A Pregnant Woman's Battle with Fentanyl Addiction: How Keeping Her Baby Saved Them Both.
In her eighth month of pregnancy and suffering, a woman named Stephanie went to the ER after her infection worsened up her legs. Without a job or home, cut off from her relatives, she lived in a shed she had built in a friend’s yard. She was also hooked on fentanyl.
As medical staff managed her infection, she started to feel anxious. Symptoms of withdrawal emerged. She bent over the bedside 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 had to return to get high again. She thought she still had a month remaining to find a way to become sober and have this baby.
The medical professional intervened. She told Stephanie she was not going anywhere.
“I will go,” Stephanie said.
But the medical facility declined to release her: the condition in her limbs was critical, but medical staff detected she also had an ruptured membrane. The nurse, her nurse, warned her: if she departed, she and her baby would face grave danger.
Izzie persuaded the doctor to give Stephanie regulated amounts of fentanyl at regular intervals, knowing that abstinence might harm her and the baby. Post-birth 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 had a daughter weighing 4lb 8oz – early, little but surviving.
When the nurse asked if she wanted to cuddle her newborn, Stephanie said “no.” She was emotionless. Her pain relief did not work, her previous intake of fentanyl had been administered shortly before she gave birth.
She felt unwell. Unprepared to be a mother. Undeserving.
Stephanie had attempted sobriety repeatedly before birth, and felt horrible each time she relapsed. She felt without value, criticizing herself for not being able to overcome the challenge. An doctor told her to “simply” stop using. Even her dealer refused to sell to her when she became clearly expecting.
“But I couldn’t,” she said. “I required assistance.”
The widespread belief that her affection for her child would make her quit only led to increased guilt and self-abuse, a impetus for her to relapse. Yet she could not simply will her addiction away, any more than she could eliminate a long-term illness.
The newborn was transferred to the special care nursery. When Stephanie finally saw her her, she was connected to tubes and leads, so tiny she thought she would harm her. Holding her for the first time, she felt detached. “I looked at her and was like, ‘What am I going to do with you?’” She still wasn’t sure she wanted to be her mother.
After two days she decided to name her baby the same as her nurse, after the attendant who showed compassion to her.
Nurses and doctors told her about a care center, a unique recovery environment where mothers and their drug-exposed newborns are supported as a unit, not apart.
In many parts of America, where a baby is diagnosed with neonatal abstinence syndrome (NAS) regularly, infants are still whisked to NICUs and treated with pharmaceuticals while their mothers face parental assessments. But a developing system of centers like the care home is demonstrating a key fact: when families are kept intact, recovery succeeds, custody cases decrease and long-term costs decline.
It took Stephanie some time to build confidence to call, but she eventually made the call. After verifying her eligibility for the program, two staff members came to bring her to the facility.
She left the medical center still in recovery, anxious and doubtful about what would follow.
At the care center, Stephanie still feared that child services would come remove her daughter – even though she was uncertain about motherhood. The fear lingered: that at any moment, someone could arrive and take her baby away.
For the first two weeks, Stephanie remained isolated. “I preferred to be alone,” she said. “I lacked confidence at that point.”
Homelessness, she said, was about enduring. Drugs came first; trust came last.
Stephanie had one close friend, but even that relationship was delicate. The people she loved always found ways to let her down. She did not know how to love herself, not to mention anyone else.
Each day, staff from the facility took her to a clinic for methadone, provided orally. Slowly, she was starting to get clean.
She devoted all her time when not in sessions with Izzie, and could see that her baby was obtaining necessary support she needed. Her daughter struggled with eating at first, with adverse reactions to milk and pronounced gastrointestinal issues. She needed feeding therapy. She also had sensory challenges 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 could do this. I would become a mother.
On a day prior to the holiday, Stephanie sat in the visitation area, where parents in active addiction can come for monitored interactions with their babies. Katie Bunch-Smith, a recovery coach, visited with her own children in tow to bring treats. They all gathered around Stephanie, who was resting on the carpet holding Izzie.
The young ones stared in wonder of the small baby in Stephanie’s arms. “They were innocent,” Stephanie said. “They didn’t care that I had used drugs with her. None of those things mattered to them.”
She keeps a photo of the moment. She is dressed in dark trousers and a sweatshirt, a cap with a pompom on her head, resting on the floor with the exit nearby. She is lean. Her head is tilted forward so you miss her features. She is holding Izzie up on her leg for the other kids to see and they are crowding near, fawning and reaching out to the baby.
Jacob, eight, asked the parents: “Why are there no men?” The parents responded that the dads were busy, 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 will teach them about love.”
Stephanie and the specialist looked at each other. “I just lost it and fell apart,” Stephanie said. “Seeing that even youth understand that infants need affection, then I could do this. I could be a mom.”
Methods to address drug-exposed newborns have been available for years.
The Finnegan NAS scale was created in 1975|
