injusticebustersblog

Donna Jones, originally uploaded by Sheila Steele.

The following account by Donna Jones begins a series of her accounts of Kafka-esque experiences she had from the time she was approved as a foster parent until all her foster children were illegally removed from her and she brought her story to injusticebusters.



Foster son number 1

My first foster son came to live with me in July 2004 when he was 14 years old. One evening we were driving down Circle Drive east. As I approached College Drive the amber lights were flashing. I reduced my speed from 90 kilometers to 60 kilometers. My foster son reached over and pushed the gear shift into park. We were lucky that there was no traffic at the time and that we were not involved in a serious accident. I have since had trouble with my transmission. My mechanic has advised putting in a new one.

I told Kendra Smith, his Social Worker, about the incident. She asked if we were alright. I said, “Yes” and that was the end of it. She did not enquire whether there was any damage to my car or suggest that I get the car checked.

Remember, I was a new foster parent, I did not know that the Dept. is responsible for damages caused by a foster child. Nor did the Social Worker inform me of this policy.
Chapter 8, policy 8.6 states; Where a foster family’s personal insurance or SFFA rider did not cover the cost for damages caused by children in care, the department may pay compensation. Such compensation may be provided for: deductibles, increased premiums, actual loss.
Amount: Actual amount supported by receipts or an amount based on estimates signed by an insurance adjuster or licensed contractor/dealer. Claims must be for repair or replacement to an equal or lesser value of the damaged item.
Imagine that, I could have got my car repaired but no one told me.

Thanks for sharing Kendra.

Foster son number 2

My second foster son came to me in August, 2004. He was also 14 years of age. While I was at work one day, he decided to put a fork in the microwave. He then went to the bathroom to do his business. Well lo and behold the micro wave caught on fire. I asked him why he would do such a thing.

He said, “I wanted to see if you would get mad.”

“Mad!” I said, “Why would I get mad? The microwave caught on fire, the kitchen could have caught on fire, we live in an apartment building and it could have caught on fire.” I said, “No I think mad is too mild a term for what I am feeling.”

His Social Worker, Nicole Meckelborg, and my Resource Worker, Jennifer Frank were present when I discovered the microwave. They did not say a word. Did either one of them offer to replace my micro wave? No!

Two days later I went to use the microwave and realized that I no longer had one and I started fuming. I called his Social Worker, Nicole Meckelborg and as usual she was not around. Nor was she in the habit of returning phone calls, (which you had better get used to if you want to be a foster parent). I then called my Resource Worker Jennifer Frank. She was not available either, but Jennifer did return my call. I told her, I was not a millionaire and I could not afford a new micro wave. I wanted something done about this and I wanted something done about it now! She said she would see what she could do and would call me back. Half an hour later she phoned me back. She told me that there would be a store voucher at the front desk after two o’clock which I could pick up. I thanked her and picked up my voucher and purchased a new micro wave.

Foster son No.2 had some very serious problems. He was a sniffer. I was at work one morning when foster son No.1’s probation officer came for a visit. Her name was Heather Carter. Foster son No.2 had just gone out. No.1 had just got out of the shower prior to the Heather’s arrival. Heather smelled a strong scent of ammonia. She asked, No.1 if he was sniffing. He said, “No, I just got out of the shower. I have a new foster brother and he just left. I think he is sniffing.”

Heather stayed and watched No.1 very closely for a little while. She determined that No.1 was not high and told No.1 to have me call her. I arrived ten minutes after she left. I called her immediately. She informed me of her findings. I was freaked right out. I had never dealt with anything like this in my life. I did not have a clue what to do or what to watch for! Thank heavens for Heather. She gave me a quick lesson on sniffers. I gathered up anything and everything that could be used to get high and took it down to my underground parking stall and locked everything in the trunk of my car.

Little did I know this was the beginning of my worst nightmare. No.2 would get behind cars that were running and sniff the exhaust fumes. He would look for gas cans on the way to school and sniff from them. When visiting friends or relatives he would go to the bathroom and get into their cleaning products. He would come out smelling like Windex, Vim, Lysol, Air Fresher etc. It did not take long for me to catch on to his shenanigans. If he had to go to the bathroom, I would go in before him and remove these items. What a pain in the butt. Everywhere we went I had to watch him like a hawk. I learned more about what can and what cannot be sniffed.

