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

Pregnant and experiencing intense discomfort, the expectant mother went to the medical facility after her infection worsened up her legs. Jobless and without shelter, separated from loved ones, she stayed in a makeshift shelter she had built in a companion's property. She was also addicted to fentanyl.

As physicians addressed her infection, she grew increasingly fearful. The onset of withdrawal began. She slumped forward and vomited.

Stephanie eventually collapsed. “Listen, I gotta go. I have to go home and take a hit.”

She had taken the drug before arriving at the hospital and had only a brief window to get treated before she had to return to relapse. She thought she still had four weeks left to find a way to become sober and give birth.

The medical professional intervened. She told Stephanie she was staying put.

“I am leaving,” Stephanie said.

But the medical facility declined to release her: the condition in her limbs was critical, but physicians found she also had an leakage of amniotic fluid. The nurse, a caregiver named Izzie, warned her: if she walked out, she and her baby would face grave danger.

The nurse convinced the doctor to give Stephanie regulated amounts of fentanyl periodically, knowing that symptoms could threaten her and the baby. Once the baby was born Stephanie would be switched to methadone, a treatment that reduces symptoms and is frequently utilized in substance abuse treatment.

Five days later, on a day in November 2022, Stephanie had a daughter weighing just over four pounds – born before term, little but surviving.

When the nurse asked if she wanted to hold her baby, Stephanie said “no.” She was detached. Her anesthesia was ineffective, her final administration of fentanyl had been provided a few hours prior to birth.

She felt ill. Not ready for motherhood. Undeserving.

Stephanie had attempted sobriety several times during pregnancy, and felt awful each time she failed. She felt hopeless, berating herself for not being able to do the impossible. An obstetrician told her to “just” stop using. Even her supplier refused to sell to her when she became obviously with child.

“Yet I was unable,” she said. “I required assistance.”

The common assumption that her affection for her child would make her quit only led to greater shame and self-harm, a trigger for her to use again. Yet she could not simply will her addiction away, any more than she could overcome a persistent condition.

The baby was taken to the special care nursery. When Stephanie at last met her, she was hooked up to monitors, so little she thought she would harm her. Embracing her at last, she felt nothing. “I gazed upon her and was like, ‘What am I going to do with you?’” She continued to doubt she wanted to be her mother.

Two days later she decided to give her child the name Izzie, after the nurse who had been so kind to her.

Nurses and doctors told her about a specialized facility, a unique recovery environment where parents and infants affected by substance use are cared for jointly, not apart.

In many parts of America, where a baby is diagnosed with newborn addiction symptoms every 18 minutes, infants are still whisked to NICUs and treated with pharmaceuticals while their mothers face parental assessments. But a limited but expanding group of centers like this facility is proving a simple point: when parents and infants remain united, outcomes improve, custody cases decrease and overall savings increase.

It took Stephanie some time to build confidence to call, but she eventually made the call. After confirming she would be a good fit for the program, two staff members came to bring her to the facility.

She departed the institution still in detox, anxious and doubtful about what would come next.

At Maddie’s Place, Stephanie still feared that child services would come take Izzie – even though she was hesitant about parenting. The anxiety remained: that at any moment, someone could enter and remove her child.

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

Homelessness, she said, was about enduring. Addiction came first; trust came last.

Stephanie had a trusted ally, but even that relationship was delicate. The individuals she cared for always found ways to let her down. She lacked the ability to value herself, let alone anyone else.

Each day, staff from the facility took her to a recovery program, provided orally. Gradually, she was embracing sobriety.

She devoted all her time outside treatment 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 nutritional guidance. She also had sensory challenges and required an professional – all typical problems for babies exposed to substances.

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

One afternoon before Thanksgiving, Stephanie remained in the shared space, where parents in active addiction can come for guided meetings with their babies. Katie Bunch-Smith, a mentor, came over with her own children in tow to deliver baked goods. They all gathered around Stephanie, who was resting on the carpet holding Izzie.

The young ones stared in admiration of the little newborn in Stephanie’s arms. “They were innocent,” Stephanie said. “They overlooked my addiction. Such issues were irrelevant.”

She keeps a photo of the moment. She is wearing dark trousers and a sweatshirt, a beanie with a decoration on her head, resting on the floor with the entryway at her back. She is slender. Her posture is humble so you miss her features. She is presenting her daughter on her knee for the children to see and they are gathered around, showing interest to the baby.

Jacob, eight, asked the parents: “Where are all the dads?” The parents responded that the men were occupied, called away to other tasks, that they would be there if possible.

“In the future,” Jacob said, “I will excel as a father. They will know they are valued.”

Stephanie and her companion looked at each other. “I broke down,” Stephanie said. “Seeing that even youth understand that newborns require care, then I was able. I could be a mom.”

Methods to address drug-exposed newborns have existed for decades.

The assessment tool was established in 1975|