Losing My Daughter (part 13)

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Losing My Daughter
Page 13 of 18

When I arrived home I found my landlady besotted with my daughter. So my accommodation was safe as long as I could find some work. My father kept telling every one he would stop paying my rent unless I gave my daughter up for adoption. The visits from the social worker and or the policewomen where relentless. My father would call them and demand they came to check up on me. I also know now that this was not legal. But at the time, my knowledge was very scant. I lived in fear and from day to day, trying to make sure we both had what we needed to survive.

On the positive side, my landlady offered me my room in return for me cleaning her house. But this was not to last long; I began to have pain in my left breast. I went to see a social worker whom I had met in the home – she was a social worker but I trusted her. Ironically, her purpose in visiting us in the home was to run a series of lessons on the care of a baby.

She took my daughter and me to the hospital where they diagnosed me with mastitis I was told I needed to be treated with antibiotics. I said I would not be admitted and I went home with some medication for my mastitis. I had a fever and was very tired. I had been taking small amounts of Valium since my discharge. I was told that I needed to stay calm and have good rest. This was said to be because I had lethally high blood pressure while pregnant. I was also very thin and it was thought I was malnourished, which I was. I had not eaten a decent meal since I had left the hospital. Incidentally, this was a time when I began to be anorexic. I suspect that I may have had some intrinsic precipitator to this and the stress triggered it. I have suffered from this disorder since that time. I am somewhat better now but only marginally.

I was told to take another half tablet at night and I expressed my fear of not waking up for my daughter. I had slept through her crying once before and had woken to my landlady knocking on my door so I would keep the baby quiet.
My social worker friend said she would take my daughter to a receiving home for care. I did not know what a receiving home was. It sounded nice and I was assured that I could have my daughter when I was well. I asked if I could take my daughter to the receiving home and the social worker agreed. I believe she meant me no harm, as she was a very decent woman. We went back to my house where I packed my daughter’s things for her stay. I fed her and made her another bottle of formula. I write out how much I was giving her and a few other remarks about her general needs. We drove to Lansdowne Crescent in West Hobart and we went into a very nice house. The woman who was to care for my daughter was nice. I felt that my daughter would be safe there.


Losing My Daughter, continued.