Bob Loblaw

We had an unscheduled visit Friday from Child Protective Services. The case worker seems nice, probably genuinely wants to help. this was not entirely unexpected. Let’s face it, it they are trying to get a genuine view of the environment in which children (specifically, our grandchildren) are dwelling, some visits need to be unscheduled.

In fact, the case worker did call ahead, I’m sure this was so as not to make a 20-mile drive (one way) to arrive at an empty house. No worries.

Sooo, all seemed to go well. She brought us some papers, no doubt looked around a bit, didn’t find a dungeon with chains (We don’t have one to be found.), munchkins looking healthy. All good things.

She did compliment us (my wife really, I was at work) on our sticking to “the plan.” Well, duh! I know that not everyone does. I’m also aware of the potential that our grandchildren, and possibly even our children that remain with us, could be taken away and “put into the system.” One doesn’t even need to see this to grasp that the danger there is very grave indeed.

In short, good visit, quiet time is rare in our house, Criminal Investigation still underway.

Go, Ducks.

A Sunday night. It was a Sunday a few weeks ago when we got that horrific phone call. (See the entry for July 18th, Dear Lord, …)

In retrospect, we are all doing better than we deserve. We are still under the scrutiny of Children Services Division, and possibly will be for some time, although the Case Worker is anxious to close the case (the Detective is not, but CSD can close the case, & the Detective can keep it open.)

Baby is doing well.  She’s now about 6mo, and starting to get up on her little knees. (did you know they don’t have kneecaps until they’re a couple of years old? Me neither!) The doctors has said she is developing within normal parameter, they’ve determined that there is no need for further eye exams (at least related to this injury.)

Since D#1 and her 2 kids could not continue to live with Suspect#1 (well, *she*could, but she’d have to give up the kids, and she is not going to do that easily), they were instructed to live with us. That makes seven (count ‘em! 7!) persons living in this house.

D#1 got herself a job, working graveyard at the local mega-mart. Since she’s working nights, and supposed to be sleeping days, and I’m working days and supposed to be sleeping nights, she uses the master BR most days. (Whiny portion here.) This can be an inconvenience, since it blocks entry to one of the bathrooms in the house and means that I need to try to nap in the living room. (She still needs a ride to work, and she starts at 11 pm, I am designated driver, Sweet Baboo stays at home with the under-10 group. I start work at 7 am. Getting home at approx. 11:30, in bed by midnight, getting up at 5:30 am, work my 8 in a (currently very warm) warehouse, come home ane start all over again. Oh, yeah, since she sleeps til 10 pm, or so, I can’t get in a shower until after I drop her off at work. UCK!!

(Hopefully, the whiny portion ends here.) So, two of us have jobs. Sweet Baboo (aka “Gramma”) is basically watching the kidlets 24/7. I believe D#1 has most, if not all, her stuff moved our of the house she was in. There is more stuff in a friend’s garage, and that will also need to be moved, but for the most part, she should be spending more time on this side of town.

Let’s see, more positives… D#1 should be getting her first paycheck soon. I think she has it spent about 15-times over, but logic, cold and crewel (SIC), with impress itself upon her spending. She has promised to kick in on the rent, utilities, food, et al. We’ll see.

We have food. We have a house. Are are still on track eliminating our debt. (It’s slowed somewhat, but still progressing.) We are all healthy. We live in a country where it is still legal to get, be, and remain outrage and vocal about our elected officials. We have elected officials. We lost no relatives in 9/11.

We are blessed.

First things first. The Hospital’s name is actually “Doernbecher.”

So we take our turns going in to see our little girl. D#1 & her BFF make nice. X#2 is pretending to be a descent soft of guy. Everyone there knows him and knows he wants something.

D#1 is still fuming.

Eventually, we are allowed into the PICU to see our grandbaby. She’s been intubated, catheterized, has an IV, is wearing an electronic blood pressure cuff on her ankle, a pulse monitor on her toe, an ECG, and God and medical records only knows what else. Dear Lord… this is difficult enough to see on a stranger, almost too difficult when you’re looking at a four month old whose only possilbe offence was that she was acting like a four month old.

