She Was Pregnant and Addicted to Fentanyl: How Keeping Her Baby Saved Them Both.
In her eighth month of pregnancy and suffering, a woman named Stephanie went to the hospital emergency room after a serious infection started to spread up her legs. Jobless and without shelter, separated from loved ones, she stayed in a makeshift shelter she had assembled in a companion's property. She was also addicted to fentanyl.
As doctors treated her infection, she grew increasingly fearful. The onset of withdrawal began. She slumped forward and threw up.
Stephanie eventually collapsed. “I need to leave. I have to go home and get high.”
She had consumed opioids before coming to the ER and had sufficient opportunity to get treated before she had to return to use once more. She thought she still had a month remaining 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 medical facility declined to release her: the leg infection was serious, but doctors had discovered she also had an amniotic fluid leak. The nurse, her nurse, warned her: if she departed, she and her baby would face grave danger.
She encouraged the doctor to give Stephanie regulated amounts of fentanyl periodically, knowing that withdrawal could endanger her and the baby. After delivery Stephanie would be placed on methadone, a treatment that reduces symptoms and is frequently utilized in addiction recovery.
Five days later, on the 12th of November, Stephanie delivered a daughter weighing a small weight – premature, small but alive.
When the nurse asked if she wanted to cuddle her newborn, Stephanie said “not now.” She was emotionless. Her epidural had failed, her final administration of fentanyl had been administered a few hours prior to birth.
She felt sick. Unprepared to be a mother. Unworthy.
Stephanie had attempted sobriety multiple times while expecting, and felt awful each time she was unsuccessful. She felt worthless, blaming herself for not being able to achieve the unattainable. An doctor told her to “just” stop using. Even her source declined to supply to her when she became obviously with child.
“Yet I was unable,” she said. “I had to seek support.”
The common assumption that her affection for her child would make her recover only led to increased guilt and negative self-talk, a impetus for her to return to drugs. Yet she could not just wish her addiction away, any more than she could eliminate a persistent condition.
The infant was moved to the special care nursery. When Stephanie finally saw her her, she was hooked up to monitors, so little she thought she would harm her. Holding her for the first time, she felt detached. “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.
After two days she decided to give her child the name the same as her nurse, 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 treated together, not apart.
In numerous states, where a baby is identified with newborn addiction symptoms every 18 minutes, infants are still quickly moved to hospitals and given drugs while their mothers face child-protection investigations. But a developing system of centers like Maddie’s Place is proving a simple point: when mothers and babies stay together, outcomes improve, custody cases decrease 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 pick her up.
She departed the institution still in recovery, scared and uncertain about what would follow.
At the care center, Stephanie still was concerned that authorities would come take Izzie – even though she was uncertain about motherhood. The anxiety remained: that at any point, someone could arrive and take her baby away.
For the initial fortnight, Stephanie remained isolated. “I preferred to be alone,” she said. “I didn’t have a lot of trust at that point.”
Life on the streets, she said, was about survival. Substances came first; faith came last.
Stephanie had a single companion, but even that relationship was delicate. The people she loved always found ways to cause pain. She was unable to love herself, much less anyone else.
Daily, staff from Maddie’s Place took her to a treatment center, given as medication. Slowly, she was starting to get clean.
She spent every minute 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 severe digestive problems. She needed dietary support. She also had heightened sensory issues and required an occupational therapist – all typical problems for babies affected by withdrawal.
When a child recognizes these infants need affection, then I could do this. I could parent.
During a pre-holiday visit, 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, stopped by with her own five kids in tow to deliver baked goods. They all assembled beside Stephanie, who was seated on the ground holding Izzie.
The kids looked amazed in admiration of the small baby in Stephanie’s arms. “They had no care in the world,” Stephanie said. “They overlooked my addiction. Such issues were irrelevant.”
She keeps a photo of the moment. She is clad in black pants and a hoodie, a cap with a pompom on her head, sitting on the wooden floor with the door behind her. She is slender. Her head is tilted forward so you cannot see her face. She is lifting the baby on her knee for the young ones to see and they are standing close, admiring and touching to the baby.
Jacob, eight, asked the moms: “Where are all the dads?” The parents responded that the men were occupied, handling responsibilities, that they would be there if they could.
“In the future,” Jacob said, “I plan to be a great parent. I will teach them about love.”
Stephanie and Bunch-Smith made eye contact. “I became emotional,” Stephanie said. “When a child recognized that these babies deserve to be loved, then I found the courage. I could parent.”
Methods to address drug-exposed newborns have been available for years.
The Finnegan NAS scale was established in 1975|
