She Was Pregnant and Addicted to Fentanyl: How Keeping Her Baby Rescued Both Lives.
Pregnant and experiencing intense discomfort, a woman named Stephanie visited the ER after an infection began spreading up her legs. Without a job or home, separated from loved ones, she lived in a shed she had built in a companion's property. She was also hooked on fentanyl.
As doctors treated her infection, she grew increasingly fearful. Withdrawal was setting in. She leaned over the bed and became sick.
Stephanie finally broke down. “I have to get out of here. I have to go home and get high.”
She had used fentanyl before arriving at the hospital and had just enough time 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 deliver her child.
The attending nurse disagreed. She told Stephanie she was not allowed to leave.
“I am leaving,” Stephanie said.
But the hospital refused to discharge her: the condition in her limbs was critical, but physicians found she also had an amniotic fluid leak. The nurse, a caregiver named Izzie, warned her: if she walked out, she and her baby would be at risk of death.
The nurse convinced the doctor to give Stephanie regulated amounts of fentanyl every few hours, 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 substance abuse treatment.
A short time later, on a day in November 2022, Stephanie gave birth to a daughter weighing a small weight – early, small but alive.
When the attendant inquired if she wanted to cuddle her newborn, Stephanie said “I cannot.” She was emotionless. Her pain relief did not work, her last dose of fentanyl had been administered a few hours prior to birth.
She felt unwell. Not ready for motherhood. Undeserving.
Stephanie had tried to get clean repeatedly before birth, and felt awful each time she was unsuccessful. She felt worthless, berating herself for not being able to overcome the challenge. An OBGYN told her to “just” stop using. Even her source refused to sell to her when she became visibly pregnant.
“But I couldn’t,” she said. “I required assistance.”
The widespread belief that her affection for her child would make her recover only led to deeper self-loathing and negative self-talk, a impetus for her to use again. Yet she could not simply will her addiction away, any more than she could eliminate a persistent condition.
The baby was taken to the special care nursery. When Stephanie at last met her, she was connected to medical equipment, so little she thought she would hurt her. Cradling her initially, she felt nothing. “I gazed upon her and was like, ‘How will I care for you?’” She still wasn’t sure she wanted to be her mother.
Following a brief period she decided to give her child the name after her caregiver, after the nurse who had been so kind to her.
Nurses and doctors told her about Maddie’s Place, a unique recovery environment 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 neonatal abstinence syndrome (NAS) every 18 minutes, infants are still whisked to NICUs and given drugs while their mothers face parental assessments. But a developing system of centers like this facility is showing an important truth: when parents and infants remain united, outcomes improve, fewer children enter care and future expenses reduce.
It took Stephanie some time to build confidence to call, but she ultimately reached out. After ensuring she qualified for the program, care providers came to bring her to the facility.
She left the medical center still in withdrawal, scared and uncertain about what would happen next.
At the care center, Stephanie still worried that child services would come remove her daughter – even though she was hesitant about parenting. The concern persisted: that at any moment, someone could arrive and separate them.
For the first two weeks, Stephanie kept to herself. “I avoided interaction,” she said. “I was suspicious at that point.”
Homelessness, she said, was about enduring. Drugs came first; reliance came last.
Stephanie had a trusted ally, but even that bond was fragile. The people she loved always found ways to cause pain. She was unable to love herself, not to mention anyone else.
Each day, staff from the center drove her to a treatment center, administered in pill form. Slowly, she was embracing sobriety.
She spent every minute outside treatment with Izzie, and could see that her baby was obtaining necessary support she needed. Her girl had some trouble feeding at first, with sensitivity to certain foods and obvious stomach troubles. She needed feeding therapy. She also had heightened sensory issues and required an occupational therapist – all common issues 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.
During a pre-holiday visit, Stephanie sat in the visitation area, where those still using can come for supervised visits with their babies. A support specialist, a peer support specialist, stopped by with her own children in tow to bring treats. They all gathered around Stephanie, who was seated on the ground holding Izzie.
The kids looked amazed in admiration of the little newborn in Stephanie’s arms. “They showed no judgment,” Stephanie said. “My past did not matter to them. None of those things mattered to them.”
She keeps a photo of the moment. She is dressed in black pants and a hoodie, a cap with a pompom on her head, sitting on the wooden floor with the entryway at her back. She is thin. Her posture is humble so you miss her features. She is lifting the baby on her knee for the young ones to see and they are crowding near, showing interest to the baby.
A young boy, eight, asked the moms: “What about the fathers?” The women attempted to clarify that the dads were busy, engaged elsewhere, that they would be there if possible.
“Once I become a parent,” Jacob said, “I plan to be a great parent. They will know they are valued.”
Stephanie and the specialist exchanged glances. “I just lost it and fell apart,” Stephanie said. “If this little kid could see that newborns require care, then I could do this. I could parent.”
Methods to address babies with exposure have been used for a long time.
The evaluation method was developed in 1975|
