She Was Pregnant and Addicted to Fentanyl: How Keeping Her Baby Rescued Both Lives.
In her eighth month of pregnancy and suffering, the expectant mother went to the hospital emergency room after a serious infection started to spread up her legs. Without a job or home, estranged from her family, she lived in a shed she had assembled in a acquaintance's garden. She was also hooked on fentanyl.
As medical staff managed her infection, she grew increasingly fearful. Symptoms of withdrawal emerged. She slumped forward and threw up.
Stephanie finally broke down. “I need to leave. I have to go home and get high.”
She had used fentanyl before arriving at the hospital and had sufficient opportunity to get treated before she was compelled to leave to use once more. She thought she still had four weeks left to figure out how to get clean and have this baby.
The nurse had other ideas. She told Stephanie she was not going anywhere.
“I am leaving,” Stephanie said.
But the medical facility declined to release her: the leg infection was severe, but physicians found she also had an leakage of amniotic fluid. The nurse, her nurse, warned her: if she departed, she and her baby would be at risk of death.
Izzie persuaded the doctor to give Stephanie measured quantities of fentanyl every few hours, knowing that withdrawal could endanger her and the baby. Once the baby was born Stephanie would be transitioned to methadone, a treatment that reduces symptoms and is commonly used in rehabilitation.
Five days later, on the 12th of November, Stephanie had a infant weighing 4lb 8oz – born before term, tiny yet healthy.
When the caregiver questioned if she wanted to cuddle her newborn, Stephanie said “I cannot.” She was emotionless. Her anesthesia was ineffective, her previous intake of fentanyl had been provided shortly before she gave birth.
She felt unwell. Unprepared to be a mother. Not fit.
Stephanie had sought recovery repeatedly before birth, and felt horrible each time she relapsed. She felt worthless, berating herself for not being able to overcome the challenge. An obstetrician told her to “simply” stop using. Even her source would not provide to her when she became visibly pregnant.
“But I couldn’t,” she said. “I had to seek support.”
The widespread belief that her love for her baby would make her quit only led to greater shame 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 chronic disease.
The newborn was transferred to the special care nursery. When Stephanie at last met her, she was attached to medical equipment, so tiny she thought she would hurt her. Cradling her initially, she felt empty. “I just stared at her and was like, ‘What am I going to do with you?’” She continued to doubt she wanted to be her mother.
Following a brief period she decided to call her daughter the same as her nurse, after the nurse who had been so kind to her.
Hospital staff told her about a care center, a new kind of care center where women and their babies are treated together, not apart.
In numerous states, where a baby is found to have newborn addiction symptoms frequently, infants are still rushed to special care and medicated while their mothers face parental assessments. But a developing system of centers like this facility is proving a simple point: when parents and infants remain united, results get better, foster placements fall and future expenses reduce.
It took Stephanie a while to gather the courage to call, but she finally did. After confirming she would be a good fit for the program, a couple of employees came to bring her to the facility.
She stepped out of the hospital still in detox, fearful and unsure about what would happen next.
At Maddie’s Place, Stephanie still feared that CPS would come remove her daughter – even though she was uncertain about motherhood. The anxiety remained: that at any time, someone could arrive and take her baby away.
For the beginning period, Stephanie stayed withdrawn. “I preferred to be alone,” she said. “I didn’t have a lot of trust at that point.”
Survival outdoors, she said, was about survival. Addiction came first; faith came last.
Stephanie had a trusted ally, but even that relationship was delicate. The those close to her always found ways to let her down. She was unable to value herself, much less anyone else.
Daily, staff from the facility transported her to a recovery program, administered in pill form. Over time, she was beginning recovery.
She spent every minute outside treatment with Izzie, and could see that her baby was obtaining necessary support she needed. Her infant faced feeding challenges at first, with adverse reactions to milk and severe digestive problems. She needed nutritional guidance. She also had increased sensitivity and required an occupational therapist – all typical problems for babies born with NAS.
Seeing that even a young person understands the need for care, then I found the strength. I could parent.
On a day prior to the holiday, Stephanie remained in the shared space, where parents in active addiction can come for monitored interactions with their babies. Katie Bunch-Smith, a recovery coach, visited with her own children in tow to drop off cookies. They all assembled beside Stephanie, who was sitting on the floor holding Izzie.
The young ones stared in awe of the little newborn in Stephanie’s arms. “They had no care in the world,” Stephanie said. “They overlooked my addiction. Such issues were irrelevant.”
She holds a picture of the moment. She is clad in black pants and a hoodie, a cap with a decoration on her head, resting on the floor with the door behind her. She is slender. Her posture is humble so you do not see her expression. She is presenting her daughter on her leg for the young ones to see and they are gathered around, showing interest to the baby.
Jacob, eight, asked the mothers: “Where are all the dads?” The moms tried to explain that the men were occupied, engaged elsewhere, that they would be there if they could.
“Once I become a parent,” Jacob said, “I plan to be a great parent. They will know they are valued.”
Stephanie and the specialist exchanged glances. “I just lost it and fell apart,” Stephanie said. “Seeing that even youth understand that infants need affection, then I was able. I could parent.”
Approaches for managing drug-exposed newborns have existed for decades.
The evaluation method was created in 1975|
