A Pregnant Woman's Battle with Fentanyl Addiction: How Keeping Her Baby Saved Them Both.
Pregnant and experiencing intense discomfort, the expectant mother arrived at the medical facility after an infection began spreading up her legs. Without a job or home, estranged from her family, she stayed in a makeshift shelter she had built in a friend’s yard. She was also hooked on fentanyl.
As doctors treated her infection, she started to feel anxious. The onset of withdrawal began. She slumped forward and threw up.
Stephanie eventually collapsed. “I need to leave. I have to go home and take a hit.”
She had consumed opioids before coming to the ER and had just enough time to get treated before she needed to go home to use once more. She thought she still had four weeks left to plan her recovery and deliver her child.
The attending nurse disagreed. She told Stephanie she was staying put.
“Yes, I am,” 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 departed, she and her baby would face grave danger.
Izzie persuaded the doctor to give Stephanie measured quantities of fentanyl at regular intervals, knowing that symptoms could threaten her and the baby. Once the baby was born Stephanie would be switched to methadone, a treatment that reduces symptoms and is often prescribed in rehabilitation.
A short time later, on 12 November 2022, Stephanie delivered a infant weighing a small weight – born before term, small but alive.
When the caregiver questioned if she wanted to embrace her child, Stephanie said “no.” She was emotionless. Her pain relief did not work, her final administration of fentanyl had been administered a few hours prior to birth.
She felt sick. Not ready for motherhood. Unworthy.
Stephanie had tried to get clean multiple times while expecting, and felt terrible each time she relapsed. She felt without value, berating herself for not being able to overcome the challenge. An OBGYN told her to “only” stop using. Even her dealer refused to sell to her when she became clearly expecting.
“Yet I was unable,” she said. “I needed help.”
The widespread belief that her bond with her newborn would make her quit only led to deeper self-loathing and self-harm, a trigger for her to use again. Yet she could not easily command her addiction away, any more than she could will away a persistent condition.
The newborn was transferred to the neonatal intensive care unit. When Stephanie finally saw her her, she was attached to monitors, so little she thought she would hurt her. Embracing her at last, she felt empty. “I gazed upon her and was like, ‘How will I care for 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 nurse who had been so kind to her.
Medical personnel told her about a care center, a new kind of care center where parents and infants affected by substance use are supported as a unit, not apart.
In many parts of America, where a baby is found to have neonatal abstinence syndrome (NAS) every 18 minutes, infants are still whisked to NICUs and treated with pharmaceuticals while their mothers face custody evaluations. But a small, growing network of centers like this facility is showing an important truth: when families are kept intact, results get better, foster placements fall and overall savings increase.
It took Stephanie a while to gather the courage to call, but she finally did. After ensuring she qualified for the program, care providers came to pick her up.
She left the medical center still in detox, scared and uncertain about what would happen next.
At the care center, Stephanie still was concerned that authorities would come seize her child – even though she was not sure she wanted to keep her. The fear lingered: that at any moment, someone could arrive and remove her child.
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 enduring. Addiction came first; trust came last.
Stephanie had a single companion, but even that relationship was delicate. The individuals she cared for always found ways to let her down. She lacked the ability to value herself, not to mention anyone else.
Every day, staff from Maddie’s Place drove her to a treatment center, administered in pill form. Slowly, she was beginning recovery.
She utilized each moment when not in sessions with Izzie, and could see that her baby was receiving appropriate attention she needed. Her girl had some trouble feeding at first, with intolerance to some formulas and obvious stomach troubles. She needed feeding therapy. She also had increased sensitivity and required an occupational therapist – all frequent conditions for babies exposed to substances.
When a child recognizes these infants need affection, then I was capable. I could parent.
During a pre-holiday visit, Stephanie sat in the visitation area, where parents in active addiction can come for supervised visits with their babies. An advocate, a recovery coach, stopped by with her own family in tow to drop off cookies. They all gathered around Stephanie, who was resting on the carpet holding Izzie.
The kids looked amazed in admiration of the small baby in Stephanie’s arms. “They showed no judgment,” Stephanie said. “They didn’t care that I had used drugs with her. Such issues were irrelevant.”
She holds a picture of the moment. She is wearing black pants and a hoodie, a gray knit hat with a decoration on her head, seated on the ground with the door behind her. She is thin. Her posture is humble so you miss her features. She is holding Izzie up on her lap for the young ones to see and they are crowding near, showing interest to the baby.
A young boy, eight, asked the moms: “Where are all the dads?” The women attempted to clarify that the men were occupied, handling responsibilities, that they would be there if they could.
“Once I become a parent,” Jacob said, “I will excel as a father. They will know they are valued.”
Stephanie and the specialist looked at each other. “I became emotional,” Stephanie said. “If this little kid could see that infants need affection, then I was able. I could parent.”
Tools for treating drug-exposed newborns have existed for decades.
The assessment tool was established in 1975|
