Part 1: The Beginning
by Heather Hughes

My journey into this world was not like that of other babies. From the moment I came into existence, I was exposed to the methamphetamine my mother injected into herself. Unaware of the effects this had on my development, she continued to “use” despite knowing she was expecting. Her addiction caused many health problems, among them high blood pressure, stomach cramps, insomnia, paranoia, and hallucinations.

Inside her womb, I suffered with her. My blood pressure spiked again and again, bringing me very close to a stroke and hemorrhages in my brain. My developing body was traumatized when she neither slept nor ate for days at a time. A normal sleep state was something I rarely experienced because of her chronic drug use and the tortured life she lead. I had no prenatal care.

As soon as my mother gave birth to me, I was whisked away to a neonatal intensive care unit where I stayed for the next month. I was born with a hole in my abdomen, and my intestines formed outside my stomach. I underwent surgery to repair my intestines and afterward was fed through a tube in my nose. When I was finally able to have a bottle, I choked on the formula so often that it filled my lungs and caused me countless infections. Many saw me as the “irritable baby,” and my mom drowned out my screaming by taking more drugs.

I was suffering without the steady diet of drugs she once had provided so reliably before my birth. Withdrawal caused me to shake and, occasionally, suffer seizures. My immature lungs made it difficult to breathe; the ever-present cigarette and marijuana smoke in our home made it even harder.

I grew, but I was smaller than other children. I also fell behind many of my peers when it came to developmental milestones such as crawling and walking. Doing simple things such as playing ball or figuring out how to play with a particular toy often were beyond me. I became stressed when there was too much commotion or noise in a room. I had frequent fits of anger and began to bang my head against walls and floors. It hurt, but it also relieved my wracking tension—and it at times it actually felt good, especially when it caused an adult to notice me. People called me “hyper.”

At home, I was often left alone for hours at a time. As my toddler years ended, I became even more aggressive and distant. As a mere baby, I acquired one of the personality traits that would define my life: I learned to distrust every adult in my life.

Hughes, Early Intervention Specialist for Early Childhood Intervention in Greenville,
is a member of the DFG Interagency Network & Public Education Committee.