A Pregnant Woman's Battle with Fentanyl Addiction: How Keeping Her Baby Rescued Both Lives.
In her eighth month of pregnancy and suffering, the expectant mother visited the ER after an infection began spreading up her legs. Without a job or home, estranged from her family, she resided in a small structure she had built 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 slumped forward and threw up.
Stephanie ultimately gave in. “I have to get out of here. I have to go home and get high.”
She had taken the drug before seeking medical help and had just enough time to get treated before she needed to go home 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 staying put.
“Yes, I am,” Stephanie said.
But the doctors would not let her go: the condition in her limbs was critical, but medical staff detected she also had an leakage of amniotic fluid. The nurse, her nurse, warned her: if she left, she and her baby would not survive.
She encouraged the doctor to give Stephanie regulated amounts of fentanyl at regular intervals, knowing that symptoms could threaten her and the baby. Post-birth Stephanie would be switched to methadone, a drug that alleviates cravings and is commonly used in rehabilitation.
After five days, on 12 November 2022, Stephanie gave birth to a daughter weighing just over four pounds – born before term, tiny yet healthy.
When the attendant inquired if she wanted to hold her baby, Stephanie said “not now.” She was emotionless. Her pain relief did not work, her last dose of fentanyl had been given four hours before delivery.
She felt sick. Unprepared to be a mother. Not fit.
Stephanie had tried to get clean several times during pregnancy, and felt horrible each time she was unsuccessful. She felt without value, criticizing herself for not being able to achieve the unattainable. An OBGYN told her to “only” stop using. Even her dealer declined to supply to her when she became obviously with child.
“Yet I was unable,” she said. “I required assistance.”
The common assumption that her bond with her newborn would make her stop using only led to deeper self-loathing and self-abuse, a cause for her to relapse. Yet she could not easily command her addiction away, any more than she could eliminate a long-term illness.
The newborn was transferred to the neonatal intensive care unit. When Stephanie finally saw her her, she was connected to medical equipment, so small she thought she would hurt her. Embracing her at last, she felt nothing. “I looked at her and was like, ‘What is our future?’” 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.
Nurses and doctors told her about a specialized facility, a new kind of care center where women and their babies are cared for jointly, not apart.
In numerous states, where a baby is diagnosed with newborn addiction symptoms regularly, infants are still rushed to special care and medicated 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, recovery succeeds, foster placements fall and overall savings increase.
It took Stephanie a while to gather the courage to call, but she eventually made the call. After verifying her eligibility for the program, two staff members came to pick her up.
She stepped out of the hospital still in withdrawal, anxious and doubtful about what would come next.
At the facility, Stephanie still was concerned that child services would come remove her daughter – even though she was uncertain about motherhood. The fear lingered: that at any time, someone could arrive and remove her child.
For the beginning period, Stephanie stayed withdrawn. “I avoided interaction,” she said. “I lacked confidence at that point.”
Homelessness, she said, was about getting by. Addiction came first; reliance came last.
Stephanie had one close friend, but even that bond was fragile. The those close to her always found ways to let her down. She lacked the ability to love herself, let alone anyone else.
Daily, staff from the facility transported her to a clinic for methadone, administered in pill form. Gradually, she was starting to get clean.
She devoted all her time beyond therapy with Izzie, and could see that her baby was receiving appropriate attention she needed. Her infant faced feeding challenges at first, with adverse reactions to milk and obvious stomach troubles. She needed nutritional guidance. She also had heightened sensory issues and required an professional – all typical problems for babies exposed to substances.
When a child recognizes these infants need affection, then I found the strength. I would become a mother.
One afternoon before Thanksgiving, Stephanie sat in the visitation area, where parents in active addiction can come for guided meetings with their babies. A support specialist, a mentor, visited with her own family in tow to bring treats. They all assembled beside Stephanie, who was sitting on the floor holding Izzie.
The children were wide-eyed in wonder of the little newborn in Stephanie’s arms. “They had no care in the world,” Stephanie said. “My past did not matter to them. Such issues were irrelevant.”
She has an image of the moment. She is wearing black pants and a hoodie, a cap with a pompom on her head, resting on the floor with the entryway at her back. She is lean. Her head is tilted forward so you miss her features. She is lifting the baby on her leg for the children to see and they are gathered around, fawning and reaching out to the baby.
A young boy, eight, asked the moms: “Why are there no men?” The parents responded that the fathers had obligations, handling responsibilities, that they would be there given the chance.
“When I have kids,” Jacob said, “I plan to be a great parent. I’m gonna show them that they deserve to be loved.”
Stephanie and Bunch-Smith exchanged glances. “I just lost it and fell apart,” Stephanie said. “Seeing that even youth understand that these babies deserve to be loved, then I found the courage. I would become a mother.”
Approaches for managing drug-exposed newborns have existed for decades.
The Finnegan NAS scale was established in 1975|
