FACILITY HELPS CRACK BABIES

KENT, Wash.--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."

Copyright Los Angeles Times

Checked-by: (Joel W. Johnson)