A Pregnant Woman's Battle with Fentanyl Addiction: How Keeping Her Baby Rescued Both Lives.
In her eighth month of pregnancy and suffering, Stephanie Rosell arrived at the medical facility after her infection worsened up her legs. Without a job or home, cut off from her relatives, she lived in a shed she had constructed in a companion's property. She was also hooked on fentanyl.
As physicians addressed her infection, she grew increasingly fearful. Symptoms of withdrawal emerged. She slumped forward and threw up.
Stephanie ultimately gave in. “I need to leave. I have to go home and get high.”
She had used fentanyl before arriving at the hospital and had only a brief window to get treated before she had to return to use once more. She thought she still had a month remaining to figure out how to get clean and give birth.
The nurse had other ideas. She told Stephanie she was not going anywhere.
“I will go,” Stephanie said.
But the hospital refused to discharge her: the leg infection was severe, but physicians found she also had an leakage of amniotic fluid. The nurse, a caregiver named Izzie, warned her: if she walked out, she and her baby would not survive.
Izzie persuaded the doctor to give Stephanie measured quantities of fentanyl every few hours, knowing that withdrawal could endanger her and the baby. Post-birth Stephanie would be placed on methadone, a medication that eases withdrawal and is commonly used in rehabilitation.
A short time later, on a day in November 2022, Stephanie gave birth to a daughter weighing a small weight – born before term, tiny yet healthy.
When the caregiver questioned if she wanted to cuddle her newborn, Stephanie said “I cannot.” She was numb. Her anesthesia was ineffective, her last dose of fentanyl had been provided a few hours prior to birth.
She felt unwell. Unprepared to be a mother. Undeserving.
Stephanie had attempted sobriety repeatedly before birth, and felt horrible each time she was unsuccessful. She felt without value, blaming herself for not being able to overcome the challenge. An OBGYN told her to “only” stop using. Even her dealer declined to supply to her when she became visibly pregnant.
“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 negative self-talk, a cause for her to return to drugs. Yet she could not simply will her addiction away, any more than she could will away a long-term illness.
The infant was moved to the NICU. When Stephanie finally saw her her, she was connected to monitors, so little she thought she would hurt her. Embracing her at last, she felt empty. “I gazed upon her and was like, ‘What is our future?’” She continued to doubt she wanted to be her mother.
Two days later she decided to call her daughter after her caregiver, after the attendant who showed compassion to her.
Hospital staff told her about a specialized facility, a new kind of care center where mothers and their drug-exposed newborns are cared for jointly, not apart.
In much of the US, where a baby is diagnosed with infant withdrawal condition frequently, infants are still quickly moved to hospitals and given drugs while their mothers face child-protection investigations. But a developing system of centers like this facility is demonstrating a key fact: when parents and infants remain united, outcomes improve, custody cases decrease and long-term costs decline.
It took Stephanie a while to gather the courage to call, but she eventually made the call. After ensuring she qualified for the program, care providers came to bring her to the facility.
She stepped out of the hospital still in recovery, fearful and unsure about what would follow.
At the care center, Stephanie still worried that authorities would come seize her child – even though she was not sure she wanted to keep her. The concern persisted: that at any moment, someone could walk in and separate them.
For the initial fortnight, Stephanie kept to herself. “I preferred to be alone,” she said. “I lacked confidence at that point.”
Homelessness, she said, was about survival. Addiction came first; trust came last.
Stephanie had a single companion, but even that bond was fragile. The individuals she cared for always found ways to cause pain. She did not know how to care for herself, let alone anyone else.
Daily, staff from Maddie’s Place took her to a clinic for methadone, given as medication. Slowly, she was embracing sobriety.
She utilized each moment when not in sessions with Izzie, and could see that her baby was obtaining necessary support she needed. Her daughter struggled with eating at first, with sensitivity to certain foods and pronounced gastrointestinal issues. She needed feeding therapy. She also had increased sensitivity and required an specialist – all typical problems for babies born with NAS.
Seeing that even a young person understands the need for care, then I was capable. I could parent.
On a day prior to the holiday, Stephanie sat in the visitation area, where individuals struggling with substance use can come for monitored interactions with their babies. Katie Bunch-Smith, a mentor, came over with her own family in tow to deliver baked goods. They all crowded near Stephanie, who was resting on the carpet holding Izzie.
The kids looked amazed in admiration of the tiny infant in Stephanie’s arms. “They were innocent,” Stephanie said. “My past did not matter to them. None of those things mattered to them.”
She has an image of the moment. She is wearing casual attire, a beanie with a pompom on her head, seated on the ground with the exit nearby. She is thin. Her head is tilted forward so you miss her features. She is presenting her daughter on her knee for the children to see and they are crowding near, showing interest to the baby.
One child, eight, asked the parents: “Where are all the dads?” The women attempted to clarify that the fathers had obligations, called away to other tasks, that they would be there given the chance.
“In the future,” Jacob said, “I’m going to be the best dad ever. I’m gonna show them that they deserve to be loved.”
Stephanie and her companion looked at each other. “I just lost it and fell apart,” Stephanie said. “Seeing that even youth understand that newborns require care, then I could do this. I could parent.”
Methods to address infants affected by substances have been used for a long time.
The assessment tool was developed in 1975|
