A Pregnant Woman's Battle with Fentanyl Addiction: The Decision to Keep Her Child Rescued Both Lives.
In her eighth month of pregnancy and suffering, Stephanie Rosell visited the ER after an infection began spreading up her legs. Jobless and without shelter, separated from loved ones, she resided in a small structure she had constructed in a companion's property. She was also dependent on fentanyl.
As medical staff managed her infection, she started to feel anxious. Symptoms of withdrawal emerged. She leaned over the bed and vomited.
Stephanie finally broke down. “I need to leave. I have to go home and take a hit.”
She had taken the drug before coming to the ER and had just enough time to get treated before she needed to go home to relapse. She thought she still had four weeks left to plan her recovery and deliver her child.
The attending nurse disagreed. She told Stephanie she was not going anywhere.
“Yes, I am,” Stephanie said.
But the hospital refused to discharge her: the condition in her limbs was severe, but physicians found she also had an amniotic fluid leak. The nurse, a caregiver named Izzie, warned her: if she left, she and her baby would not survive.
The nurse convinced the doctor to give Stephanie controlled doses of fentanyl at regular intervals, knowing that abstinence might harm her and the baby. After delivery Stephanie would be transitioned to methadone, a medication that eases withdrawal and is commonly used in addiction recovery.
A short time later, on the 12th of November, Stephanie had a daughter weighing a small weight – early, tiny yet healthy.
When the attendant inquired if she wanted to cuddle her newborn, Stephanie said “not now.” She was numb. Her epidural had failed, her previous intake of fentanyl had been provided four hours before delivery.
She felt ill. Not ready for motherhood. Undeserving.
Stephanie had tried to get clean several times during pregnancy, and felt awful each time she relapsed. She felt without value, criticizing herself for not being able to achieve the unattainable. An obstetrician told her to “simply” stop using. Even her dealer declined to supply to her when she became clearly expecting.
“But I couldn’t,” she said. “I required assistance.”
The widespread belief that her love for her baby would make her recover only led to greater shame and self-abuse, a impetus for her to relapse. Yet she could not just wish her addiction away, any more than she could eliminate a long-term illness.
The baby was taken to the special care nursery. When Stephanie finally saw her her, she was attached to monitors, so little she thought she would hurt her. Embracing her at last, she felt empty. “I looked at her and was like, ‘What is our future?’” She continued to doubt she wanted to be her mother.
After two days she decided to name her baby after her caregiver, after the nurse who had been so kind to her.
Hospital staff told her about Maddie’s Place, a new kind of care center where mothers and their drug-exposed newborns are treated together, not apart.
In much of the US, where a baby is identified with infant withdrawal condition regularly, infants are still rushed to special care and medicated while their mothers face parental assessments. But a small, growing network of centers like this facility is showing an important truth: when mothers and babies stay together, recovery succeeds, foster placements fall and future expenses reduce.
It took Stephanie a period to find strength to call, but she ultimately reached out. After verifying her eligibility for the program, a couple of employees came to pick her up.
She departed the institution still in withdrawal, scared and uncertain about what would come next.
At Maddie’s Place, Stephanie still feared that CPS would come seize her child – even though she was hesitant about parenting. The anxiety remained: that at any time, someone could walk in and remove her child.
For the beginning period, Stephanie stayed withdrawn. “I didn’t really want anything to do with any of them,” she said. “I didn’t have a lot of trust at that point.”
Survival outdoors, she said, was about survival. Substances came first; trust came last.
Stephanie had a single companion, but even that connection was tenuous. The those close to her always found ways to cause pain. She did not know how to value herself, much less anyone else.
Each day, staff from the center took her to a treatment center, provided orally. Over time, she was starting to get clean.
She devoted all her time outside treatment with Izzie, and could see that her baby was receiving appropriate attention she needed. Her infant faced feeding challenges at first, with adverse reactions to milk and pronounced gastrointestinal issues. She needed dietary support. She also had heightened sensory issues and required an professional – all typical problems for babies exposed to substances.
If this little kid could see that these babies deserve to be loved, then I was capable. I could parent.
On a day prior to the holiday, Stephanie remained in the shared space, where parents in active addiction can come for monitored interactions with their babies. An advocate, a peer support specialist, stopped by with her own children in tow to bring treats. They all assembled beside Stephanie, who was resting on the carpet holding Izzie.
The children were wide-eyed in awe of the little newborn in Stephanie’s arms. “They had no care in the world,” Stephanie said. “They didn’t care that I had used drugs with her. They focused only on the baby.”
She has an image of the moment. She is wearing black pants and a hoodie, a cap with a pompom on her head, sitting on the wooden floor with the entryway at her back. She is lean. Her face is downcast so you cannot see her face. She is lifting the baby on her lap for the young ones to see and they are gathered around, admiring and touching to the baby.
A young boy, eight, asked the mothers: “Where are all the dads?” The moms tried to explain that the men were occupied, called away to other tasks, that they would be there given the chance.
“Once I become a parent,” Jacob said, “I’m going to be the best dad ever. I’m gonna show them that they deserve to be loved.”
Stephanie and the specialist made eye contact. “I just lost it and fell apart,” Stephanie said. “Seeing that even youth understand that newborns require care, then I found the courage. I could be a mom.”
Methods to address infants affected by substances have been used for a long time.
The assessment tool was developed in 1975|
