FACILITY HELPS CRACK BABIES

KENT, Wash. (AP) - For tiny Anastasia, babyhood has been hell.

But at this moment, in a quiet, dimly lit room, the infant with big brown
eyes and a mop of black hair may be experiencing a little bit of heaven.

Born addicted to the cocaine that held her mother in thrall, the 5-week-old
baby is being cradled and fed by Kristine Weisz, an aide at the Pediatric
Interim Care Center housed in a one-story red brick building in this south
Seattle suburb.

Ms. Weisz knows just what to do to ease Anastasia's frightful trembling,
headaches and stomach cramps - all symptoms of cocaine withdrawal.

She keeps the baby tightly swaddled in a blanket to reduce the trembling,
with her legs bent forward to quiet the stomach cramps. There are no bright
lights or loud noises to jangle Anastasia's fragile nerves.

There are no coos, no smooches, no bounces on the knee for this baby. That
will come later, much later - after she is returned to her mother or placed
in foster care, as about half the center's babies are.

Even simple affection can be physically and mentally painful to a tiny
recovering addict.

``Sometimes you can't even look at these babies when you feed them,'' Ms.
Weisz says. ``It's too stimulating.''

Cocaine-addicted babies often refuse to eat, though their bodies crave
nourishment. So Ms. Weisz patiently coaxes Anastasia to suck on her bottle,
knowing that if she doesn't eat now, she will not thrive later on.

Heroin-addicted babies pose the opposite problem. Ravenously hungry, they
will eat too much if allowed. The work lies in conforting them between
feedings.

Anastasia is one of a dozen newborns at the care center, each born with a
raging addiction passed on in the womb.

Some come into the world hooked on heroin, some on cocaine, some on
methamphetamine. Some are born addicted to more than one drug, and some
also have been damaged by alcohol. The different drugs demand different
treatments. When the mother has combined drugs, treatment becomes
especially tricky.

This center, the only one of its kind in Washington state, has treated
about 800 drug-addicted infants since its founding in 1990. Legislative
researchers estimate there are between 7,500 and 10,000 such infants born
in the state each year.

``What we're doing here represents a drop in the bucket,'' says the
center's director, Barbara Drennen.

There is a crying need for more care centers and for changes in the law to
ensure that drug-addicted newborns are identified so they can receive
proper care, she added.

Chicago has a similar operation, the Maryville Center, said Dr. Ira J.
Chasnoff, an expert there on drug-addicted babies. There aren't many such
facilities, he said: ``We need more of them.''

``People say these are throwaway babies, that there's nothing we can do for
them,'' Drennen said.

``That's just wrong. We can treat them and we can do something for them.
These are not throwaway babies.''

She and her colleague, Barbara Richards, started the facility with
operating funds from the legislature and help from then-Gov. Booth Gardner.
The center, with a budget of about $600,000 a year, relies on the state for
funding, along with private and corporate donations.

The parents of most of its tiny patients come from middle-class
backgrounds, Ms. Richards says.

``You've heard it before, but the truth is we pay now or pay later,''
Drennen said.

``If we let it happen, these are children who are going to be a huge burden
on society for their entire lives. These are the children who are going to
fill up our prisons.''

She and Ms. Richards, who both have years of experience as foster parents,
exude maternal energy as they glide from room to room, introducing their
young charges and the staff of female aides who care for them.

Sharing a room with Anastasia are month-old Jessica, and 3-week-old Allen,
both born to cocaine-using mothers. Tightly swaddled and just fed, Allen
hardly stirs. Jessica has just had her bath, which is always painful for
these babies because of the stimulation. She is wailing as she waits to be
fed by Erin Thompson.

This is Ms. Thompson's first day on staff after two years as a volunteer.
``I'm here because I've fallen in love with the babies,'' she says.

The two Barbaras tiptoe into the ``darkroom,'' where new arrivals are
brought. In the dim light, a 2-week-old baby boy lies swaddled - a victim
not only of his mother's drug use but of physical abuse.

Down the hall, gently rocked by an aide, is Qymani - his mother's second
drug- affected baby to be treated here, Ms. Richards noted.

``This is common,'' she said. In 1996, the last time the center gathered
statistics on its patients, about 75 percent of the babies had at least one
older sibling who was treated here as well.

Moving to another room, Ms. Drennen gently picks up 2-week-old Kristen,
whose mother was addicted to methamphetamine. The baby has no muscle
control and lies like a limp rag in her arms. This classic symptom of
infant meth addiction makes her hard to feed, though she is emaciated and
desperately needs nutrition.

Meth babies ``have a blank, flat effect, almost as if they're not there,''
Ms. Richards said.

And their parents are especially difficult, she added - ``violent,
aggressive, paranoid.''

The staff tries to get parents involved and also trains foster parents,
with mixed results.

``A lot of these babies come back to us because either the families or the
foster parents can't handle it,'' Ms. Drennen said.

``We have a baby coming back today. The foster mom took the baby to the
fireworks and then wondered why the baby screamed'' all through the Fourth
of July weekend.

``We tell them, `No fireworks, no bouncing on the knee,' but some just
don't understand,'' she said.

Even with proper care, some of the babies face long-term difficulties,
including learning and behaviorial problems.

``It's a controversial issue,'' said Dr. David Woodrum, a professor of
pediatrics at the University of Washington who volunteers at the center.

``There are a lot of variables, including socio-economic status, so it's
not clearly established. But I'd say ... a significant portion of children
will have problems,'' Woodrum said.

Still, Ms. Drennen said: ``If we start early, and give them the care they
need, we can save these babies.''

