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 an infection began spreading up her legs. Without a job or home, cut off from her relatives, she stayed in a makeshift shelter she had constructed in a companion's property. She was also dependent on fentanyl.
As doctors treated her infection, she grew increasingly fearful. The onset of withdrawal began. She slumped forward and became sick.
Stephanie finally broke down. “Listen, I gotta go. 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 needed to go home to get high again. She thought she still had four weeks left to figure out how to get clean and deliver her child.
The medical professional intervened. She told Stephanie she was not going anywhere.
“I am leaving,” Stephanie said.
But the doctors would not let her go: the condition in her limbs was serious, but medical staff detected she also had an leakage of amniotic fluid. The nurse, her nurse, warned her: if she departed, she and her baby would face grave danger.
She encouraged the doctor to give Stephanie measured quantities of fentanyl periodically, 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 addiction recovery.
After five days, on 12 November 2022, Stephanie gave birth to a baby girl weighing 4lb 8oz – born before term, little but surviving.
When the caregiver questioned if she wanted to embrace her child, Stephanie said “no.” She was numb. Her epidural had failed, her previous intake of fentanyl had been provided four hours before delivery.
She felt sick. Unprepared to be a mother. Unworthy.
Stephanie had sought recovery several times during pregnancy, and felt terrible each time she relapsed. She felt without value, berating herself for not being able to overcome the challenge. An OBGYN told her to “only” stop using. Even her dealer would not provide to her when she became clearly expecting.
“But I couldn’t,” she said. “I required assistance.”
The widespread belief that her love for her baby 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 eliminate a long-term illness.
The baby was taken to the neonatal intensive care unit. When Stephanie finally saw her her, she was connected to medical equipment, so small she thought she would harm her. Embracing her at last, she felt nothing. “I gazed upon her and was like, ‘What is our future?’” She continued to doubt she wanted to be her mother.
After two days she decided to give her child the name after her caregiver, after the professional who provided support to her.
Medical personnel told her about a specialized facility, a innovative treatment home where parents and infants affected by substance use are cared for jointly, not apart.
In numerous states, where a baby is identified with infant withdrawal condition every 18 minutes, infants are still whisked to NICUs and given drugs while their mothers face parental assessments. But a small, growing network of centers like Maddie’s Place is demonstrating a key fact: when families are kept intact, results get better, fewer children enter care and future expenses reduce.
It took Stephanie a while to gather the courage to call, but she ultimately reached out. After confirming she would be a good fit for the program, two staff members came to pick her up.
She departed the institution still in withdrawal, anxious and doubtful about what would follow.
At the facility, Stephanie still worried that child services 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 beginning period, Stephanie remained isolated. “I avoided interaction,” she said. “I was suspicious at that point.”
Life on the streets, she said, was about enduring. Substances came first; trust came last.
Stephanie had one close friend, but even that connection was tenuous. The people she loved always found ways to let her down. She did not know how to care for herself, much less anyone else.
Daily, staff from the center transported her to a treatment center, provided orally. Gradually, 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 intolerance to some formulas and obvious stomach troubles. She needed dietary support. She also had heightened sensory issues and required an professional – all common issues for babies born with NAS.
If this little kid could see that these babies deserve to be loved, then I found the strength. I would become a mother.
One afternoon before Thanksgiving, Stephanie remained in the shared space, where parents in active addiction can come for monitored interactions with their babies. An advocate, a recovery coach, came over with her own family in tow to deliver baked goods. They all gathered around Stephanie, who was seated on the ground holding Izzie.
The young ones stared in admiration of the tiny infant in Stephanie’s arms. “They had no care in the world,” Stephanie said. “They overlooked my addiction. They focused only on the baby.”
She keeps a photo of the moment. She is dressed in casual attire, a gray knit hat with a decoration on her head, sitting on the wooden floor with the exit nearby. She is slender. Her posture is humble so you do not see her expression. She is holding Izzie up on her knee for the children to see and they are gathered around, admiring and touching to the baby.
A young boy, eight, asked the mothers: “Where are all the dads?” The moms tried to explain that the fathers had obligations, called away to other tasks, that they would be there if they could.
“When I have kids,” Jacob said, “I’m going to be the best dad ever. I will teach them about love.”
Stephanie and Bunch-Smith looked at each other. “I became emotional,” Stephanie said. “When a child recognized that these babies deserve to be loved, then I found the courage. I could be a mom.”
Tools for treating babies with exposure have existed for decades.
The assessment tool was developed in 1975|
