A Pregnant Woman's Battle with Fentanyl Addiction: How Keeping Her Baby Transformed Their Futures.
Pregnant and experiencing intense discomfort, a woman named Stephanie visited the medical facility after her infection worsened up her legs. Unemployed and homeless, separated from loved ones, she resided in a small structure she had built in a companion's property. She was also addicted to fentanyl.
As doctors treated her infection, she began to panic. The onset of withdrawal began. She slumped forward and threw up.
Stephanie finally broke down. “I need to leave. I have to go home and take a hit.”
She had used fentanyl before coming to the ER and had sufficient opportunity to get treated before she needed to go home to get high again. She thought she still had a month remaining to plan her recovery and have this baby.
The attending nurse disagreed. She told Stephanie she was not going anywhere.
“I will go,” Stephanie said.
But the medical facility declined to release her: the leg infection was severe, but physicians found she also had an amniotic fluid leak. The nurse, a caregiver named Izzie, warned her: if she walked out, she and her baby would be at risk of death.
Izzie persuaded the doctor to give Stephanie measured quantities of fentanyl at regular intervals, knowing that abstinence might harm her and the baby. After delivery Stephanie would be switched to methadone, a drug that alleviates cravings and is commonly used in substance abuse treatment.
After five days, on 12 November 2022, Stephanie delivered a infant weighing 4lb 8oz – early, tiny yet healthy.
When the nurse asked if she wanted to cuddle her newborn, Stephanie said “I cannot.” She was numb. Her epidural had failed, her previous intake of fentanyl had been given a few hours prior to birth.
She felt unwell. Not ready for motherhood. Unworthy.
Stephanie had sought recovery multiple times while expecting, and felt awful each time she was unsuccessful. She felt hopeless, blaming herself for not being able to overcome the challenge. An obstetrician told her to “only” stop using. Even her supplier refused to sell to her when she became clearly expecting.
“Yet I was unable,” she said. “I required assistance.”
The widespread belief that her love for her baby would make her quit only led to increased guilt and self-abuse, a impetus for her to use again. Yet she could not simply will her addiction away, any more than she could eliminate a persistent condition.
The newborn was transferred to the neonatal intensive care unit. When Stephanie finally saw her her, she was hooked up to tubes and leads, so tiny she thought she would hurt her. Cradling her initially, she felt detached. “I gazed upon her and was like, ‘How will I care for you?’” She remained uncertain she wanted to be her mother.
After two days she decided to name her baby Izzie, after the professional who provided support to her.
Hospital staff told her about a care center, a new kind of care center where women and their babies are supported as a unit, not apart.
In many parts of America, where a baby is diagnosed with newborn addiction symptoms every 18 minutes, infants are still quickly moved to hospitals and given drugs while their mothers face parental assessments. But a small, growing network of centers like this facility is showing an important truth: when mothers and babies stay together, outcomes improve, foster placements fall and future expenses reduce.
It took Stephanie some time to build confidence to call, but she finally did. After confirming she would be a good fit for the program, a couple of employees came to collect her.
She left the medical center still in withdrawal, scared and uncertain about what would happen next.
At Maddie’s Place, Stephanie still feared that child services would come take Izzie – even though she was uncertain about motherhood. The concern persisted: that at any time, someone could enter and take her baby away.
For the first two weeks, Stephanie remained isolated. “I avoided interaction,” she said. “I was suspicious at that point.”
Life on the streets, she said, was about enduring. Drugs came first; faith came last.
Stephanie had one close friend, but even that relationship was delicate. The people she loved always found ways to cause pain. She lacked the ability to care for herself, not to mention anyone else.
Every day, staff from the facility transported her to a clinic for methadone, provided orally. Over time, she was starting to get clean.
She devoted all her time when not in sessions with Izzie, and could see that her baby was getting the specialized care she needed. Her girl had some trouble feeding at first, with adverse reactions to milk and pronounced gastrointestinal issues. She needed nutritional guidance. She also had heightened sensory issues and required an professional – all common issues for babies born with NAS.
When a child recognizes these infants need affection, then I was capable. I could be a mom.
One afternoon before Thanksgiving, Stephanie remained in the shared space, where parents in active addiction can come for monitored interactions with their babies. A support specialist, a peer support specialist, stopped by with her own five kids in tow to bring treats. They all crowded near Stephanie, who was seated on the ground holding Izzie.
The young ones stared in wonder of the little newborn in Stephanie’s arms. “They had no care in the world,” Stephanie said. “They didn’t care that I had used drugs with her. They focused only on the baby.”
She keeps a photo of the moment. She is wearing dark trousers and a sweatshirt, a beanie with a pompom on her head, resting on the floor with the entryway at her back. She is lean. Her head is tilted forward so you do not see her expression. She is lifting the baby on her knee for the other kids to see and they are gathered around, admiring and touching to the baby.
Jacob, eight, asked the moms: “Why are there no men?” The moms tried to explain that the dads were busy, engaged elsewhere, that they would be there given the chance.
“In the future,” Jacob said, “I will excel as a father. I’m gonna show them that they deserve to be loved.”
Stephanie and her companion exchanged glances. “I broke down,” Stephanie said. “When a child recognized that these babies deserve to be loved, then I could do this. I could parent.”
Methods to address infants affected by substances have existed for decades.
The evaluation method was created in 1975|
