She Was Pregnant and Addicted to Fentanyl: The Decision to Keep Her Child Transformed Their Futures.
Eight months pregnant and in severe pain, a woman named Stephanie arrived at the medical facility after her infection worsened up her legs. Without a job or home, estranged from her family, she lived in a shed she had constructed in a companion's property. She was also dependent on fentanyl.
As medical staff managed her infection, she grew increasingly fearful. Symptoms of withdrawal emerged. She bent over the bedside and became sick.
Stephanie finally broke down. “I have to get out of here. I have to go home and use drugs.”
She had consumed opioids before arriving at the hospital and had just enough time to get treated before she had to return to use once more. She thought she still had a month remaining to find a way to become sober and give birth.
The nurse had other ideas. She told Stephanie she was staying put.
“I am leaving,” Stephanie said.
But the doctors would not let her go: the leg infection was critical, but doctors had discovered she also had an leakage of amniotic fluid. The nurse, a caregiver named Izzie, warned her: if she left, she and her baby would be at risk of death.
Izzie persuaded the doctor to give Stephanie regulated amounts of fentanyl periodically, knowing that symptoms could threaten her and the baby. After delivery Stephanie would be transitioned to methadone, a medication that eases withdrawal and is often prescribed in rehabilitation.
Five days later, on 12 November 2022, Stephanie delivered a daughter weighing a small weight – premature, tiny yet healthy.
When the caregiver questioned if she wanted to hold her baby, Stephanie said “no.” She was detached. Her epidural had failed, her previous intake of fentanyl had been provided four hours before delivery.
She felt unwell. Unprepared to be a mother. Unworthy.
Stephanie had sought recovery several times during pregnancy, and felt awful each time she was unsuccessful. She felt without value, blaming herself for not being able to do the impossible. An doctor told her to “just” stop using. Even her dealer would not provide to her when she became visibly pregnant.
“However, I failed,” she said. “I had to seek support.”
The widespread belief that her love for her baby would make her quit only led to greater shame and self-abuse, a cause for her to relapse. Yet she could not just wish her addiction away, any more than she could overcome a persistent condition.
The infant was moved to the special care nursery. When Stephanie at last met her, she was hooked up to tubes and leads, so tiny she thought she would harm her. Embracing her at last, she felt detached. “I just stared at her and was like, ‘What am I going to do with you?’” She remained uncertain she wanted to be her mother.
Following a brief period she decided to call her daughter the same as her nurse, after the attendant who showed compassion 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 numerous states, where a baby is found to have newborn addiction symptoms every 18 minutes, infants are still quickly moved to hospitals and given drugs while their mothers face custody evaluations. But a small, growing network of centers like this facility is demonstrating a key fact: when parents and infants remain united, outcomes improve, foster placements fall and future expenses reduce.
It took Stephanie some time to build confidence to call, but she finally did. After confirming she would be a good fit for the program, a couple of employees came to collect her.
She departed the institution still in withdrawal, scared and uncertain about what would come next.
At the facility, Stephanie still worried that authorities would come take Izzie – even though she was uncertain about motherhood. The fear lingered: that at any point, someone could arrive and remove her child.
For the first two weeks, Stephanie kept to herself. “I didn’t really want anything to do with any of them,” she said. “I lacked confidence at that point.”
Life on the streets, she said, was about enduring. Addiction came first; faith came last.
Stephanie had one close friend, but even that relationship was delicate. The those close to her always found ways to cause pain. She lacked the ability to love herself, not to mention anyone else.
Daily, staff from Maddie’s Place drove her to a clinic for methadone, administered in pill form. Over time, she was starting to get clean.
She spent every minute outside treatment 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 obvious stomach troubles. She needed nutritional guidance. She also had increased sensitivity and required an professional – all common issues for babies affected by withdrawal.
If this little kid could see that these babies deserve to be loved, then I found the strength. I would become a mother.
During a pre-holiday visit, 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, visited with her own five kids in tow to drop off cookies. They all assembled beside Stephanie, who was seated on the ground holding Izzie.
The young ones stared in wonder 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. None of those things mattered to them.”
She holds a picture of the moment. She is dressed in black pants and a hoodie, a beanie with a pompom on her head, seated on the ground with the door behind her. She is slender. Her face is downcast so you cannot see her face. She is lifting the baby on her knee for the children to see and they are gathered around, 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 possible.
“In the future,” Jacob said, “I plan to be a great parent. I will teach them about love.”
Stephanie and Bunch-Smith exchanged glances. “I just lost it and fell apart,” Stephanie said. “If this little kid could see that infants need affection, then I was able. I would become a mother.”
Methods to address babies with exposure have been used for a long time.
The evaluation method was created in 1975|
