A Pregnant Woman's Battle with Fentanyl Addiction: The Decision to Keep Her Child Transformed Their Futures.
In her eighth month of pregnancy and suffering, a woman named Stephanie went to the medical facility after her infection worsened up her legs. Unemployed and homeless, cut off from her relatives, she stayed in a makeshift shelter she had assembled in a companion's property. She was also addicted to fentanyl.
As physicians addressed her infection, she started to feel anxious. Symptoms of withdrawal emerged. She bent over the bedside and vomited.
Stephanie eventually collapsed. “I have to get out of here. I have to go home and get high.”
She had used fentanyl before coming to the ER and had only a brief window to get treated before she had to return to relapse. She thought she still had several weeks to find a way to become sober and give birth.
The medical professional intervened. She told Stephanie she was not going anywhere.
“Yes, I am,” Stephanie said.
But the doctors would not let her go: the leg infection was severe, but medical staff detected she also had an amniotic fluid leak. The nurse, a caregiver named Izzie, warned her: if she departed, she and her baby would be at risk of death.
She encouraged the doctor to give Stephanie regulated amounts of fentanyl at regular intervals, knowing that abstinence might harm her and the baby. After delivery Stephanie would be transitioned to methadone, a medication that eases withdrawal and is commonly used in rehabilitation.
Five days later, on a day in November 2022, Stephanie gave birth to a infant weighing 4lb 8oz – born before term, little but surviving.
When the caregiver questioned if she wanted to embrace her child, Stephanie said “no.” She was detached. Her epidural had failed, her final administration of fentanyl had been provided shortly before she gave birth.
She felt unwell. Unprepared to be a mother. Undeserving.
Stephanie had tried to get clean repeatedly before birth, and felt horrible each time she was unsuccessful. She felt worthless, berating herself for not being able to achieve the unattainable. An doctor told her to “just” stop using. Even her dealer refused to sell to her when she became obviously with child.
“However, I failed,” she said. “I required assistance.”
The widespread belief that her love for her baby would make her quit only led to deeper self-loathing and negative self-talk, a cause for her to use again. Yet she could not easily command her addiction away, any more than she could eliminate a chronic disease.
The infant was moved to the special care nursery. When Stephanie eventually visited her, she was connected to tubes and leads, so small she thought she would hurt her. Embracing her at last, she felt empty. “I gazed upon her and was like, ‘What is our future?’” She remained uncertain she wanted to be her mother.
Following a brief period she decided to name her baby after her caregiver, after the professional who provided support to her.
Hospital staff told her about a care center, a unique recovery environment where parents and infants affected by substance use are supported as a unit, not apart.
In many parts of America, where a baby is diagnosed with newborn addiction symptoms every 18 minutes, infants are still quickly moved to hospitals and treated with pharmaceuticals while their mothers face child-protection investigations. But a small, growing network of centers like the care home is showing an important truth: when mothers and babies stay together, results get better, fewer children enter care and future expenses reduce.
It took Stephanie some time to build confidence to call, but she ultimately reached out. After ensuring she qualified for the program, a couple of employees came to collect her.
She left the medical center still in detox, anxious and doubtful about what would follow.
At the facility, Stephanie still feared that authorities would come remove her daughter – even though she was uncertain about motherhood. The concern persisted: that at any time, someone could arrive and separate them.
For the beginning period, Stephanie stayed withdrawn. “I preferred to be alone,” she said. “I was suspicious at that point.”
Life on the streets, she said, was about getting by. Drugs came first; reliance 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 did not know how to value herself, not to mention anyone else.
Every day, staff from Maddie’s Place transported her to a treatment center, administered in pill form. Over time, 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 daughter struggled with eating at first, with intolerance to some formulas and obvious stomach troubles. She needed nutritional guidance. 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 found the strength. I could be a mom.
On a day prior to the holiday, Stephanie was in the common room, where those still using can come for guided meetings with their babies. Katie Bunch-Smith, a peer support specialist, came over with her own children in tow to bring treats. They all gathered around Stephanie, who was sitting on the floor holding Izzie.
The children were wide-eyed in awe of the small baby in Stephanie’s arms. “They had no care in the world,” Stephanie said. “They didn’t care that I had used drugs with her. Such issues were irrelevant.”
She keeps a photo of the moment. She is clad in casual attire, a beanie with a pompom on her head, resting on the floor with the exit nearby. She is slender. Her posture is humble so you miss her features. She is holding Izzie up on her leg for the young ones to see and they are crowding near, fawning and reaching out to the baby.
Jacob, eight, asked the moms: “What about the fathers?” The parents responded that the dads were busy, called away to other tasks, that they would be there if possible.
“In the future,” Jacob said, “I plan to be a great parent. I’m gonna show them that they deserve to be loved.”
Stephanie and her companion exchanged glances. “I became emotional,” Stephanie said. “If this little kid could see that newborns require care, then I could do this. I would become a mother.”
Approaches for managing babies with exposure have been used for a long time.
The assessment tool was created in 1975|
