Lee: Reviewing the case plan

Maria walked into the office with Nick Dalton, chatting quietly about the weekend. As they entered Lee’s office, Maria was describing Jazz’s appearance and demeanor. Lee was already sitting at the small round table in her office, copies of the draft case plan placed neatly before two of the unoccupied chairs. She rose from her own seat as the other two caseworkers entered the office and greeted both cheerfully. “Maria was just telling me about your visit with Jazz, and from the sound of it she seems like a good kid,” Nick said as he settled into the chair to Lee’s left. “She is,” Lee agreed. “She was shy and nervous, of course. But she seemed really self-aware and dignified - more dignified than people I know who are twice her age.” “Plus, she has really good taste in books,” Maria added. Lee laughed. “She does! Horse books, non-stop. I love it!”

Nick sighed. “Well. I wish I could report the same kind of news to you guys, but I guess we wouldn’t be sitting here if I could.” Lee grimaced. “No luck getting ahold of the father, I take it?” she asked sympathetically. “Not a word, Lee. Not a single word. And the mother is fucking useless, just about to drive me crazy.” “Can’t see her daughter, doesn’t know where her husband is - I can’t imagine that would be easy on her, Nick,” Maria said gently. “Right, and I imagine she’s in shock. But goddamnit - how could she let it get to that point? I realize I’m not a woman, so maybe I’m out of line here, but isn’t a mother’s basic instinct to protect her child?” Nick looked at both women, visibly frustrated, and Lee almost wanted to laugh. “It’s not that simple, man. Am I condoning that woman’s behavior? No - hell, no! I completely agree that she should have been a better protector. But believe me, Jazz is not the only victim here, and was most likely not the first. For however long they’ve been together, Desire Ward has been abused by her husband, I’d bet my life on it. She’s probably lived in fear of him, probably prays every night that he doesn’t kill her or her daughter, when she’s not praying for a way out of the situation. But that’s the whole goddamn problem - she doesn’t have a way out!”

Maria and Nick looked at Lee with some surprise. She was well-known for being cool to the point of icy, so to hear her speak with such vehemence. The office was silent for a few moments before Nick said, “So then let’s see what we’re going to do about it. I see you have ideas on how to help Jazz, and I think I might be able to think of one or two things for Desire.”

Lee took a sip of water to cover her own confusion. She would have never expected to speak so passionately, and so personally, to her colleagues. She was saved from having to speak immediately, as Maria used the opportunity to agree to several of Lee’s suggestions - family reunification services (which were rote in all except the most dire circumstances, none of which had ever passed any of their desks), the recommendation for Dr. Humphrey. She also agreed to the plan for changing schools. “Jazz knows Ms. Jamison did what she felt was right, but at the same time, I could see Jazz wanting a fresh start.” “That was my thinking,” Lee said, finally able to use her words again. “I know that I would have been really reluctant to show up to school ever again.” 

“Well, I didn’t find anything I disagreed with,” Nick said. “But I was thinking that, on top of family therapy services, we should offer individual counseling to Desire. I know we’ll offer counseling and rehab to Antonio, but if Lee’s right - and she always is - then I’m guessing Desire could benefit from seeing a therapist on her own. What do you two think?” “You’re right - she’s right!” Maria laughed, as Lee shook her head ruefully. “I think that’s a great idea, Nick,” Lee said. Maria nodded, still laughing to herself. “Great!” Nick smiled. “Do you want me to add it to case plan, Lee, or do you want to make the edits yourself?” “I’ll take care of it and send you both a revised copy. Unless either of you have anything else to add, I think that should do it.” The three caseworkers agreed that, with the final revision and review, the plan was finalized, and Lee promised to send it to the courthouse that afternoon.

Lee: Reviewing case files

Case files were kept in a small room, behind bulletproof glass. At least one staff member sat behind the glass during business hours; a second person was on hand to pull the files from the stacks - the walls of sliding bookcases containing all of the cases reviewed by the El Cajon courthouse.

Lee was well-known by the two women currently staffing the file room. Doris and Julia were kindhearted women who took particular interest in the cases pertaining to juveniles, and knew most of the social workers and lawyers assigned to these by name. Per courthouse procedure, Lee presented her photo ID card, but even as Doris accepted it through the partition in the glass window, Julia was already on her feet and heading for the stacks. “Kerry called maybe an hour ago and let us know you’d be coming,” Doris said as she took a quick glance at Lee’s card. “That girl deserves a raise, Lee!” “Believe me, I know it,” Lee smiled as she returned her ID to her wallet. “I’ll make sure to put in a good word from you on her next evaluation.” “For me, too!” Julia said as she handed Doris the slim pressboard file. “Duly noted,” Lee laughed as Doris came through the locked door separating the file room from the waiting area. “You want a reading room, right?” Doris asked, keys in hand. “Yes, please, that would be great.”

Case files could not leave the file room, even with one of the caseworkers assigned to the case. The court had two locked reading rooms that faced the file room; a person could not enter the room without one of the staff members opening the door, nor could they leave the room without being spotted. Doris let Lee into one of the reading rooms, which held just a desk and a chair; Doris laid the file on the desk and left Lee to her reading.

