A Pregnant Woman's Battle with Fentanyl Addiction: How Keeping Her Baby Saved Them Both.
In her eighth month of pregnancy and suffering, a woman named Stephanie went to the medical facility after her infection worsened up her legs. Unemployed and homeless, cut off from her relatives, she resided in a small structure she had constructed in a companion's property. She was also hooked on fentanyl.
As medical staff managed her infection, she grew increasingly fearful. Withdrawal was setting in. She slumped forward and threw up.
Stephanie ultimately gave in. “I need to leave. I have to go home and get high.”
She had taken the drug before coming to the ER and had only a brief window to get treated before she needed to go home to get high again. She thought she still had four weeks left to find a way to become sober and deliver her child.
The medical professional intervened. She told Stephanie she was staying put.
“I will go,” Stephanie said.
But the hospital refused to discharge her: the condition in her limbs was critical, but medical staff detected she also had an amniotic fluid leak. The nurse, her nurse, warned her: if she left, she and her baby would be at risk of death.
Izzie persuaded the doctor to give Stephanie regulated amounts of fentanyl periodically, knowing that symptoms could threaten her and the baby. After delivery Stephanie would be transitioned to methadone, a drug that alleviates cravings and is often prescribed in addiction recovery.
A short time later, on 12 November 2022, Stephanie delivered a infant weighing a small weight – early, tiny yet healthy.
When the caregiver questioned if she wanted to embrace her child, Stephanie said “not now.” She was numb. Her epidural had failed, her previous intake of fentanyl had been administered four hours before delivery.
She felt sick. Unprepared to be a mother. Not fit.
Stephanie had tried to get clean repeatedly before birth, and felt awful each time she relapsed. She felt without value, criticizing herself for not being able to do the impossible. An OBGYN told her to “only” stop using. Even her source declined to supply to her when she became visibly pregnant.
“But I couldn’t,” she said. “I required assistance.”
The widespread belief that her affection for her child would make her stop using only led to increased guilt and negative self-talk, a trigger for her to use again. Yet she could not just wish her addiction away, any more than she could will away a chronic disease.
The baby was taken to the NICU. When Stephanie finally saw her her, she was connected to monitors, so small she thought she would hurt her. Embracing her at last, she felt empty. “I just stared at her and was like, ‘What am I going to do with you?’” She still wasn’t sure she wanted to be her mother.
Following a brief period she decided to give her child the name Izzie, after the professional who provided support to her.
Nurses and doctors told her about a care center, a innovative treatment home where mothers and their drug-exposed newborns are cared for jointly, not apart.
In much of the US, where a baby is identified with neonatal abstinence syndrome (NAS) frequently, infants are still rushed to special care and medicated while their mothers face child-protection investigations. But a developing system of centers like the care home is proving a simple point: when parents and infants remain united, outcomes improve, custody cases decrease and long-term costs decline.
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 pick her up.
She stepped out of the hospital still in detox, anxious and doubtful about what would follow.
At Maddie’s Place, Stephanie still was concerned that authorities would come remove her daughter – even though she was uncertain about motherhood. The fear lingered: that at any time, someone could arrive and remove her child.
For the first two weeks, Stephanie remained isolated. “I didn’t really want anything to do with any of them,” she said. “I was suspicious at that point.”
Survival outdoors, she said, was about getting by. Substances came first; faith came last.
Stephanie had a single companion, but even that relationship was delicate. The individuals she cared for always found ways to cause pain. She was unable to care for herself, not to mention anyone else.
Daily, staff from Maddie’s Place drove her to a treatment center, given as medication. Over time, she was starting to get clean.
She devoted all her time outside treatment with Izzie, and could see that her baby was receiving appropriate attention she needed. Her girl had some trouble feeding at first, with sensitivity to certain foods and pronounced gastrointestinal issues. She needed dietary support. She also had sensory challenges and required an specialist – all typical problems for babies born with NAS.
Seeing that even a young person understands the need for care, then I was capable. I could parent.
During a pre-holiday visit, Stephanie was in the common room, where parents in active addiction can come for monitored interactions with their babies. Katie Bunch-Smith, a peer support specialist, came over with her own five kids in tow to bring treats. They all gathered around Stephanie, who was sitting on the floor holding Izzie.
The young ones stared in wonder of the small baby in Stephanie’s arms. “They showed no judgment,” Stephanie said. “My past did not matter to them. None of those things mattered to them.”
She holds a picture of the moment. She is wearing dark trousers and a sweatshirt, a gray knit hat with a bobble on her head, seated on the ground with the entryway at her back. She is thin. Her head is tilted forward so you miss her features. She is lifting the baby on her knee for the other kids to see and they are standing close, fawning and reaching out to the baby.
A young boy, eight, asked the mothers: “Where are all the dads?” The women attempted to clarify that the dads were busy, called away to other tasks, that they would be there if they could.
“In the future,” Jacob said, “I will excel as a father. They will know they are valued.”
Stephanie and the specialist looked at each other. “I broke down,” Stephanie said. “If this little kid could see that newborns require care, then I found the courage. I could be a mom.”
Tools for treating babies with exposure have existed for decades.
The evaluation method was created in 1975|
