A Pregnant Woman's Battle with Fentanyl Addiction: How Keeping Her Baby Transformed Their Futures.
Pregnant and experiencing intense discomfort, Stephanie Rosell arrived at the medical facility after a serious infection started to spread up her legs. Unemployed and homeless, cut off from her relatives, she stayed in a makeshift shelter she had assembled in a companion's property. She was also addicted to fentanyl.
As physicians addressed her infection, she grew increasingly fearful. Symptoms of withdrawal emerged. She slumped forward and vomited.
Stephanie finally broke down. “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 only a brief window to get treated before she needed to go home to get high again. She thought she still had four weeks left to figure out how to get clean and give birth.
The attending nurse disagreed. She told Stephanie she was staying put.
“I will go,” Stephanie said.
But the hospital refused to discharge her: the leg infection was critical, but medical staff detected she also had an amniotic fluid leak. The nurse, her nurse, warned her: if she left, she and her baby would face grave danger.
The nurse convinced the doctor to give Stephanie controlled doses of fentanyl at regular intervals, knowing that abstinence might harm 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 12 November 2022, Stephanie had a infant weighing just over four pounds – premature, small but alive.
When the nurse asked if she wanted to embrace her child, Stephanie said “not now.” She was numb. Her pain relief did not work, her last dose of fentanyl had been given shortly before she gave birth.
She felt unwell. Ill-equipped for parenting. Undeserving.
Stephanie had sought recovery several times during pregnancy, and felt terrible each time she failed. She felt without value, blaming herself for not being able to overcome the challenge. An obstetrician told her to “just” stop using. Even her dealer declined to supply to her when she became visibly pregnant.
“Yet I was unable,” she said. “I needed help.”
The widespread belief that her affection for her child would make her recover only led to deeper self-loathing and self-harm, a trigger for her to return to drugs. Yet she could not just wish her addiction away, any more than she could overcome a persistent condition.
The baby was taken to the special care nursery. When Stephanie at last met her, she was connected to tubes and leads, so tiny she thought she would harm her. Embracing her at last, she felt nothing. “I looked at her and was like, ‘How will I care for you?’” She remained uncertain she wanted to be her mother.
After two days she decided to call her daughter Izzie, after the nurse who had been so kind 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 much of the US, where a baby is found to have infant withdrawal condition regularly, infants are still rushed to special care and given drugs while their mothers face parental assessments. But a small, growing network of centers like Maddie’s Place is proving a simple point: when parents and infants remain united, results get better, custody cases decrease and long-term costs decline.
It took Stephanie some time to build confidence 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 withdrawal, anxious and doubtful about what would come next.
At the facility, Stephanie still was concerned that authorities would come take Izzie – even though she was hesitant about parenting. The fear lingered: that at any point, someone could walk in 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 was suspicious at that point.”
Homelessness, she said, was about enduring. Drugs came first; reliance came last.
Stephanie had one close friend, but even that relationship was delicate. The people she loved always found ways to cause pain. She did not know how to love herself, let alone anyone else.
Every day, staff from Maddie’s Place transported her to a clinic for methadone, provided orally. Over time, she was starting to get clean.
She devoted all her time outside treatment with Izzie, and could see that her baby was getting the specialized care she needed. Her girl had some trouble feeding at first, with intolerance to some formulas and severe digestive problems. She needed nutritional guidance. She also had sensory challenges and required an professional – all frequent conditions for babies exposed to substances.
Seeing that even a young person understands the need for care, then I found the strength. I could be a mom.
On a day prior to the holiday, Stephanie remained in the shared space, where those still using can come for supervised visits with their babies. An advocate, a mentor, stopped by with her own children 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 small baby in Stephanie’s arms. “They showed no judgment,” Stephanie said. “My past did not matter to them. Such issues were irrelevant.”
She holds a picture of the moment. She is clad in dark trousers and a sweatshirt, a gray knit hat with a bobble on her head, seated on the ground with the door behind her. She is lean. Her posture is humble so you do not see her expression. She is holding Izzie up on her knee for the young ones to see and they are gathered around, admiring and touching to the baby.
A young boy, eight, asked the parents: “What about the fathers?” The moms tried to explain that the men were occupied, engaged elsewhere, that they would be there if possible.
“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 her companion made eye contact. “I just lost it and fell apart,” Stephanie said. “When a child recognized that these babies deserve to be loved, then I could do this. I could be a mom.”
Approaches for managing drug-exposed newborns have been available for years.
The assessment tool was established in 1975|
