My journey from heroin addiction to motherhood

Two months into recovering from a heroin addiction, I learned I was pregnant. I was terrified. I knew what withdrawals were like and I knew my baby would begin to experience them almost immediately after his birth.

I called my counselor right away. I saw the doctors at the methadone clinic and I made an appointment with an OB/GYN who specialized in high-risk pregnancies. I was told the same thing by every doctor: To quit now was more dangerous than continuing my treatment. Once born, doctors can wean a baby slowly off methadone, but while pregnant, my son would feel all the same withdrawal symptoms I felt.

I had multiple sonograms and as my due date neared, I spent more time in the doctor’s office. On July 28, 2007, I had a scheduled C-­section. My son, Jack, looked healthy. It wasn’t until I visited him in the NICU that I knew how bad it was. He’d cry and twitch. Sometimes it seemed like it hurt him to be held. They weaned him soon after his birth and less than a week later sent him home.

It was a big mistake to go home so early. That became obvious within a few hours. Jack cried and couldn’t keep his arms and legs from flailing around. He’d stretch his body like he wanted to jump out of his skin. I took him to the local children’s hospital. The doctor who initially examined him was visibly upset. He couldn’t understand why he was sent home so early. We spent the next five weeks in the hospital. I left once a week to pick up my methadone. I slept on the hospital bed in his room and Jack slept in a bassinet beside me. I warmed his bottles, fed him, changed his diapers and spent my days with him. He no longer shook uncontrollably or winced when touched.

Looking back, my addiction seemed almost inevitable.

I tried to commit suicide at 13. I was depressed and self­-destructive. I did something I knew could ruin my life: I tried heroin at 16. The feeling was indescribable. I felt so relaxed, like nothing mattered. As someone eager to escape my emotions, I was naturally drawn to it.

But the craving for that rush was quickly replaced with desperation. It became about nothing more than staving off withdrawal symptoms. I spent the next six years sporadically clean, occasionally in rehab or jail, but mostly so high I couldn’t stand straight. My entire life revolved around heroin. I never thought about my future. I knew too many people dead or in jail to think I’d somehow escape unscathed. Like most addicts, I’ve been arrested multiple times, but I was never worried about having a criminal record. I’m a felon, but the only thing I really worried about was how long I’d spend in jail and how long I would have to go without heroin.

I wish I could say I went through some life­-altering experience that made me realize I’d hit rock bottom, but I didn’t. I was just tired. I hated my life and I hated myself. Every time I got clean, I relapsed. The depression was always still there, and now made worse by the problems of my drug addiction. I believed my addiction was the only thing standing between me and a normal quiet life. I started noticing things. My grandmother wouldn’t leave her purse unattended when I visited. No one left their car keys lying out in the open around me. If someone close to me was on pain medication, I didn’t know because they hid the bottle.

Methadone changed my life.

A lot of people think it’s just another way of getting high. It’s not. It curbs your cravings and prevents the debilitating withdrawal symptoms that sends so many addicts scrambling for their next fix. I also got something I hadn’t in jail or rehab­: support and security. It’s easy to be drug-free when you have no choice. But trying to move your life forward after getting out is something all addicts struggle with. At the methadone clinic I had counselors to talk to and recovering addicts who gave me encouragement while waiting in line for our dose. I was surrounded by addicts who had pieced their lives back together and it made me believe I could too.

As my son has grown I’ve noticed how little the methadone has seemed to affect him.

Jack is of average height and weight. He’s smart, he likes trucks and has plenty of friends. He’s your normal, happy-­go-­lucky eight year old.

I’m not sure when or how I will tell him about the first six weeks of his life, but I hope he understands. I’m ashamed of my mistakes, but I’ve decided I can either learn from them or let them weigh me down. I’ll always be a recovering addict, but I’m also a loving mother who refuses to be defined by my past.