A Pregnant Woman's Battle with Fentanyl Addiction: Choosing Motherhood Rescued Both Lives.
Eight months pregnant and in severe pain, Stephanie Rosell went to the medical facility after her infection worsened up her legs. Without a job or home, 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 physicians addressed her infection, she began to panic. Symptoms of withdrawal emerged. She leaned over the bed and vomited.
Stephanie eventually collapsed. “Listen, I gotta go. I have to go home and get high.”
She had consumed opioids before arriving at the hospital and had just enough time to get treated before she was compelled to leave to use once more. She thought she still had a month remaining to plan her recovery and deliver her child.
The attending nurse disagreed. She told Stephanie she was not allowed to leave.
“Yes, I am,” Stephanie said.
But the hospital refused to discharge her: the condition in her limbs was critical, but physicians found she also had an leakage of amniotic fluid. The nurse, a caregiver named Izzie, warned her: if she left, she and her baby would be at risk of death.
She encouraged the doctor to give Stephanie measured quantities of fentanyl every few hours, knowing that abstinence might harm her and the baby. After delivery Stephanie would be placed on methadone, a treatment that reduces symptoms and is frequently utilized in substance abuse treatment.
After five days, on the 12th of November, Stephanie gave birth to a infant weighing a small weight – born before term, little but surviving.
When the attendant inquired if she wanted to hold her baby, Stephanie said “no.” She was detached. Her epidural had failed, her previous intake of fentanyl had been provided four hours before delivery.
She felt sick. Not ready for motherhood. Unworthy.
Stephanie had attempted sobriety multiple times while expecting, and felt terrible each time she was unsuccessful. She felt worthless, blaming herself for not being able to overcome the challenge. An obstetrician told her to “just” stop using. Even her source refused to sell to her when she became clearly expecting.
“However, I failed,” she said. “I required assistance.”
The common assumption that her bond with her newborn would make her stop using only led to deeper self-loathing and negative self-talk, a cause for her to relapse. Yet she could not just wish her addiction away, any more than she could eliminate a long-term illness.
The infant was moved to the NICU. When Stephanie eventually visited her, she was connected to medical equipment, so tiny she thought she would hurt her. Holding her for the first time, she felt detached. “I looked at her and was like, ‘How will I care for you?’” She still wasn’t sure she wanted to be her mother.
Two days later she decided to name her baby after her caregiver, after the attendant who showed compassion to her.
Medical personnel told her about a care center, a innovative treatment home where mothers and their drug-exposed newborns are supported as a unit, not apart.
In much of the US, where a baby is found to have infant withdrawal condition frequently, infants are still whisked to NICUs and medicated while their mothers face parental assessments. But a developing system of centers like this facility is demonstrating a key fact: when parents and infants remain united, recovery succeeds, foster placements fall and future expenses reduce.
It took Stephanie some time to build confidence to call, but she finally did. After ensuring she qualified for the program, care providers came to collect her.
She left the medical center still in detox, anxious and doubtful about what would happen next.
At Maddie’s Place, Stephanie still was concerned that child services would come seize her child – even though she was hesitant about parenting. The anxiety remained: that at any moment, someone could enter and separate them.
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.”
Life on the streets, she said, was about survival. Drugs came first; trust came last.
Stephanie had a trusted ally, but even that bond was fragile. The individuals she cared for always found ways to hurt her. She did not know how to love herself, much less anyone else.
Each day, staff from Maddie’s Place took her to a treatment center, administered in pill form. Over time, she was embracing sobriety.
She devoted all her time outside treatment with Izzie, and could see that her baby was obtaining necessary support she needed. Her infant faced feeding challenges at first, with sensitivity to certain foods and obvious stomach troubles. She needed dietary support. She also had sensory challenges and required an specialist – all typical problems for babies born with NAS.
If this little kid could see that these babies deserve to be loved, then I was capable. I could parent.
One afternoon before Thanksgiving, Stephanie sat in the visitation area, where parents in active addiction can come for monitored interactions with their babies. A support specialist, a recovery coach, came over with her own family in tow to deliver baked goods. They all assembled beside Stephanie, who was resting on the carpet holding Izzie.
The children were wide-eyed in awe of the small baby in Stephanie’s arms. “They had no care in the world,” Stephanie said. “They overlooked my addiction. None of those things mattered to them.”
She holds a picture of the moment. She is clad in black pants and a hoodie, a beanie with a pompom on her head, sitting on the wooden floor with the door behind her. She is lean. Her posture is humble so you miss her features. She is lifting the baby on her knee for the children to see and they are gathered around, fawning and reaching out to the baby.
One child, eight, asked the mothers: “Why are there no men?” The women attempted to clarify that the fathers had obligations, handling responsibilities, that they would be there given the chance.
“Once I become a parent,” Jacob said, “I’m going to be the best dad ever. They will know they are valued.”
Stephanie and Bunch-Smith exchanged glances. “I broke down,” Stephanie said. “When a child recognized that newborns require care, then I was able. I would become a mother.”
Methods to address babies with exposure have existed for decades.
The assessment tool was created in 1975|
