A Pregnant Woman's Battle with Fentanyl Addiction: Choosing Motherhood Saved Them Both.
Pregnant and experiencing intense discomfort, a woman named Stephanie went to the medical facility after her infection worsened up her legs. Without a job or home, estranged from her family, she resided in a small structure she had built in a acquaintance's garden. She was also hooked on fentanyl.
As medical staff managed her infection, she began to panic. Symptoms of withdrawal emerged. She slumped forward and vomited.
Stephanie finally broke down. “Listen, I gotta go. I have to go home and take a hit.”
She had taken the drug before arriving at the hospital and had only a brief window to get treated before she needed to go home to use once more. She thought she still had four weeks left to find a way to become sober and deliver her child.
The nurse had other ideas. 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 critical, but doctors had discovered she also had an ruptured membrane. The nurse, Izzie, warned her: if she departed, she and her baby would face grave danger.
The nurse convinced the doctor to give Stephanie regulated amounts of fentanyl periodically, knowing that abstinence might harm her and the baby. Post-birth Stephanie would be transitioned to methadone, a medication that eases withdrawal and is frequently utilized in rehabilitation.
After five days, on 12 November 2022, Stephanie had a baby girl weighing just over four pounds – premature, little but surviving.
When the attendant inquired if she wanted to cuddle her newborn, Stephanie said “no.” She was numb. Her epidural had failed, her previous intake of fentanyl had been provided four hours before delivery.
She felt unwell. Ill-equipped for parenting. Not fit.
Stephanie had tried to get clean multiple times while expecting, and felt horrible each time she relapsed. She felt without value, criticizing herself for not being able to achieve the unattainable. An doctor told her to “just” stop using. Even her source would not provide to her when she became visibly pregnant.
“But I couldn’t,” she said. “I had to seek support.”
The widespread belief that her love for her baby would make her stop using only led to greater shame and self-abuse, a impetus for her to use again. Yet she could not simply will her addiction away, any more than she could will away a chronic disease.
The baby was taken to the NICU. When Stephanie finally saw her her, she was connected to tubes and leads, so small she thought she would harm her. Holding her for the first time, she felt empty. “I gazed upon her and was like, ‘What am I going to do with you?’” She remained uncertain she wanted to be her mother.
After two days she decided to name her baby Izzie, after the professional who provided support to her.
Nurses and doctors told her about a specialized facility, a innovative treatment home where mothers and their drug-exposed newborns are supported as a unit, not apart.
In numerous states, where a baby is found to have neonatal abstinence syndrome (NAS) every 18 minutes, infants are still rushed to special care and treated with pharmaceuticals while their mothers face child-protection investigations. But a limited but expanding group of centers like Maddie’s Place is demonstrating a key fact: when mothers and babies stay together, results get better, custody cases decrease and long-term costs decline.
It took Stephanie a while to gather the courage to call, but she finally did. After ensuring she qualified for the program, two staff members came to pick her up.
She left the medical center still in detox, fearful and unsure about what would happen next.
At the facility, Stephanie still feared that CPS would come remove her daughter – even though she was not sure she wanted to keep her. The fear lingered: that at any moment, someone could walk in and separate them.
For the initial fortnight, Stephanie stayed withdrawn. “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; trust came last.
Stephanie had a trusted ally, but even that bond was fragile. The individuals she cared for always found ways to let her down. She was unable to love herself, not to mention anyone else.
Daily, staff from the center transported her to a clinic for methadone, administered in pill form. Slowly, she was embracing sobriety.
She devoted all her time when not in sessions with Izzie, and could see that her baby was obtaining necessary support she needed. Her infant faced feeding challenges at first, with sensitivity to certain foods and obvious stomach troubles. She needed dietary support. She also had heightened sensory issues and required an occupational therapist – all typical problems for babies exposed to substances.
If this little kid could see that these babies deserve to be loved, then I was capable. I could parent.
During a pre-holiday visit, Stephanie remained in the shared space, where individuals struggling with substance use can come for monitored interactions with their babies. An advocate, a peer support specialist, visited with her own five kids in tow to bring treats. They all assembled beside 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. “My past did not matter to them. Such issues were irrelevant.”
She keeps a photo of the moment. She is clad in casual attire, a cap with a bobble on her head, resting on the floor with the door behind her. She is thin. Her face is downcast so you do not see her expression. She is lifting the baby on her knee for the young ones to see and they are crowding near, fawning and reaching out to the baby.
One child, eight, asked the parents: “Where are all the dads?” The women attempted to clarify that the dads were busy, 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 her companion exchanged glances. “I just lost it and fell apart,” Stephanie said. “Seeing that even youth understand that newborns require care, then I found the courage. I would become a mother.”
Tools for treating drug-exposed newborns have been available for years.
The Finnegan NAS scale was developed in 1975|