I contacted his Social Worker Nicole Meckelborg, who was never there nor did she return my calls. I called my Resource Worker, she told me to take this child to addiction services. Anyway to make a long story short, after calling, the Dept. over and over about this child and doing everything I could, Nicole and Jennifer finally came out to see me. I told them that I did not have any training in solvent abuse and I was not prepared to deal with this.

I was told by Nicole that if I did not keep this child I would be penalized and would not get any other children placed in my home.

I said, “What! You cannot do this to me.”

She said, “Yes we can.” I could not believe what I was hearing.” I looked at Jennifer and said, “This is wrong. You cannot penalize me because I am not prepared to deal with this.”

She did not say a word. Shortly thereafter they left. I sat there shaking my head. I could not believe what Nicole had said. The next day Jennifer phoned me. She told me that she had spoken to her supervisor Francine D’Aoust. She said, “Francine told her to tell me that yes, I would be penalized if I did not keep this child.” Well now I was ticked right off! I was taking my foster parent classes at the time (Yes, taking my foster parent classes after I was an approved foster home, go figure); and I was asked by Jennifer to stay after class to speak with Jacques St.Pierre, another supervisor.

Jacques started off the meeting stating, “Donna we have contacted the previous group home that No.2 lived in and they said that they had none of the problems that you are encountering with No.2.

I said, “I do not care what the group home has to say: No.2 has a sniffing problem. I have caught him sniffing, No.1 has caught him, and my friends and family can also attest to it.”

Jacques said, “You have to understand that No.2 lived in this group home for 4 years and he has been with you for less then a month. From our stand point, we have no other choice but to question your credibility.”

I could not believe what I was hearing. The Department couldn’t care less about this child. They didn’t care that he had an addiction problem. All they cared about was that they had a scapegoat. I went home shaking my head. Boy was I ever stupid. Child Protective Services was not about protecting the children. It was time for me to climb out of my ivory tower and take off my rose colored glasses. Welcome to the real world.

I went on campaign to help this child. I phoned the foster parent local association, I spoke to their support persons. I talked to older more seasoned foster parents that told me to get used to it. I called the Children’s Advocacy office. I went wild. No one could or would help me with this boy. I was so disheartened. They all kept saying write letters. So I wrote letters.

The sad part of the story is that I did it all for nothing. No one seemed to care but me. They were to busy blaming each other and worrying about who was going to be held responsible. I can’t believe how naïve I was. I really thought that it was all about saving the children. Man oh man was I wrong. Needless to say, I carried on with this boy with no help or support from the Dept. Finally I had enough and called his worker. Of course she was not there, so I left a message. To my amazement three days later she phoned me back. She asked me to take him over to a group home on the east side of the city for supper and a two hour visit. She explained to me that if all went well, he would be moved to this home the following week.

The next week Nicole Meckelborg contacted me and asked me to pack up No.2’s belongings and take him over to the group home. Unbeknownst to me at the time, I was not supposed to do that. The Social Worker is supposed to move the child or at least meet you at the new home. That was not the case. Anyway I delivered No.2 to his new home. Here I was struggling with this child and the only assistance I received was the information that I had gleaned from Heather Carter. The Social Workers and supervisors were more concerned with covering their own backs than they were with the child and my inability and lack of training to cope with him.

According to Chapter 4, policy 4.2; The Department of Social Services shall provide a range of residential services for children requiring out-of-home care to ensure that their needs may be matched to the appropriate out-of-home care residence.

Remember, I told them that I did not have any training in solvent abuse.

When you take foster parent classes they will tell you that most of the children are FASD. I remember asking Jacques St.Pierre, “When do we get training in FASD?” He said, “After you have been fostering a year.” I said, “If most of the children are FASD, why are we not being given that training now?” He said, “We have to do your foster parent training first.” I’m sorry; I don’t think it takes a rocket scientist to figure this one out. The greater percentages of these children are FASD. It only stands to reason, that we should have some training in this area, to better assist us in dealing with and understanding these children. Makes sense to me. But Jacques was right. A year later we learned all about FASD. By then all of us could have written a book on the subject!

continued on next post. > > >

# posted by Sheila Steele @ 4:16 PM Post a Comment