She Was Pregnant and Addicted to Fentanyl: How Keeping Her Baby Transformed Their Futures.
In her eighth month of pregnancy and suffering, the expectant mother visited the hospital emergency room after her infection worsened up her legs. Jobless and without shelter, estranged from her family, she lived in a shed she had constructed in a friend’s yard. She was also hooked on fentanyl.
As medical staff managed her infection, she started to feel anxious. Symptoms of withdrawal emerged. She slumped forward and vomited.
Stephanie finally broke down. “I have to get out of here. I have to go home and use drugs.”
She had taken the drug before arriving at the hospital and had just enough time to get treated before she had to return to get high again. She thought she still had a month remaining to find a way to become sober and have this baby.
The attending nurse disagreed. She told Stephanie she was not allowed to leave.
“I am leaving,” Stephanie said.
But the hospital refused to discharge her: the condition in her limbs was critical, but doctors had discovered she also had an leakage of amniotic fluid. The nurse, her nurse, warned her: if she departed, she and her baby would not survive.
She encouraged the doctor to give Stephanie regulated amounts of fentanyl periodically, knowing that withdrawal could endanger her and the baby. Post-birth Stephanie would be transitioned to methadone, a drug that alleviates cravings and is frequently utilized in rehabilitation.
A short time later, on the 12th of November, Stephanie delivered a infant weighing just over four pounds – early, tiny yet healthy.
When the nurse asked if she wanted to hold her baby, Stephanie said “no.” She was numb. Her epidural had failed, her previous intake of fentanyl had been administered shortly before she gave birth.
She felt unwell. Not ready for motherhood. Undeserving.
Stephanie had tried to get clean multiple times while expecting, and felt terrible each time she failed. She felt without value, berating herself for not being able to overcome the challenge. An obstetrician told her to “only” stop using. Even her source refused to sell to her when she became clearly expecting.
“However, I failed,” she said. “I needed help.”
The pervasive expectation that her bond with her newborn would make her quit only led to deeper self-loathing and negative self-talk, a impetus for her to relapse. Yet she could not just wish her addiction away, any more than she could overcome a long-term illness.
The baby was taken to the neonatal intensive care unit. When Stephanie finally saw her her, she was attached to medical equipment, so little she thought she would break her. Cradling her initially, she felt nothing. “I just stared at her and was like, ‘How will I care for you?’” She still wasn’t sure she wanted to be her mother.
Two days later she decided to give her child the name after her caregiver, after the professional who provided support to her.
Medical personnel told her about a specialized facility, a innovative treatment home where parents and infants affected by substance use are supported as a unit, not apart.
In many parts of America, where a baby is identified with neonatal abstinence syndrome (NAS) regularly, infants are still rushed to special care and treated with pharmaceuticals while their mothers face child-protection investigations. But a small, growing network of centers like Maddie’s Place is proving a simple point: when parents and infants remain united, recovery succeeds, foster placements fall and long-term costs decline.
It took Stephanie a period to find strength to call, but she ultimately reached out. After ensuring she qualified for the program, care providers came to collect her.
She left the medical center still in recovery, fearful and unsure about what would follow.
At Maddie’s Place, Stephanie still was concerned that CPS would come remove her daughter – even though she was uncertain about motherhood. The fear lingered: that at any time, someone could arrive and separate them.
For the initial fortnight, Stephanie remained isolated. “I avoided interaction,” she said. “I lacked confidence at that point.”
Survival outdoors, she said, was about survival. Addiction came first; faith came last.
Stephanie had a trusted ally, but even that bond was fragile. The individuals she cared for always found ways to hurt her. She did not know how to care for herself, let alone anyone else.
Daily, staff from the center transported her to a clinic for methadone, provided orally. Slowly, she was embracing sobriety.
She spent every minute when not in sessions with Izzie, and could see that her baby was getting the specialized care she needed. Her infant faced feeding challenges at first, with intolerance to some formulas and severe digestive problems. She needed nutritional guidance. She also had sensory challenges and required an specialist – all frequent conditions for babies exposed to substances.
If this little kid could see that these babies deserve to be loved, then I could do this. I would become a mother.
One afternoon before Thanksgiving, Stephanie was in the common room, where those still using can come for supervised visits with their babies. A support specialist, a recovery coach, came over with her own five kids in tow to bring treats. They all gathered around Stephanie, who was resting on the carpet holding Izzie.
The children were wide-eyed in admiration of the tiny infant in Stephanie’s arms. “They showed no judgment,” Stephanie said. “They overlooked my addiction. None of those things mattered to them.”
She has an image of the moment. She is dressed in dark trousers and a sweatshirt, a gray knit hat with a decoration on her head, seated on the ground with the entryway at her back. She is thin. Her posture is humble so you do not see her expression. She is lifting the baby on her knee for the young ones to see and they are gathered around, fawning and reaching out to the baby.
A young boy, eight, asked the parents: “Why are there no men?” The women attempted to clarify that the men were occupied, called away to other tasks, that they would be there if they could.
“When I have kids,” Jacob said, “I plan to be a great parent. They will know they are valued.”
Stephanie and her companion looked at each other. “I just lost it and fell apart,” Stephanie said. “When a child recognized that newborns require care, then I found the courage. I would become a mother.”
Approaches for managing infants affected by substances have been available for years.
The evaluation method was created in 1975|
