A Pregnant Woman's Battle with Fentanyl Addiction: How Keeping Her Baby Saved Them Both.
Pregnant and experiencing intense discomfort, a woman named Stephanie arrived at the medical facility after a serious infection started to spread up her legs. Jobless and without shelter, estranged from her family, she resided in a small structure she had assembled in a companion's property. She was also dependent on fentanyl.
As medical staff managed her infection, she grew increasingly fearful. The onset of withdrawal began. She slumped forward and threw up.
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 coming to the ER and had just enough time to get treated before she needed to go home to get high again. She thought she still had a month remaining to figure out how to get clean and have this baby.
The medical professional intervened. She told Stephanie she was not allowed to leave.
“I will go,” Stephanie said.
But the doctors would not let her go: the leg infection was serious, but doctors had discovered she also had an amniotic fluid leak. The nurse, her nurse, warned her: if she left, she and her baby would not survive.
Izzie persuaded the doctor to give Stephanie regulated amounts of fentanyl every few hours, knowing that withdrawal could endanger her and the baby. Post-birth Stephanie would be switched to methadone, a treatment that reduces symptoms and is frequently utilized in rehabilitation.
Five days later, on 12 November 2022, Stephanie delivered a daughter weighing just over four pounds – premature, small but alive.
When the nurse asked if she wanted to embrace her child, Stephanie said “no.” She was numb. Her epidural had failed, her last dose of fentanyl had been provided shortly before she gave birth.
She felt ill. Ill-equipped for parenting. Undeserving.
Stephanie had sought recovery multiple times while expecting, and felt terrible each time she relapsed. She felt hopeless, berating herself for not being able to overcome the challenge. An doctor told her to “just” stop using. Even her dealer declined to supply to her when she became clearly expecting.
“Yet I was unable,” she said. “I required assistance.”
The pervasive expectation that her affection for her child would make her stop using only led to increased guilt and negative self-talk, a cause for her to return to drugs. Yet she could not easily command her addiction away, any more than she could overcome a chronic disease.
The infant was moved to the special care nursery. When Stephanie finally saw her her, she was hooked up to medical equipment, so small she thought she would harm her. Holding her for the first time, she felt empty. “I looked at her and was like, ‘How will I care for you?’” She remained uncertain she wanted to be her mother.
Following a brief period she decided to call her daughter Izzie, after the nurse who had been so kind to her.
Medical personnel told her about a specialized facility, a new kind of care center where parents and infants affected by substance use are supported as a unit, not apart.
In numerous states, where a baby is found to have neonatal abstinence syndrome (NAS) frequently, infants are still rushed to special care and given drugs while their mothers face parental assessments. But a developing system of centers like Maddie’s Place is demonstrating a key fact: when parents and infants remain united, results get better, fewer children enter care and overall savings increase.
It took Stephanie a period to find strength to call, but she eventually made the call. After ensuring she qualified for the program, a couple of employees came to collect her.
She left the medical center still in detox, scared and uncertain about what would come next.
At Maddie’s Place, Stephanie still feared that CPS would come take Izzie – even though she was not sure she wanted to keep her. The concern persisted: that at any time, someone could enter and remove her child.
For the beginning period, Stephanie stayed withdrawn. “I preferred to be alone,” she said. “I lacked confidence at that point.”
Homelessness, she said, was about enduring. Addiction came first; reliance came last.
Stephanie had a single companion, but even that connection was tenuous. The individuals she cared for always found ways to cause pain. She lacked the ability to care for herself, let alone anyone else.
Each day, staff from Maddie’s Place took her to a clinic for methadone, given as medication. Gradually, she was starting to get clean.
She devoted all her time beyond therapy with Izzie, and could see that her baby was getting the specialized care she needed. Her daughter struggled with eating at first, with intolerance to some formulas and pronounced gastrointestinal issues. She needed dietary support. She also had sensory challenges and required an occupational therapist – all typical problems for babies affected by withdrawal.
If this little kid could see that these babies deserve to be loved, then I was capable. I would become a mother.
During a pre-holiday visit, Stephanie remained in the shared space, where parents in active addiction can come for guided meetings with their babies. Katie Bunch-Smith, a mentor, stopped by with her own five kids in tow to deliver baked goods. They all assembled beside Stephanie, who was sitting on the floor holding Izzie.
The kids looked amazed in admiration of the small baby in Stephanie’s arms. “They showed no judgment,” Stephanie said. “They overlooked my addiction. They focused only on the baby.”
She keeps a photo of the moment. She is wearing dark trousers and a sweatshirt, a cap with a pompom on her head, seated on the ground with the exit nearby. She is thin. Her posture is humble 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, showing interest to the baby.
A young boy, eight, asked the parents: “What about the fathers?” The moms tried to explain that the fathers had obligations, called away to other tasks, that they would be there if they could.
“Once I become a parent,” Jacob said, “I will excel as a father. I will teach them about love.”
Stephanie and her companion exchanged glances. “I became emotional,” Stephanie said. “Seeing that even youth understand that newborns require care, then I was able. I could parent.”
Approaches for managing drug-exposed newborns have been available for years.
The Finnegan NAS scale was created in 1975|
