A Refuge For Throwaways

The girl couldn't admit the truth to her family now, not after concealing her pregnancy for so long. She could have tossed the wide-eyed, curly-haired boy into Mobile Bay or buried him in the woods at the edge of town. But instead, on a cold Christmas Eve night in Alabama, she stood in the emergency room at Springhill Memorial Hospital, looking around until her eyes locked on supervisor Teri Little. Her voice hollow, she asked, "Is this where I drop my baby off?"

She handed over the boy, wrapped in a blanket, dressed in a blue-yellow-and-pink beanie. But there was no gentleness in the passing; it was as if the child were a sack of potatoes. The supervisor stared into her eyes, hoping to glimpse regret or agony. All she saw was relief. When Little asked if the baby had any medical condition that nurses might need to know about, the young mother cut her off. She turned around and walked out without saying a word, without looking back. In Little's arms, the baby cooed. "You try standing in her shoes. You try not to judge," says Little. "But you wonder how she could just leave a beautiful baby boy."

The story is heartbreaking, but it is, in its small way, an attempt at happier endings. In Mobile, as part of a program that began in November 1998, mothers are permitted to abandon their newborns at hospitals and walk away--no questions asked. In exchange, district attorney John Tyson has agreed not to prosecute the mothers if they bring the infants within three days of birth and don't harm them. "We're just trying to prevent a desperate situation," Tyson says. "If you could have a healthy, bouncing baby as opposed to a dead infant, which one would you choose?" Indeed, after a spate of tragic "Dumpster baby" stories in the media, states from Alabama to California are choosing to debate and institute regulations that would allow women to "safely" abandon unwanted newborns.

The impetus for change comes from small groups of homespun activists. In suburban Pittsburgh, Pa., Gigi Kelly, a nurse and mother, was inspired to begin a local campaign after a healthy 8-lb. baby boy was left in a trash bag behind her family's church. Kelly found an old laundry basket, lined it with a warm blanket and put it on her front porch. Then she called reporters with a plea for young mothers to bring their babies to her. I'll take it from there, she promised. Nobody has taken up her offer yet, but still she waits. "It's a strange feeling when you lay your head on the pillow at night," she says. "Kind of spooky." With only a manual typewriter and a fax machine, she turned her Baskets for Babies program into a public-awareness campaign for young moms who think they have nowhere to turn. Now when night falls on Pittsburgh, 608 families leave their porch lights on and have their baskets ready.