A Pregnant Woman's Battle with Fentanyl Addiction: How Keeping Her Baby Transformed Their Futures.
Pregnant and experiencing intense discomfort, a woman named Stephanie arrived at the ER after an infection began spreading up her legs. Without a job or home, cut off from her relatives, she stayed in a makeshift shelter she had assembled in a acquaintance's garden. She was also addicted to fentanyl.
As physicians addressed her infection, she began to panic. Symptoms of withdrawal emerged. She slumped forward and became sick.
Stephanie eventually collapsed. “Listen, I gotta go. I have to go home and take a hit.”
She had taken the drug before seeking medical help and had only a brief window to get treated before she needed to go home to use once more. She thought she still had a month remaining to find a way to become sober and deliver her child.
The nurse had other ideas. She told Stephanie she was staying put.
“I will go,” Stephanie said.
But the doctors would not let her go: the infection in her legs was severe, but medical staff detected she also had an ruptured membrane. The nurse, her nurse, warned her: if she departed, she and her baby would not survive.
She encouraged the doctor to give Stephanie controlled doses of fentanyl at regular intervals, knowing that symptoms could threaten her and the baby. Once the baby was born Stephanie would be placed on methadone, a medication that eases withdrawal and is commonly used in addiction recovery.
After five days, on a day in November 2022, Stephanie had a daughter weighing just over four pounds – premature, little but surviving.
When the attendant inquired if she wanted to embrace her child, Stephanie said “I cannot.” She was emotionless. Her pain relief did not work, her previous intake of fentanyl had been administered a few hours prior to birth.
She felt sick. Not ready for motherhood. Undeserving.
Stephanie had tried to get clean repeatedly before birth, and felt terrible each time she failed. She felt worthless, blaming herself for not being able to do the impossible. An OBGYN told her to “only” 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 widespread belief that her love for her baby would make her stop using only led to deeper self-loathing and self-harm, a impetus for her to use again. Yet she could not just wish her addiction away, any more than she could will away a persistent condition.
The baby was taken to the special care nursery. When Stephanie finally saw her her, she was hooked up to medical equipment, so little she thought she would hurt her. Embracing her at last, she felt detached. “I looked at her and was like, ‘How will I care for you?’” She continued to doubt she wanted to be her mother.
Two days later she decided to name her baby after her caregiver, 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 women and their babies are treated together, not apart.
In many parts of America, where a baby is diagnosed with neonatal abstinence syndrome (NAS) regularly, infants are still quickly moved to hospitals and treated with pharmaceuticals while their mothers face parental assessments. But a developing system of centers like this facility is demonstrating a key fact: when mothers and babies stay together, results get better, custody cases decrease and future expenses reduce.
It took Stephanie a period to find strength to call, but she ultimately reached out. After verifying her eligibility for the program, a couple of employees came to bring her to the facility.
She departed the institution still in recovery, anxious and doubtful about what would come next.
At the care center, Stephanie still feared that authorities would come seize her child – even though she was uncertain about motherhood. The anxiety remained: that at any time, someone could enter and separate them.
For the first two weeks, Stephanie kept to herself. “I didn’t really want anything to do with any of them,” she said. “I was suspicious at that point.”
Life on the streets, she said, was about survival. Drugs came first; faith came last.
Stephanie had a trusted ally, but even that connection was tenuous. The individuals she cared for always found ways to hurt her. She was unable to value herself, much less anyone else.
Daily, staff from Maddie’s Place took her to a recovery program, given as medication. Over time, she was beginning recovery.
She devoted all her time 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 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 affected by withdrawal.
Seeing that even a young person understands the need for care, then I found the strength. I would become a mother.
One afternoon before Thanksgiving, Stephanie was in the common room, where parents in active addiction can come for monitored interactions with their babies. A support specialist, a mentor, came over with her own family in tow to drop off cookies. They all assembled beside Stephanie, who was seated on the ground holding Izzie.
The children were wide-eyed in awe of the tiny infant in Stephanie’s arms. “They were innocent,” Stephanie said. “My past did not matter to them. None of those things mattered to them.”
She keeps a photo of the moment. She is wearing dark trousers and a sweatshirt, a beanie with a bobble on her head, seated on the ground with the exit nearby. She is lean. Her head is tilted forward so you cannot see her face. She is holding Izzie up on her knee for the children to see and they are crowding near, showing interest to the baby.
A young boy, eight, asked the moms: “Why are there no men?” The moms tried to explain that the men were occupied, called away to other tasks, that they would be there given the chance.
“When I have kids,” Jacob said, “I will excel as a father. I’m gonna show them that they deserve to be loved.”
Stephanie and the specialist looked at each other. “I just lost it and fell apart,” Stephanie said. “Seeing that even youth understand that newborns require care, then I found the courage. I could parent.”
Tools for treating drug-exposed newborns have been used for a long time.
The Finnegan NAS scale was established in 1975|