By HAL SPENCER .c The Associated Press

KENT, Wash. (AP) - For tiny Anastasia, babyhood has been hell.

But at this moment, in a quiet, dimly lit room, the infant with big brown
eyes and a mop of black hair may be experiencing a little bit of heaven.

Born addicted to the cocaine that held her mother in thrall, the 5-week-old
baby is being cradled and fed by Kristine Weisz, an aide at the Pediatric
Interim Care Center housed in a one-story red brick building in this south
Seattle suburb.

Ms. Weisz knows just what to do to ease Anastasia's frightful trembling,
headaches and stomach cramps - all symptoms of cocaine withdrawal.

She keeps the baby tightly swaddled in a blanket to reduce the trembling,
with her legs bent forward to quiet the stomach cramps. There are no bright
lights or loud noises to jangle Anastasia's fragile nerves.

There are no coos, no smooches, no bounces on the knee for this baby. That
will come later, much later - after she is returned to her mother or placed
in foster care, as about half the center's babies are.

Even simple affection can be physically and mentally painful to a tiny
recovering addict.

``Sometimes you can't even look at these babies when you feed them,'' Ms.
Weisz says. ``It's too stimulating.''

Cocaine-addicted babies often refuse to eat, though their bodies crave
nourishment. So Ms. Weisz patiently coaxes Anastasia to suck on her bottle,
knowing that if she doesn't eat now, she will not thrive later on.

Heroin-addicted babies pose the opposite problem. Ravenously hungry, they
will eat too much if allowed. The work lies in conforting them between
feedings.

Anastasia is one of a dozen newborns at the care center, each born with a
raging addiction passed on in the womb.

Some come into the world hooked on heroin, some on cocaine, some on
methamphetamine. Some are born addicted to more than one drug, and some
also have been damaged by alcohol. The different drugs demand different
treatments. When the mother has combined drugs, treatment becomes
especially tricky.

This center, the only one of its kind in Washington state, has treated
about 800 drug-addicted infants since its founding in 1990. Legislative
researchers estimate there are between 7,500 and 10,000 such infants born
in the state each year.

``What we're doing here represents a drop in the bucket,'' says the
center's director, Barbara Drennen.

There is a crying need for more care centers and for changes in the law to
ensure that drug-addicted newborns are identified so they can receive
proper care, she added.

Chicago has a similar operation, the Maryville Center, said Dr. Ira J.
Chasnoff, an expert there on drug-addicted babies. There aren't many such
facilities, he said: ``We need more of them.''

``People say these are throwaway babies, that there's nothing we can do for
them,'' Drennen said.

``That's just wrong. We can treat them and we can do something for them.
These are not throwaway babies.''

She and her colleague, Barbara Richards, started the facility with
operating funds from the legislature and help from then-Gov. Booth Gardner.
The center, with a budget of about $600,000 a year, relies on the state for
funding, along with private and corporate donations.

The parents of most of its tiny patients come from middle-class
backgrounds, Ms. Richards says.

``You've heard it before, but the truth is we pay now or pay later,''
Drennen said.

``If we let it happen, these are children who are going to be a huge burden
on society for their entire lives. These are the children who are going to
fill up our prisons.''

She and Ms. Richards, who both have years of experience as foster parents,
exude maternal energy as they glide from room to room, introducing their
young charges and the staff of female aides who care for them.

Sharing a room with Anastasia are month-old Jessica, and 3-week-old Allen,
both born to cocaine-using mothers. Tightly swaddled and just fed, Allen
hardly stirs. Jessica has just had her bath, which is always painful for
these babies because of the stimulation. She is wailing as she waits to be
fed by Erin Thompson.

This is Ms. Thompson's first day on staff after two years as a volunteer.
``I'm here because I've fallen in love with the babies,'' she says.

The two Barbaras tiptoe into the ``darkroom,'' where new arrivals are
brought. In the dim light, a 2-week-old baby boy lies swaddled - a victim
not only of his mother's drug use but of physical abuse.

Down the hall, gently rocked by an aide, is Qymani - his mother's second
drug- affected baby to be treated here, Ms. Richards noted.

``This is common,'' she said. In 1996, the last time the center gathered
statistics on its patients, about 75 percent of the babies had at least one
older sibling who was treated here as well.

Moving to another room, Ms. Drennen gently picks up 2-week-old Kristen,
whose mother was addicted to methamphetamine. The baby has no muscle
control and lies like a limp rag in her arms. This classic symptom of
infant meth addiction makes her hard to feed, though she is emaciated and
desperately needs nutrition.

Meth babies ``have a blank, flat effect, almost as if they're not there,''
Ms. Richards said.

And their parents are especially difficult, she added - ``violent,
aggressive, paranoid.''

The staff tries to get parents involved and also trains foster parents,
with mixed results.

``A lot of these babies come back to us because either the families or the
foster parents can't handle it,'' Ms. Drennen said.

``We have a baby coming back today. The foster mom took the baby to the
fireworks and then wondered why the baby screamed'' all through the Fourth
of July weekend.

``We tell them, `No fireworks, no bouncing on the knee,' but some just
don't understand,'' she said.

Even with proper care, some of the babies face long-term difficulties,
including learning and behaviorial problems.

``It's a controversial issue,'' said Dr. David Woodrum, a professor of
pediatrics at the University of Washington who volunteers at the center.

``There are a lot of variables, including socio-economic status, so it's
not clearly established. But I'd say ... a significant portion of children
will have problems,'' Woodrum said.

Still, Ms. Drennen said: ``If we start early, and give them the care they
need, we can save these babies.''

Checked-by: Mike Gogulski