Continued from You Got Served ... With a Court Order

... Not me. At least it didn't feel like that, the day I was forced to hand my baby over to BD and leave the courthouse without him.

You really shouldn't talk about matters like this in the sense of winners and losers, but it was hard not to feel that way. From the moment we walked in, the building was filled with opponents and challengers. Prosecutorial attorneys, defense lawyers, plaintiffs and defendants, all supposedly working together in the best interest of whatever poor, unfortunate child was caught in the middle of a pair of parents' mess.

I came in with my family, my mother, my aunt, my uncle, my two sisters, strolling my baby in his carriage. Their support had been like steel. Even so, the grey walls with their peeling paint, and the dim hallogen lighting of the patterned some-on-some-busted bulbs scattered across the ceiling cast an ominous light. When we got to our floor, there were hard, wooden benches lined up like church pews, one in front of the other leading up to just feet away from the double door entrance to the family court court room. It was a full house and every bit as disheartening and dramatic as a made for TV special. Anxious mothers, saddened or angry fathers, screaming babies ... faces of dismay. I sat and added mine to the collage and waited nervously for our names to be called.

The lawyer I'd contracted just a couple of days before, when we got into town, joined us. I said a silent prayer for my freedom, my baby's well-being, and a speedy and favorable resolution. (People are in and out of family court for years). I also added a few words for the competence of the suit sitting next to me. I'd let my fingers do the walking.

The wait seemed to draw out for hours before, "BD v Ganache," a clerk stuck her head out the court room doors, file in hand, calling our names. It was time.

My family, then BD and his clan, quickly filled out the small room, the Ganache's on one side and his people on the other. So this was it. We were really here. BD and I took our seats at a long table in front of the gallery, directly before the judge, with our respective representitives seperating us. we couldn't even see each other. I preferred it this way.

Before we began though, the judge asked everyone except the two litigants and our lawyers to leave the room. I don't know why. They did, and now it was just us.

She asked me the expected questions. "Why did you leave? Why didn't you ask the court for assistance? Why do you think you and your child will be better off in another state?"

I briefly and tearfully brought her up to speed on our relationship. I told her about the time our baby was sick, full of mucous and laboring to breathe. How I'd slept, back agaisnt the wall, propped up on pillows holding him, becasue sitting upright made it easier for him to breathe. How he'd choked on his milk because he couldn't breath through his nose and suckle with is mouth at the same time. I'd begged BD repeatedly for us to take the child to the doctor. BD's something of an herbalist. His mother did a stint at medical school and she's something of an herbalist as well. They do not believe in modern medicine. They also do not believe in surgery, they think cutting is barbaric. They also do not believe in vaccinations. Anyway, I told her how I took a half day from work, picked the baby up form daycare, took him to the doctor and paid out of pocket for the visit and the medicine, so BD wouldn't receive record form the insurance company and go into a rage. He was diagnosed with a lower respiratory infection, by the way. I left work every day for a week on my lunch hour and walked the six or eight blocks from my job to the nursery to administer the medication to the baby, myself. This is just one example of the extent of BD's control, and also the extent to which I was willing to go to ,ake sure my baby was safe. My finally leaving was an extension of that spirit. I really had to go.

The judge listened patiently and quietly before directing her attention to BD. His recounting was every bit as tearful and sincere sounding. He just wanted to be in his son's life, he said.

The letter of the law is clear, so the preliminary ruling was swift. Our child is a New Jersy native and therefore the move must be uncontested by the other parent or approved by the court. BD's Spring Break happened to have just begun, so the judge ordered that I give the baby to his father for the remainder of his break. Upon the close of his vacation, BD was to fly the baby to me in my home state where I would be given 30 days to get my affairs in order and secure an apartment in New Jersey. If at the end of 30 days I had still not relocated back to NJ, I would still have to return the child to his father. Once I got back, we'd either have to go to court again to come up with a parenting plan or ink an agreement ourselves.

It just so happened that I'd taken the baby to the doctor a few days before in my hometown because he'd been pulling at his ears and not sleeping well. I wanted to make sure his ears wouldn't hurt too terribly on the flight. (I've flown with a cold before and it's murder). He was diagnosed with a minor ear infection and given an antibiotic. Outside the courtroom as we were saying our goodbyes and I was handing my child over to his father, I tried to explain the dosage to him.

"Here," I said holding out the ziploc baggie of ice with the medicine bottle inside. "You have to keep it refrigerated and he needs a dropper full twice a day. There's only about four days left, I think --"

"Give it to my mother," he said, refusing to make eye contact with me or accept the medication. He was gloating. I gave it to her and got no better response. I was convinced my child would not be finishing his round of antibiotics. There was nothing I could do about it. His family laughed and chattered and celebrated outside the court room. I tried my best to smile, I acknowledged everyone with a head nod and left as quickly as I could.

My lawyer encouraged me.

"This was to be expected," he said. "He hasn't seen the child in almost two weeks and he's off of work. It was really perfect timing for him. It doesn't say anything about the final outcome of the case. Hang in there kiddo," and he was off.

So there it was. I was ordered to move back to the state until the matter of custody was resolved. I have relatives who have fought over custody for 10 years and spent a hundred thousand dollars, easy, on custody resolution. I wasn't sure if I could do this.

I went back to the hotel dragging a folded stroller and collapsed inside my room. I cried, ached took some sleeping pills and tried to melt into the hard mattress.

Check back tomorrow as more drama unfolds.

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*All names have been changed to protect the guilty & the innocent.