Lee set her bag on the ground and her coffee on the desk. From her bag, she pulled an unopened black notebook and a pencil bag holding pens, highlighters, and sticky flags in a variety of colors. Once her supplies were arranged to her liking, she took a sip of coffee and opened Jazz’s file. It wasn’t much - just a police report, a copy of an interview with a schoolteacher, and the duty social worker’s notes. The file would thicken as Jazz’s assigned social worker and lawyer added their own reports and copies of case hearings.

The courts kept perfectly serviceable case files that social workers and lawyers could access during business hours, but because Lee often worked well into the evening and on weekends, she preferred to create her own. For each case she was assigned, she created an electronic and a paper file, and maintained a journal; she kept a clean notebook in her bag at all times, specifically for this purpose. Now, she turned to the third page of the freshly opened notebook and wrote across the top in her tidy capitals, “Case File: Notes”.

She read through the police report first. She wrote down relevant names (with contact information, if it was available), dates and times, locations - all color-coded. She would later add this information to her case file. The report was stark facts and easy to get through, but the duty social worker left copious notes - on her first meeting with Jazz and her mother (grim), on her impressions of Jazz’s wellness and health (poor), and on her interview with the teacher who had notified Child Protective Services.

This teacher, a Ms. Jamison, had noticed Jazz was quieter and withdrawn the past month or so. Unusual, since Jazz was bright, outgoing, and well-spoken, a standout fifth grader. She kept a watchful eye on Jazz but noticed nothing else unusual for a couple of weeks. Then, the Wednesday before the holiday break, Ms. Jamison happened to follow Jazz to the restroom during lunch period, and watched as Jazz vomited the lunch she’d brought in a little brown bag and eaten in its entirety by shoving two fingers with such force into the back of her throat that Ms. Jamison felt herself choking.

As Jazz bent over the sink spewing her lunch, T-shirt rising above her waistband, Ms. Jamison noticed large welts and bruises criss-crossing her exposed lower back. The wounds, and the horror on Jazz’s face when she realized she was being watched spurred Ms. Jamison to pull her from the bathroom to the school counselor’s office.

Following a quick examination and a quiet interview with Jazz and Ms. Jamison, Lara Hobbs, the duty social worker sent from CPS, found more than enough evidence to visit Jazz’s home in El Cajon that afternoon - a one-bedroom apartment littered with overfilled ashtrays and empty beer cans, a rusty futon with a thin mattress pad in the living area serving as Jazz’s bed. Lara wrote that, while the apartment was in complete disarray, the tiny kitchen’s refrigerator was at least stocked with bread, deli meat, and milk. The futon was liable to collapse under a healthy adult’s weight, but the mattress pad and the bedsheet covering it were scrupulously clean (Jazz’s mother later explained that she washed the sheet and Jazz’s clothing in the bathroom tub once a week).

Jazz’s mother, Desire Ward, was frail and apologetic. She opened the door for Lara, and when Lara walked into the apartment, accompanied by two police officers (Jazz was left in the patrol car), Desire sank onto the rusty futon “with a look of resignation and not a word to say”. When questioned about the wounds on Jazz’s back, Desire explained that Jazz had been “disciplined” by her father for dropping a coffee mug earlier that week. The bruising, however, looked over a week old to Lara’s eyes, a putrid yellow and started to fade. Desire claimed not to know how Jazz had acquired the bruises.

Jazz’s father was not at home. Desire did not know where he was.

For Jazz’s safety, Lara decided to remove her from her home. She was taken to Polinsky, where one of the on-site pediatricians gave Jazz a more thorough medical exam and supported Lara’s decision to remove the child from her parents. Lara filed her report, and on the following Thursday, based on Lara’s recommendation to the county, Lee was assigned as Jazz’s lawyer.

Lee closed the case file and her eyes, and breathed deeply for a few seconds. She knew Lara; they had been assigned to several of the same cases over the past couple of years, and she completely trusted the social worker’s judgment. Lara would not have specifically requested Lee if she were not aware that the year ahead would be long and brutal, for everyone involved with the case but especially the child. Lara knew that Jazz had suffered, and would continue suffering from, abuse in her home; she knew, too, that Lee would do everything in her power to find this girl a better situation.

When she felt a sense of calm, she opened her eyes and removed her tablet from her bag. Kerry had already responded with a meeting set up with Jazz for Saturday, 9am.

Subject: Re: Jazz Ward

From: Lena Song (lsong@nmg.org)

To: Kerry Tate (ktate@nmg.org)

K,

Please get the physician’s report of Jazz’s exam. Dr. Ariel Sutter. Exam was last Friday, at Polinsky. I’d like to see her report before I visit Jazz.

I’ll review my other cases next week.

Thanks,

L

Lee: Interactions with Andre

*A note on these posts: These are snippets from my current work in progress, and are not being published in sequential order.

As Andre Marshall’s assigned lawyer, Lee was expected to have some knowledge of him - his whereabouts, his current place of employment, a phone number that could be used to contact him. But all Lee had was an email address, provided by his son, Dwight; his social worker had said Dwight was uncertain if his father checked it at all, but he did know that Andre would occasionally use a computer at the library located around the corner from their apartment.

