A Madness Called Meth: Chapter Eight B

THE STRUGGLE OF A FATHER AND DAUGHTER

Pediatrician In Des Moines Hopes She Can Help Meth Babies

Brad Sawhill saw the dope pipe on the kitchen counter and gave his
girlfriend of three weeks an ultimatum. She chose drugs; he never saw her
again.

Seven months ago, there was a knock on Sawhill's door. A worker from the
state department of social services wanted him to take a paternity test.
His former girlfriend had had a baby, Katlyn, and the child's foster family
wanted to adopt her, but the state first had to notify her father.

From her round blue eyes to the sprouting tufts of sandy blonde hair,
Katlyn, now 16 months old, is the mirror image of Sawhill, a 31-year-old
warehouse worker in Des Moines. In early July, a judge granted Sawhill
legal custody of Katlyn, and her mother's name was removed from her birth
certificate. Now he is experiencing the test of a lifetime: How to care for
a meth-exposed child.

"I'm trying to do the best I can," he says. "She's my kid; I'd give her
anything. But I hope that she could be normal."

Katlyn silently squirms across the hospital floor on her belly, rapidly
flitting her little legs like a fish out of water as she inches closer to
the toy block on the blanket. Her glazed eyes widen as she reaches for the
green block next to the rattle. But as she grabs the toy, her body
stiffens, her legs straighten, and her eyelids flicker.

Katlyn starts to shake. She stops three seconds later, then continues to
push herself across the floor. She bangs her head on the ground. Katlyn
can't walk or talk. She has experienced two seizures and is on medication
to prevent a third. Her left hand awkwardly wavers during an exercise to
place a green block in a cup. It's a task to test her motor skills, her
physician Rizwan Shah explains, but the toddler misses the mark. Katlyn has
suffered some neurological damage and is six to eight months behind in her
development.Shah suggests she learn sign language.

Shah, who has known Katlyn since she was born, believes Katlyn was affected
by her mother's meth and marijuana use during pregnancy.

"Unfortunately, all of this could have been avoided," Shah tells Sawhill as
he watches his daughter from a corner. "But you're doing the right thing.
You're trying to pick up the pieces of her life."

Shortly after she was born, Katlyn was placed with a foster family. At
Shah's pediatric clinic at Blank Children's Hospital in Des Moines, nearly
70 percent of the meth-affected babies and children Shah examines are in
the foster care system.

On the second floor, where doors are decorated with paintings of smiling
children and dancing hearts, Shah attends to infants who had strokes while
inside their mother's wombs; toddlers who feel as if bugs are crawling on
their skin and scream when they are touched; and children who have
inexplicable and uncontrollable outbursts of rage.

At least two meth-exposed babies are born in Iowa weekly, Shah says. At the
hospital, Shah works with 280 such patients, including Katlyn. Shah
monitors their muscle, nerve and neurological development to try to give
the children, their parents and caregivers an idea of what will happen next
or how best to work through future problems.

"I haven't followed these kids for a long time," she says. "I don't know
what will happen to them as they grow older."

No long-term medical studies have been done on meth-exposed children. Shah
started the pediatric program to track drug-exposed babies in 1989, before
meth became a problem in the Midwest. At the time, she worked primarily
with babies affected by crack cocaine. In 1993, she saw her first
meth-affected baby, and since then she has focused on comparing the
prenatal effects of both drugs.

Methamphetamine, she says, causes more severe damage to babies because meth
stays in a woman's body longer - four times longer on average.

Shah tells Sawhill that Katlyn should undergo speech and physical therapy
until she is five or six years old. She then explains the services
available and the people he can contact for more information.

"Nothing is set in stone," she says in a reassuring voice. "If you provide
intervention early on, the outcome in the long-run is better than if the
child is left alone." Shah tells Sawhill to call her anytime. She admits
her work is personal.

"You cannot have the science of medicine without the heart of medicine,"
she says. "A long time ago, when doctors did not have all these wonder
drugs, treatment and technology, they provided the best of care just by
sitting with people and holding their hand through the tough times."

She will see Katlyn again in three months.

Sawhill pulls a green Bambi shirt over Katlyn's head and tries to put on
her flower-printed shorts and shoes. She starts to cry.

"I'm afraid every day; I don't know what's going to happen," Brad says, his
eyes tired.

Katlyn is slowly improving. She can digest her medication and she hasn't
had a seizure since May. Brad says his mother is helping him care for
Katlyn while he works. He hasn't heard from Katlyn's mother.

"I don't wish her (mother) any harm," he says. "But I hope someday she
could realize what she's done."

Chapter 9, http://www.mapinc.org/drugnews/v00/n1506/a05.html