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Sam's Intro - June 1996 
I clearly remember the day I found out I had lost my son Ben. I went to see Tony, my drugs counsellor at Open Doors, a drop-in clinic I had been using since I got back from America in 1994. I liked Tony; we had a good relationship and he was nice to me. He had tattoos and long hair and had been clean of drugs for several years and wanted to use his experiences to help other addicts like me. Living with friends, the clinic was my only contact with my family. Tony would pass on messages from my Mum Pam and letters from my boyfriend Chris who was serving a six-month sentence for fraud and conspiracy in Lincoln prison.
The unforgiving plastic chairs in reception made my wait for Tony seem like hours but I was enjoying the warmth of my cup of tea. I was almost about to leave when he called me in and snarled, "Well, you've done it now, haven't you? You have lost Ben. You have to clean up your act now or you will never get your son back." It was the worst feeling I have ever had in my life; realising that I had lost my little boy. I experienced it like a death; I instantly went numb and shut myself off from my emotions, a cold sweat the only sign of the grief rising inside me. In that moment as Tony told me that Ben had gone to live with his Dad, I lost all hope and any urge to get better. I went straight out to score some drugs and I got so out of my head that I woke up the following morning in a strange house, another addict in bed beside me, with no idea where I was. My bedmate was German and said he had been in prison for years over there and his false teeth disgusted me. Not knowing what I had or had not done with him the previous night, on top of losing my son, meant that I needed to be out of my head and unable to feel more than ever before. It was the start of a new low for me; I moved on from injecting speed onto heroin and smoking crack - a lethal combination. The following morning the other addicts in the house rang their dealer to get some more drugs. When the door opened and a big black man with diamonds in his front teeth walked in, I stared at him amazed; it was Dave Francis, Tony's boss at the clinic! He sold us the drugs that we wanted and it didn't occur to me to question if he should be doing it considering his job. He had something that we wanted so I wasn't going to ask questions. I found out later that his city colleagues didn't know that he was one of the biggest dealers in the Midlands and was bringing regular supplies of heroin and crack cocaine into Nottingham. I guess he used the clinic to find more trapped and terrified drug addicts looking for help, only rather than helping them he exploited their addictions by selling them drugs. What an evil bastard. I am ashamed to admit that it must have been well over a month since I had seen Ben when I found out that he had gone to live with his Dad. I had been abusing drugs on and off for four years and when my boyfriend Chris went to prison in March I simply couldn't cope on my own. Before Chris went to prison, I had been off the illegal drugs for several weeks but my doctor had prescribed Valium and I had been taking that while drinking at least four daily cans of Kestrel Super. Unsurprisingly, much of that time is a blur. In April, I went into rehab to get clean, leaving Ben with my Mum Pam. The drug rehab clinic at the hospital was more like a mental ward filled with people going crazy and I simply did not want to be there. A man I knew through Chris said he was leaving to go and score, so I left with him. We even had somewhere to stay because one of the other alcoholics gave us his keys to use his house for as long as we wanted. In that moment, I did not honestly think about anybody or anything other than I wanted some drugs. I knew Ben would be safe with my Mum and I never considered for a minute that he wouldn't be there when I went back, as I knew I would eventually. I soon found out that my Mum was furious with me. The day after I checked out of the hospital I suddenly felt guilty about leaving Ben and I telephoned her house to speak to him, but she said, "No, you can't talk to him, you can't hurt him anymore." Four weeks later, once my Mum had asked my ex-husband Roger to take Ben she rang my counsellor Tony to let him know. She knew the staff at the drop-in because I had been involved with them for two years and at that time, she had no other way of contacting me. I don't know if it was hearing that I had lost my son, or the horrible attacking way in which Tony, who I thought was my friend, made it clear that it was my fault; but that moment will stay with me forever like a physical scar. Tony told me that Ben had gone to live with his Dad but nobody let me know that it was initially a temporary order. I know my Mum knew and she should have told me - I thought it was permanent. If I had known that I could go to court in six weeks and maybe get Ben back, it might have given me the impetus that I needed to kick my drug habit for good. I knew that my ex Roger had a girlfriend called Nikki but I thought that Roger and his mother Rae were my problem. I didn't take Nikki seriously; she may have been Roger's girlfriend for a year but I didn't think she would want to hang around now that Ben had moved in. Who would want to raise someone else's child? I didn't imagine Nikki, Roger and Ben together playing happy families, I thought that Roger was my enemy; he was the one who had taken my son away from me. My life had been going down the toilet for several years and believing that I had lost my son forever I gave up all hope. I had lost Ben and nobody wanted anything to do with me, not even my own mother. My boyfriend Chris was in prison and there was no one to care about me so I didn't see why I should bother to care about myself. Four years earlier, I was married and had a beautiful blond blue-eyed little boy that talked non-stop and followed me everywhere. Now I was in the midst of a full-blown drug and alcohol addiction, living alone on the streets of Nottingham and faced with never seeing my son again. I couldn't understand how my life had gone so horribly wrong and as I didn't want to think or feel anything anymore, I injected yet more heroin to kill the pain. |