Lee eventually tracked down Andre at that library, sitting alone at a table and reading a paperback; he agreed to meet with Lee when she offered to buy him a coffee and a sandwich from the deli across the street. Taciturn and rude, Andre had thought Lee was assigned to him because of his latest parole violation and responded tersely to her attempts at conversation, but when he realized she was there to discuss his son, he stopped speaking entirely. And though she explained that Dwight had been picked up late one night at a seedy bar by a plainclothes detective, that he’d been removed from Andre’s custody and placed in a foster home, and that he could potentially be adopted, Andre merely ate his sandwich and drank his coffee. He took the list of court dates from Lee, but when she asked if he was willing to accept the court’s standard family services, he rose from the table and left the deli, sandwich tray and coffee cup left behind.

Lee watched him throw a crumpled piece of paper into the trash as he walked out the door. She watched as he ran across the street against the light. She watched as long as she was able to keep him in her line of sight, then she quietly cleaned their table and returned to her office.

Dwight Marshall never once asked Lee about Andre’s whereabouts, but it hadn’t been difficult to see his longing for his father. So as much as Lee believed he was safer with his foster parents, who had expressed their desire to adopt him after spending only a month as his guardians, Lee made as much effort as possible to haul Andre to at least one court hearing, or one family counseling session with his son. Lee sent him a reminder email the day before each of Dwight’s hearings, and periodically sent requests for meetings to discuss the ramifications of his absences. During the weeks of his basketball tournaments, Lee turned up at the apartment at odd hours, to knock on his door and to check with his neighbors; she even dropped by the library with his photo, to see if any of the staff had seen him using a computer.

But she never received any read receipts for the emails she sent, she never surprised him at his apartment, and though the library staff remembered Andre well (“quiet, would come in once a week to check his email, liked to read young adult fiction”), they hadn’t seen him in weeks.

So it was with no great effort that she wrote her final email to Andre Marshall. Over the course of the year, her one-sided correspondence had become increasingly formulaic and routine. She just could not find the energy to try any longer. 
Twelve months. An entire year. An entire year spent futilely hoping that she would receive a response or, better yet, see Andre in court. Futile indeed.

Lee: At the coffeehouse

After the fifth and final case, the judge adjourned the court for the day. Outside the courthouse, Lee spoke briefly with Sarah and David, then walked two blocks north to a local coffeehouse. As she did every Thursday, Lee ordered a latte and a croissant, and settled into a corner table. For the few minutes it took for a server to bring her order to her table, Lee perused the day’s headlines on newspapers scattered around the coffeehouse. Once she received her order, she took one bite of her warm croissant, then pulled her tablet from her heavy leather bag and fired up her email. She checked first for messages from her supervisor, then her assistant. Today, she had three from Linda and four from Kerry. Three new cases, four requests for meetings.

One case stood out immediately. In most cases, she was assigned to one of the biological parents. But every now and then, Lee was given to a child. When that happened, Lee knew she was in for sleepless nights, extra time spent at the shooting range, and piles of legislation. No case in the foster system was ever pretty, but Lee was only assigned to children when the cases were particularly ugly.

Jazz Ward. Ten years old. Currently staying at Polinsky Children’s Center - a temporary situation, as Polinsky was meant to be an emergency shelter, and had hardly enough beds for the children currently under its protection. Scheduled to meet prospective foster parents on Wednesday. Father: Antonio Ward, contractor, alcoholic, suspected of domestic abuse. Mother: Desire Ward, unemployed. Photos attached of a young child’s back, lacerated with scars, open wounds oozing pus, and bruising.

This was why Lee always took that bite of croissant before checking her messages.

Subject: Jazz Ward

From: Lena Song (lsong@nmg.org)

To: Kerry Tate (ktate@nmg.org)

  

K,

Priorities:

- Schedule a group meeting with Jazz’s caseworkers no later than next Tuesday. Social worker and lawyers required.

- Schedule a meeting with Jazz before the group meeting. I’ll go to her. I can do Saturday morning and I’m free all day Sunday, if necessary.

- What time is Jazz’s meeting with the FPs? I’ll want to be there on Wednesday, and I don’t see a conflict except a dentist appt (I’ll reschedule it, if need be).

Going back to the courthouse now, to review her case file. I’ll be back in the office tomorrow.

Thanks,

L

Lee: Email to Andre Marshall

Subject: Dwight Marshall, 12-month hearing

From: Lena Song (lsong@nmg.org)

To: andrem@yahoo.com

Dear Mr. Marshall,

Please be aware that your 12-month review hearing is scheduled for tomorrow, 10am, at E18, at the downtown courthouse. Your attendance is REQUIRED, as this hearing will determine if the court will move your son’s case to adoption and cancel your reunification services, or if you will receive an additional six months of support.

Please let me know if you need assistance getting to the courthouse, and I will be happy to help you.

Thank you,

Lena Song, J.D.

Norman-Mitchell Group