She Was Pregnant and Addicted to Fentanyl: The Decision to Keep Her Child Saved Them Both.
Eight months pregnant and in severe pain, the expectant mother went to the hospital emergency room after a serious infection started to spread up her legs. Jobless and without shelter, estranged from her family, she resided in a small structure she had built in a friend’s yard. She was also dependent on fentanyl.
As physicians addressed her infection, she started to feel anxious. Symptoms of withdrawal emerged. She bent over the bedside and threw up.
Stephanie ultimately gave in. “I need to leave. I have to go home and use drugs.”
She had used fentanyl before seeking medical help and had sufficient opportunity to get treated before she needed to go home to get high again. She thought she still had a month remaining to figure out how to get clean and have this baby.
The nurse had other ideas. She told Stephanie she was not going anywhere.
“I am leaving,” Stephanie said.
But the medical facility declined to release her: the condition in her limbs was serious, but doctors had discovered she also had an amniotic fluid leak. The nurse, a caregiver named Izzie, warned her: if she walked out, she and her baby would not survive.
Izzie persuaded the doctor to give Stephanie measured quantities 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 treatment that reduces symptoms and is commonly used in rehabilitation.
A short time later, on the 12th of November, Stephanie delivered a baby girl weighing a small weight – early, tiny yet healthy.
When the attendant inquired if she wanted to hold her baby, Stephanie said “no.” She was emotionless. Her pain relief did not work, her final administration of fentanyl had been administered a few hours prior to birth.
She felt unwell. Ill-equipped for parenting. Undeserving.
Stephanie had tried to get clean repeatedly before birth, and felt horrible each time she was unsuccessful. She felt worthless, criticizing herself for not being able to achieve the unattainable. An obstetrician told her to “just” stop using. Even her supplier declined to supply to her when she became obviously with child.
“However, I failed,” she said. “I required assistance.”
The widespread belief that her bond with her newborn would make her quit only led to increased guilt and negative self-talk, a impetus for her to relapse. Yet she could not just wish her addiction away, any more than she could will away a long-term illness.
The infant was moved to the special care nursery. When Stephanie eventually visited her, she was attached to monitors, so small she thought she would hurt her. Cradling her initially, she felt empty. “I just stared at her and was like, ‘What is our future?’” She remained uncertain she wanted to be her mother.
Following a brief period she decided to give her child the name the same as her nurse, after the attendant who showed compassion to her.
Medical personnel told her about Maddie’s Place, a unique recovery environment where women and their babies are supported as a unit, not apart.
In numerous states, where a baby is diagnosed with infant withdrawal condition frequently, infants are still quickly moved to hospitals and medicated while their mothers face child-protection investigations. But a small, growing network of centers like this facility is showing an important truth: when parents and infants remain united, recovery succeeds, custody cases decrease 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, care providers came to pick her up.
She departed the institution still in recovery, anxious and doubtful about what would happen next.
At the care center, Stephanie still worried that authorities would come remove her daughter – even though she was uncertain about motherhood. The concern persisted: that at any moment, someone could walk in and remove her child.
For the first two weeks, Stephanie kept to herself. “I preferred to be alone,” she said. “I lacked confidence at that point.”
Survival outdoors, she said, was about survival. Addiction came first; faith came last.
Stephanie had a single companion, but even that bond was fragile. The those close to her always found ways to cause pain. She was unable to value herself, much less anyone else.
Each day, staff from Maddie’s Place drove her to a clinic for methadone, provided orally. Slowly, she was beginning recovery.
She utilized each moment beyond therapy with Izzie, and could see that her baby was receiving appropriate attention she needed. Her daughter struggled with eating at first, with adverse reactions to milk and severe digestive problems. She needed nutritional guidance. She also had sensory challenges and required an occupational therapist – all frequent conditions for babies exposed to substances.
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 was in the common room, where parents in active addiction can come for monitored interactions with their babies. A support specialist, a peer support specialist, came over with her own family in tow to drop off cookies. They all gathered around Stephanie, who was sitting on the floor holding Izzie.
The young ones stared in admiration of the small baby in Stephanie’s arms. “They showed no judgment,” Stephanie said. “They overlooked my addiction. Such issues were irrelevant.”
She holds a picture of the moment. She is wearing dark trousers and a sweatshirt, a cap with a pompom on her head, sitting on the wooden floor with the door behind her. She is slender. Her posture is humble so you cannot see her face. She is holding Izzie up on her knee for the young ones to see and they are standing close, admiring and touching to the baby.
One child, eight, asked the mothers: “Where are all the dads?” The moms tried to explain that the men were occupied, handling responsibilities, that they would be there if they could.
“In the future,” Jacob said, “I plan to be a great parent. They will know they are valued.”
Stephanie and Bunch-Smith looked at each other. “I broke down,” Stephanie said. “Seeing that even youth understand that these babies deserve to be loved, then I found the courage. I could be a mom.”
Methods to address infants affected by substances have existed for decades.
The Finnegan NAS scale was established in 1975|
