy and I’m in the bathroom trying to pee in front of a girl with rollers in her hair. Big, big rollers.
I wish I could say that I performed better this time than the last but I didn’t. I had plenty of supply…I was ready to go when I left work at 3:30pm and now it was after 5pm… but I only managed a few drops. “Is this enough?” I asked. Big rollers said “No.” So I strained and tried again. “How about this?“ “No.” “THIS IS SO STRESSFUL.” Finally she said “That sounds good”. Thank god.
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- lifelovewhy said: Do all foster parents get injustly accused of doing drugs by their foster child’s biological parent(s), or just you?
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