A Pregnant Woman's Battle with Fentanyl Addiction: Choosing Motherhood Transformed Their Futures.
Eight months pregnant and in severe pain, Stephanie Rosell went to the ER after an infection began spreading up her legs. Jobless and without shelter, cut off from her relatives, she stayed in a makeshift shelter she had built in a companion's property. She was also addicted to fentanyl.
As doctors treated her infection, she started to feel anxious. The onset of withdrawal began. She leaned over the bed and threw up.
Stephanie ultimately gave in. “I have to get out of here. 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 relapse. She thought she still had four weeks left to plan her recovery and deliver her child.
The medical professional intervened. She told Stephanie she was not allowed to leave.
“I will go,” Stephanie said.
But the hospital refused to discharge her: the leg infection was severe, but medical staff detected she also had an ruptured membrane. The nurse, a caregiver named Izzie, warned her: if she departed, she and her baby would be at risk of death.
The nurse convinced the doctor to give Stephanie controlled doses of fentanyl at regular intervals, knowing that symptoms could threaten her and the baby. After delivery Stephanie would be switched to methadone, a treatment that reduces symptoms and is commonly used in addiction recovery.
Five days later, on the 12th of November, Stephanie had a infant weighing a small weight – early, tiny yet healthy.
When the caregiver questioned if she wanted to hold her baby, Stephanie said “no.” She was emotionless. Her anesthesia was ineffective, her final administration of fentanyl had been administered shortly before she gave birth.
She felt ill. Ill-equipped for parenting. Undeserving.
Stephanie had tried to get clean repeatedly before birth, and felt horrible each time she relapsed. She felt without value, criticizing herself for not being able to overcome the challenge. An OBGYN told her to “simply” stop using. Even her supplier refused to sell to her when she became visibly pregnant.
“However, I failed,” she said. “I had to seek support.”
The pervasive expectation that her affection for her child would make her stop using only led to increased guilt and self-harm, a cause for her to use again. Yet she could not just wish her addiction away, any more than she could will away a long-term illness.
The newborn was transferred to the NICU. When Stephanie finally saw her her, she was hooked up to tubes and leads, so little she thought she would hurt her. Holding her for the first time, she felt detached. “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 the same as her nurse, after the professional who provided support to her.
Nurses and doctors told her about Maddie’s Place, 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 diagnosed with newborn addiction symptoms regularly, infants are still rushed to special care and given drugs while their mothers face parental assessments. But a limited but expanding group of centers like Maddie’s Place is showing an important truth: when parents and infants remain united, recovery succeeds, fewer children enter care 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 collect her.
She departed the institution still in recovery, fearful and unsure about what would come next.
At the facility, Stephanie still worried that authorities would come take Izzie – even though she was not sure she wanted to keep her. The anxiety remained: that at any moment, someone could arrive and separate them.
For the first two weeks, Stephanie remained isolated. “I preferred to be alone,” she said. “I didn’t have a lot of trust at that point.”
Survival outdoors, she said, was about survival. Addiction came first; reliance came last.
Stephanie had a trusted ally, 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, let alone anyone else.
Each day, staff from Maddie’s Place drove her to a treatment center, provided orally. Over time, she was beginning recovery.
She devoted all her time beyond therapy with Izzie, and could see that her baby was getting the specialized care she needed. Her girl had some trouble feeding at first, with adverse reactions to milk and obvious stomach troubles. She needed feeding therapy. She also had increased sensitivity and required an professional – all common issues for babies exposed to substances.
When a child recognizes these infants need affection, then I found the strength. I could parent.
One afternoon before Thanksgiving, Stephanie was in the common room, where those still using can come for supervised visits with their babies. Katie Bunch-Smith, a peer support specialist, came over with her own five kids in tow to deliver baked goods. They all crowded near Stephanie, who was sitting on the floor holding Izzie.
The kids looked amazed in wonder of the little newborn in Stephanie’s arms. “They showed no judgment,” Stephanie said. “My past did not matter to them. They focused only on the baby.”
She keeps a photo of the moment. She is dressed in casual attire, a cap with a bobble on her head, resting on the floor with the door behind her. She is lean. Her posture is humble so you miss her features. She is holding Izzie up on her leg for the young ones to see and they are standing close, fawning and reaching out to the baby.
A young boy, eight, asked the mothers: “Why are there no men?” The parents responded that the men were occupied, engaged elsewhere, that they would be there if possible.
“Once I become a parent,” Jacob said, “I’m going to be the best dad ever. They will know they are valued.”
Stephanie and her companion exchanged glances. “I just lost it and fell apart,” Stephanie said. “If this little kid could see that these babies deserve to be loved, then I could do this. I could parent.”
Approaches for managing drug-exposed newborns have been available for years.
The assessment tool was established in 1975|
