A Pregnant Woman's Battle with Fentanyl Addiction: Choosing Motherhood Rescued Both Lives.
In her eighth month of pregnancy and suffering, Stephanie Rosell arrived at the ER 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 assembled in a friend’s yard. She was also dependent on fentanyl.
As medical staff managed her infection, she began to panic. Symptoms of withdrawal emerged. She slumped forward and became sick.
Stephanie finally broke down. “Listen, I gotta go. I have to go home and take a hit.”
She had consumed opioids before seeking medical help and had only a brief window to get treated before she was compelled to leave to use once more. She thought she still had four weeks left to figure out how to get clean and deliver her child.
The attending nurse disagreed. She told Stephanie she was staying put.
“Yes, I am,” Stephanie said.
But the medical facility declined to release her: the leg infection was severe, but physicians found she also had an amniotic fluid leak. The nurse, Izzie, warned her: if she walked out, she and her baby would be at risk of death.
She encouraged the doctor to give Stephanie measured quantities of fentanyl periodically, knowing that withdrawal could endanger her and the baby. Post-birth Stephanie would be transitioned to methadone, a treatment that reduces symptoms and is commonly used in addiction recovery.
A short time later, on 12 November 2022, Stephanie delivered a infant weighing a small weight – premature, tiny yet healthy.
When the nurse asked if she wanted to hold her baby, Stephanie said “not now.” She was emotionless. Her epidural had failed, her last dose of fentanyl had been given four hours before delivery.
She felt unwell. Unprepared to be a mother. Undeserving.
Stephanie had tried to get clean multiple times while expecting, and felt terrible each time she failed. She felt without value, blaming herself for not being able to achieve the unattainable. An OBGYN told her to “simply” stop using. Even her source declined to supply to her when she became obviously with child.
“But I couldn’t,” she said. “I required assistance.”
The common assumption that her affection for her child would make her quit only led to greater shame and self-abuse, a impetus for her to relapse. Yet she could not easily command her addiction away, any more than she could eliminate a long-term illness.
The newborn was transferred to the NICU. When Stephanie finally saw her her, she was attached to medical equipment, so little she thought she would hurt her. Cradling her initially, she felt empty. “I just stared at her and was like, ‘What is our future?’” She continued to doubt she wanted to be her mother.
Two days later she decided to name her baby after her caregiver, after the professional who provided support to her.
Medical personnel told her about Maddie’s Place, a innovative treatment home where mothers and their drug-exposed newborns are cared for jointly, not apart.
In numerous states, where a baby is diagnosed with infant withdrawal condition every 18 minutes, 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 this facility is demonstrating a key fact: when mothers and babies stay together, results get better, custody cases decrease and future expenses reduce.
It took Stephanie some time to build confidence to call, but she finally did. After confirming she would be a good fit for the program, two staff members came to bring her to the facility.
She stepped out of the hospital still in recovery, anxious and doubtful about what would come next.
At the facility, Stephanie still was concerned that child services would come remove her daughter – even though she was uncertain about motherhood. The fear lingered: that at any moment, someone could arrive and separate them.
For the beginning period, Stephanie kept to herself. “I avoided interaction,” she said. “I didn’t have a lot of trust at that point.”
Homelessness, she said, was about getting by. Substances came first; trust came last.
Stephanie had a trusted ally, but even that relationship was delicate. The those close to her always found ways to hurt her. She was unable to care for herself, let alone anyone else.
Every day, staff from the facility drove her to a clinic for methadone, administered in pill form. Gradually, she was embracing sobriety.
She spent every minute beyond therapy with Izzie, and could see that her baby was receiving appropriate attention she needed. Her girl had some trouble feeding at first, with sensitivity to certain foods and pronounced gastrointestinal issues. She needed dietary support. She also had heightened sensory issues and required an professional – all typical problems for babies born with NAS.
When a child recognizes these infants need affection, then I found the strength. I could parent.
On a day prior to the holiday, Stephanie remained in the shared space, where individuals struggling with substance use can come for monitored interactions with their babies. A support specialist, a mentor, stopped by with her own family in tow to deliver baked goods. They all gathered around Stephanie, who was resting on the carpet holding Izzie.
The young ones stared in admiration of the tiny infant in Stephanie’s arms. “They were innocent,” Stephanie said. “My past did not matter to them. Such issues were irrelevant.”
She keeps a photo of the moment. She is clad in casual attire, a gray knit hat with a pompom on her head, seated on the ground with the door behind her. She is thin. Her face is downcast so you miss her features. She is lifting the baby on her leg for the young ones to see and they are gathered around, fawning and reaching out to the baby.
A young boy, eight, asked the parents: “Where are all the dads?” The parents responded that the fathers had obligations, called away to other tasks, that they would be there if they could.
“In the future,” Jacob said, “I plan to be a great parent. They will know they are valued.”
Stephanie and her companion made eye contact. “I broke down,” Stephanie said. “Seeing that even youth understand that infants need affection, then I was able. I could parent.”
Tools for treating infants affected by substances have been used for a long time.
The Finnegan NAS scale was created in 1975|
