A Pregnant Woman's Battle with Fentanyl Addiction: How Keeping Her Baby Rescued Both Lives.

Pregnant and experiencing intense discomfort, a woman named Stephanie went to the hospital emergency room after a serious infection started to spread up her legs. Unemployed and homeless, estranged from her family, she stayed in a makeshift shelter she had constructed in a companion's property. She was also hooked 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 take a hit.”

She had used fentanyl before seeking medical help and had only a brief window to get treated before she needed to go home to use once more. She thought she still had several weeks to plan her recovery and give birth.

The medical professional intervened. She told Stephanie she was not going anywhere.

“I will go,” Stephanie said.

But the doctors would not let her go: the leg infection was critical, 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 face grave danger.

She encouraged the doctor to give Stephanie measured quantities of fentanyl periodically, knowing that symptoms could threaten her and the baby. After delivery Stephanie would be switched to methadone, a treatment that reduces symptoms and is commonly used in rehabilitation.

After five days, on 12 November 2022, Stephanie had a baby girl weighing 4lb 8oz – born before term, small but alive.

When the attendant inquired if she wanted to cuddle her newborn, Stephanie said “no.” She was detached. Her pain relief did not work, her previous intake of fentanyl had been given four hours before delivery.

She felt unwell. Ill-equipped for parenting. Undeserving.

Stephanie had tried to get clean several times during pregnancy, and felt awful each time she was unsuccessful. She felt without value, blaming herself for not being able to achieve the unattainable. An doctor told her to “just” stop using. Even her supplier refused to sell to her when she became visibly pregnant.

“However, I failed,” she said. “I had to seek support.”

The common assumption that her love for her baby would make her recover only led to greater shame and self-abuse, a impetus for her to use again. Yet she could not easily command her addiction away, any more than she could will away a long-term illness.

The newborn was transferred to the neonatal intensive care unit. When Stephanie finally saw her her, she was hooked up to monitors, so tiny she thought she would break her. Cradling her initially, she felt empty. “I just stared at her and was like, ‘How will I care for you?’” She remained uncertain she wanted to be her mother.

After two days she decided to give her child the name the same as her nurse, after the nurse who had been so kind to her.

Hospital staff told her about a care center, a innovative treatment home where women and their babies are supported as a unit, not apart.

In much of the US, where a baby is found to have infant withdrawal condition regularly, infants are still quickly moved to hospitals and treated with pharmaceuticals while their mothers face child-protection investigations. But a limited but expanding group of centers like the care home is proving a simple point: when parents and infants remain united, results get better, custody cases decrease and long-term costs decline.

It took Stephanie a period to find strength to call, but she eventually made the call. After ensuring she qualified for the program, care providers came to bring her to the facility.

She stepped out of the hospital still in withdrawal, scared and uncertain about what would happen next.

At Maddie’s Place, Stephanie still was concerned that child services would come remove her daughter – even though she was uncertain about motherhood. The concern persisted: that at any point, someone could walk in and separate them.

For the beginning period, Stephanie stayed withdrawn. “I didn’t really want anything to do with any of them,” she said. “I didn’t have a lot of trust at that point.”

Survival outdoors, she said, was about survival. Substances came first; reliance came last.

Stephanie had one close friend, but even that bond was fragile. The individuals she cared for always found ways to hurt her. She lacked the ability to care for herself, much less anyone else.

Daily, staff from Maddie’s Place drove her to a treatment center, provided orally. Slowly, she was beginning recovery.

She spent every minute outside treatment with Izzie, and could see that her baby was getting the specialized care she needed. Her girl had some trouble feeding at first, with intolerance to some formulas and severe digestive problems. She needed dietary support. She also had increased sensitivity and required an professional – all typical problems for babies exposed to substances.

When a child recognizes these infants need affection, then I found the strength. I would become a mother.

One afternoon before Thanksgiving, 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 five kids in tow to drop off cookies. They all assembled beside Stephanie, who was resting on the carpet holding Izzie.

The young ones stared in admiration of the small baby in Stephanie’s arms. “They had no care in the world,” Stephanie said. “They overlooked my addiction. Such issues were irrelevant.”

She holds a picture of the moment. She is dressed in dark trousers and a sweatshirt, a beanie with a pompom on her head, seated on the ground with the door behind her. She is slender. Her head is tilted forward so you cannot see her face. She is lifting the baby on her knee for the other kids to see and they are standing close, showing interest to the baby.

A young boy, eight, asked the mothers: “Why are there no men?” The moms tried to explain that the dads were busy, handling responsibilities, that they would be there given the chance.

“In the future,” Jacob said, “I will excel as a father. I’m gonna show them that they deserve to be loved.”

Stephanie and Bunch-Smith made eye contact. “I broke down,” Stephanie said. “Seeing that even youth understand that infants need affection, then I found the courage. I could parent.”

Methods to address infants affected by substances have existed for decades.

The evaluation method was established in 1975|