They’ve already done one CT scan on her little head, another is scheduled for 2 AM. They’ll compare to look for any change. Nurses, doctors, technicians, all wander in and out. At some point I notice that we are being watched every second. I can deal. they think some hurt my baby. Yes, watch us, watch everyone. She never deserved this, no infant could.

All the nurses are professionally cheerful. It helps. This is so painful I can barely stand it, even now, almost a week later.

They gave her pain medication when she was first admitted, before they intubated her, and hooked her up to the 10,000 other tubes and wires. It was to make that process faster and easier for the ER team. Now they’re letting that wear off, hoping to get good vitals while we wait for 2 AM. little by little, she rouses a bit.

Finally, about 2 AM, a team of nurses comes into the room together, it’s time to transport her to the CT Scanner. one of is is allowed to go. I’m elected. Her father (D#1’s X#2) had departed. I’m not sure why. He said something about having to get up for work. To hell with him. D#1 claimsto be having too much difficulty handling this, I can see that. I’m elected.

The team of nurses switch out her tubing and wires to portable machines, and off we go. Everyone is excited that baby is objecting so much to he movement. This is a good sign. no paralysis here. That she’s survived is miracle #1, this is #2. Down the hallway, through the labyrinth, down a floor (up a floor?), across a skybridge, through more labyrinth, and finally to radiology.

Radiology has 2 appointments for 2 AM. The other patient is a woman. Older, Caucasian. I still don’t know what happened to her, but she very banged up. Heavy bruising around her right eye. She seems barely conscious. I say a quick prayer for her. She’s got a good medical team, I’m sure. Prayer is the help I can provide.

We get baby into the CT room, It’s clear my absence is required. I’m told I can wait in a cubby down the hall. I comply. Minutes later, again I sure it was a much shorter time than it feels, the nurses come out with baby, and we start out trek back to PICU. About 90% of the trip is travel time, 10% is time spent in Radiology.

Switch baby back to her bed, switch back to the more stationary machines. Minutes later, Dr Slick comes in and tell us there is no change from the first CT to the present one. This is the first good news. No surgery needed. Miracle #3. Praise God.

Some time during the night, I meet the detectives investigating the case. There’s little I can tell them. D31’s relationship history is spotty, at best. Her relationship with this person is quite recent. No, I’ve never met him. They are gravely concerned that he’s left the hospital. Later on, I’m told D#1 advised him “don’t do anything foolish.” i retrospect, I wish he had taken a poke at one of them. I’m told police officer don’t take kindly to that sort of thing, even outside of LA. I’m counting of “rule of law” of take care of him.

D#1, her BFF, and BFF’s boyfriend go with the detectives to the house where D#1 lives with pond scum. (Apologies to actual pond scum everywhere.) D#1 is still fuming. She’s still sure that pond scum is telling the truth and that baby fell off the couch. “He’s consistent with his story,” she says,” He hasn’t changed his story at all.” If I claim to be a gigantic shiitaki mushroom, and continue to claim such, at no point will I actually become one, neither does my claim gain validity based upon my consistency. (On the internet, no one knows that you’re a gigantic shiitaki mushroom, and no one cares either.)

Time passes, eventually, D#1 returns to the hospital, still fuming. she’s going to sue everyone breathing. She still believes pond scum. Says the floor in the apartment is very hard, and that’s the reason Baby Girl’s injury is so severe. She say the detective have no right to play “Good cop, Bad cop.” In fact, they have every right to do so, they are cops after all. no one expects that they can ask, “Did you directly cause harm to this child?” and the suspect will, tears in his eyes, confess all immediately, and willingly go to jail. We still have laws that prevent them from beating a confession out of him, well, mostly we do.

She’s talking about “innocent until proven guilty.” Yep, e aren’t allowed to punish him until he’s been convicted by a jury of his peers. That’s still mostly how it works here.

We finally go home, getting there about 5:30 AM. We sleep fitfully for a few hours, and go back to the hospital.