A Pregnant Woman's Battle with Fentanyl Addiction: How Keeping Her Baby Transformed Their Futures.
In her eighth month of pregnancy and suffering, a woman named Stephanie went to the ER after her infection worsened up her legs. Unemployed and homeless, estranged from her family, she stayed in a makeshift shelter she had constructed in a companion's property. She was also addicted to fentanyl.
As physicians addressed her infection, she grew increasingly fearful. Symptoms of withdrawal emerged. She leaned over the bed and vomited.
Stephanie ultimately gave in. “Listen, I gotta go. I have to go home and get high.”
She had consumed opioids before arriving at the hospital and had only a brief window to get treated before she had to return to relapse. She thought she still had several weeks to plan her recovery and deliver her child.
The medical professional intervened. 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 critical, but doctors had discovered she also had an amniotic fluid leak. The nurse, her nurse, warned her: if she walked out, she and her baby would not survive.
She encouraged the doctor to give Stephanie regulated amounts of fentanyl every few hours, knowing that abstinence might harm her and the baby. After delivery Stephanie would be placed on methadone, a medication that eases withdrawal and is frequently utilized in rehabilitation.
A short time later, on 12 November 2022, Stephanie delivered a daughter weighing a small weight – early, small but alive.
When the caregiver questioned if she wanted to hold her baby, Stephanie said “not now.” She was emotionless. Her epidural had failed, her previous intake of fentanyl had been administered shortly before she gave birth.
She felt ill. Unprepared to be a mother. Unworthy.
Stephanie had tried to get clean repeatedly before birth, and felt horrible each time she failed. She felt without value, blaming herself for not being able to overcome the challenge. An doctor told her to “simply” stop using. Even her dealer refused to sell to her when she became clearly expecting.
“Yet I was unable,” she said. “I required assistance.”
The widespread belief that her bond with her newborn would make her quit only led to increased guilt and self-harm, a cause for her to return to drugs. Yet she could not easily command her addiction away, any more than she could overcome 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 small she thought she would hurt her. Holding her for the first time, she felt detached. “I gazed upon her and was like, ‘What am I going to do with you?’” She continued to doubt she wanted to be her mother.
After two days she decided to call her daughter after her caregiver, after the professional who provided support to her.
Medical personnel told her about a care center, a innovative treatment home where parents and infants affected by substance use are cared for jointly, not apart.
In many parts of America, where a baby is identified with infant withdrawal condition regularly, infants are still rushed to special care and medicated while their mothers face parental assessments. But a limited but expanding group of centers like Maddie’s Place is proving a simple point: when mothers and babies stay together, results get better, foster placements fall and future expenses reduce.
It took Stephanie a period to find strength to call, but she ultimately reached out. After confirming she would be a good fit for the program, care providers came to collect her.
She left the medical center still in withdrawal, scared and uncertain about what would follow.
At Maddie’s Place, Stephanie still was concerned that CPS would come remove her daughter – even though she was hesitant about parenting. The concern persisted: that at any point, someone could arrive and take her baby away.
For the first two weeks, Stephanie stayed withdrawn. “I preferred to be alone,” she said. “I lacked confidence at that point.”
Life on the streets, she said, was about enduring. Substances came first; trust came last.
Stephanie had one close friend, but even that bond was fragile. The those close to her always found ways to cause pain. She was unable to love herself, let alone anyone else.
Each day, staff from the center took her to a recovery program, administered in pill form. Slowly, she was beginning recovery.
She devoted all her time 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 pronounced gastrointestinal issues. She needed dietary support. She also had increased sensitivity and required an occupational therapist – all common issues for babies exposed to substances.
If this little kid could see that these babies deserve to be loved, then I found the strength. I could be a mom.
One afternoon before Thanksgiving, Stephanie remained in the shared space, where those still using can come for monitored interactions with their babies. Katie Bunch-Smith, a peer support specialist, stopped by with her own five kids in tow to bring treats. They all assembled beside Stephanie, who was sitting on the floor holding Izzie.
The children were wide-eyed in admiration of the little newborn in Stephanie’s arms. “They had no care in the world,” Stephanie said. “My past did not matter to them. None of those things mattered to them.”
She has an image of the moment. She is clad in casual attire, a beanie with a decoration on her head, seated on the ground with the entryway at her back. She is lean. Her face is downcast so you cannot see her face. She is lifting the baby on her leg for the young ones to see and they are crowding near, showing interest to the baby.
One child, eight, asked the parents: “Why are there no men?” The moms tried to explain that the men were occupied, handling responsibilities, that they would be there if they could.
“In the future,” Jacob said, “I’m going to be the best dad ever. I will teach them about love.”
Stephanie and the specialist made eye contact. “I just lost it and fell apart,” Stephanie said. “When a child recognized that newborns require care, then I was able. I would become a mother.”
Approaches for managing drug-exposed newborns have been available for years.
The assessment tool was established in 1975|
