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 hospital emergency room after a serious infection started to spread up her legs. Jobless and without shelter, cut off from her relatives, she stayed in a makeshift shelter she had constructed in a companion's property. She was also hooked on fentanyl.
As doctors treated her infection, she started to feel anxious. The onset of withdrawal began. She bent over the bedside and vomited.
Stephanie ultimately gave in. “I have to get out of here. I have to go home and get high.”
She had consumed opioids before seeking medical help and had only a brief window to get treated before she was compelled to leave to get high again. She thought she still had a month remaining to find a way to become sober and deliver her child.
The nurse had other ideas. She told Stephanie she was not allowed to leave.
“Yes, I am,” Stephanie said.
But the doctors would not let her go: the condition in her limbs was severe, but doctors had discovered she also had an amniotic fluid leak. The nurse, a caregiver named Izzie, warned her: if she left, she and her baby would be at risk of death.
The nurse convinced the doctor to give Stephanie regulated amounts of fentanyl at regular intervals, knowing that symptoms could threaten her and the baby. Once the baby was born Stephanie would be transitioned to methadone, a treatment that reduces symptoms and is often prescribed in addiction recovery.
After five days, on the 12th of November, Stephanie had a baby girl weighing just over four pounds – early, small but alive.
When the attendant inquired if she wanted to hold her baby, Stephanie said “I cannot.” She was emotionless. Her pain relief did not work, her last dose of fentanyl had been administered shortly before she gave birth.
She felt sick. Not ready for motherhood. Undeserving.
Stephanie had attempted sobriety several times during pregnancy, and felt horrible each time she relapsed. She felt worthless, blaming herself for not being able to achieve the unattainable. An doctor told her to “only” stop using. Even her dealer refused to sell to her when she became visibly pregnant.
“Yet I was unable,” she said. “I required assistance.”
The pervasive expectation that her love for her baby would make her recover only led to greater shame and self-abuse, a trigger for her to relapse. Yet she could not just wish her addiction away, any more than she could will away a chronic disease.
The newborn was transferred to the special care nursery. When Stephanie eventually visited her, she was hooked up to monitors, so little she thought she would break her. Cradling her initially, she felt nothing. “I just stared at her and was like, ‘What am I going to do with you?’” She remained uncertain she wanted to be her mother.
Following a brief period she decided to call her daughter Izzie, after the professional who provided support to her.
Nurses and doctors told her about a specialized facility, a innovative treatment home where women and their babies are treated together, not apart.
In many parts of America, where a baby is diagnosed with newborn addiction symptoms regularly, infants are still quickly moved to hospitals and treated with pharmaceuticals while their mothers face child-protection investigations. But a small, growing network of centers like Maddie’s Place is demonstrating a key fact: when families are kept intact, outcomes improve, custody cases decrease and overall savings increase.
It took Stephanie a period to find strength to call, but she ultimately reached out. After confirming she would be a good fit for the program, care providers came to pick her up.
She stepped out of the hospital still in recovery, anxious and doubtful about what would follow.
At the facility, Stephanie still worried that CPS would come take Izzie – even though she was uncertain about motherhood. The fear lingered: that at any point, someone could walk in and remove her child.
For the initial fortnight, Stephanie kept to herself. “I avoided interaction,” she said. “I lacked confidence at that point.”
Survival outdoors, she said, was about survival. Drugs came first; trust came last.
Stephanie had one close friend, but even that relationship was delicate. The individuals she cared for always found ways to hurt her. She lacked the ability to care for herself, let alone anyone else.
Every day, staff from the facility transported her to a recovery program, administered in pill form. Over time, she was beginning recovery.
She spent every minute when not in sessions 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 frequent conditions for babies exposed to substances.
If this little kid could see that these babies deserve to be loved, then I found the strength. I could be a mom.
During a pre-holiday visit, Stephanie sat in the visitation area, where parents in active addiction can come for supervised visits with their babies. A support specialist, a recovery coach, came over with her own family in tow to bring treats. They all gathered around Stephanie, who was seated on the ground holding Izzie.
The kids looked amazed in admiration of the small baby in Stephanie’s arms. “They had no care in the world,” Stephanie said. “They didn’t care that I had used drugs with her. Such issues were irrelevant.”
She has an image of the moment. She is dressed in casual attire, a gray knit hat with a bobble on her head, seated on the ground with the exit nearby. She is thin. Her face is downcast so you miss her features. She is holding Izzie up on her leg for the young ones to see and they are standing close, showing interest to the baby.
Jacob, eight, asked the parents: “What about the fathers?” The women attempted to clarify that the dads were busy, handling responsibilities, that they would be there if they could.
“Once I become a parent,” Jacob said, “I will excel as a father. I’m gonna show them that they deserve to be loved.”
Stephanie and Bunch-Smith made eye contact. “I became emotional,” Stephanie said. “When a child recognized that infants need affection, then I could do this. I could be a mom.”
Approaches for managing babies with exposure have existed for decades.
The assessment tool was developed in 1975|
