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

Eight months pregnant and in severe pain, a woman named Stephanie 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 lived in a shed she had constructed in a companion's property. She was also addicted to fentanyl.

As medical staff managed her infection, she started to feel anxious. Withdrawal was setting in. She leaned over the bed and threw up.

Stephanie eventually collapsed. “Listen, I gotta go. I have to go home and get high.”

She had consumed opioids before arriving at the hospital and had sufficient opportunity to get treated before she was compelled to leave to get high again. She thought she still had a month remaining to figure out how to get clean and give birth.

The nurse had other ideas. She told Stephanie she was not allowed to leave.

“I will go,” Stephanie said.

But the doctors would not let her go: the condition in her limbs was serious, but physicians found she also had an amniotic fluid leak. The nurse, her nurse, warned her: if she walked out, she and her baby would face grave danger.

She encouraged the doctor to give Stephanie controlled doses of fentanyl every few hours, knowing that withdrawal could endanger her and the baby. After delivery Stephanie would be placed on methadone, a drug that alleviates cravings and is frequently utilized in substance abuse treatment.

After five days, on the 12th of November, Stephanie delivered a baby girl weighing a small weight – early, small but alive.

When the caregiver questioned if she wanted to embrace her child, Stephanie said “no.” She was detached. Her anesthesia was ineffective, her previous intake of fentanyl had been provided shortly before she gave birth.

She felt ill. Not ready for motherhood. Unworthy.

Stephanie had sought recovery several times during pregnancy, and felt horrible each time she relapsed. She felt worthless, berating herself for not being able to achieve the unattainable. An doctor told her to “only” stop using. Even her source declined to supply to her when she became clearly expecting.

“But I couldn’t,” she said. “I required assistance.”

The pervasive expectation that her affection for her child would make her quit only led to increased guilt and self-harm, a impetus for her to relapse. Yet she could not just wish her addiction away, any more than she could overcome a persistent condition.

The newborn was transferred to the NICU. When Stephanie eventually visited her, she was attached to medical equipment, so little she thought she would harm her. Cradling her initially, she felt nothing. “I just stared at her and was like, ‘What am I going to do with you?’” She remained uncertain she wanted to be her mother.

After two days she decided to call her daughter after her caregiver, after the professional who provided support to her.

Nurses and doctors told her about Maddie’s Place, a new kind of care center where mothers and their drug-exposed newborns are supported as a unit, not apart.

In numerous states, where a baby is diagnosed with infant withdrawal condition every 18 minutes, infants are still whisked to NICUs and medicated while their mothers face child-protection investigations. But a developing system of centers like Maddie’s Place is showing an important truth: when families are kept intact, outcomes improve, fewer children enter care and future expenses reduce.

It took Stephanie some time to build confidence to call, but she finally did. After verifying her eligibility for the program, care providers came to collect her.

She left the medical center still in detox, anxious and doubtful about what would follow.

At the facility, Stephanie still feared that child services would come seize her child – even though she was hesitant about parenting. The concern persisted: that at any moment, someone could walk in and take her baby away.

For the first two weeks, Stephanie remained isolated. “I preferred to be alone,” she said. “I was suspicious at that point.”

Life on the streets, she said, was about survival. Substances came first; faith came last.

Stephanie had a trusted ally, but even that connection was tenuous. The individuals she cared for always found ways to let her down. She lacked the ability to care for herself, much less anyone else.

Every day, staff from Maddie’s Place took her to a recovery program, given as medication. Gradually, 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 severe digestive problems. She needed feeding therapy. She also had sensory challenges and required an professional – all typical problems for babies born with NAS.

When a child recognizes these infants need affection, then I was capable. I could be a mom.

On a day prior to the holiday, Stephanie sat in the visitation area, where those still using can come for monitored interactions with their babies. A support specialist, a recovery coach, stopped by with her own family in tow to deliver baked goods. They all assembled beside Stephanie, who was resting on the carpet holding Izzie.

The young ones stared in awe of the small baby in Stephanie’s arms. “They were innocent,” Stephanie said. “My past did not matter to them. They focused only on the baby.”

She keeps a photo of the moment. She is dressed in black pants and a hoodie, a gray knit hat with a pompom on her head, seated on the ground with the exit nearby. She is slender. Her face is downcast so you cannot see her face. She is holding Izzie up on her leg for the other kids to see and they are standing close, fawning and reaching out to the baby.

A young boy, eight, asked the parents: “Where are all the dads?” The women attempted to clarify that the dads were busy, handling responsibilities, that they would be there if possible.

“In the future,” Jacob said, “I’m going to be the best dad ever. They will know they are valued.”

Stephanie and her companion looked at each other. “I just lost it and fell apart,” Stephanie said. “If this little kid could see that infants need affection, then I found the courage. I could be a mom.”

Methods to address babies with exposure have existed for decades.

The evaluation method was created in 1975|