A Pregnant Woman's Battle with Fentanyl Addiction: Choosing Motherhood Transformed Their Futures.
In her eighth month of pregnancy and suffering, Stephanie Rosell arrived at the ER after her infection worsened up her legs. Unemployed and homeless, cut off from her relatives, she lived in a shed she had built in a acquaintance's garden. She was also addicted to fentanyl.
As doctors treated her infection, she grew increasingly fearful. The onset of withdrawal began. She slumped forward and vomited.
Stephanie eventually collapsed. “I have to get out of here. I have to go home and take a hit.”
She had taken the drug before arriving at the hospital and had only a brief window to get treated before she had to return to use once more. She thought she still had several weeks to find a way to become sober and have this baby.
The medical professional intervened. She told Stephanie she was not allowed to leave.
“I am leaving,” Stephanie said.
But the medical facility declined to release her: the infection in her legs was serious, but physicians found she also had an amniotic fluid leak. The nurse, Izzie, warned her: if she departed, she and her baby would face grave danger.
She encouraged the doctor to give Stephanie controlled doses of fentanyl periodically, knowing that withdrawal could endanger her and the baby. Post-birth Stephanie would be transitioned to methadone, a medication that eases withdrawal and is frequently utilized in addiction recovery.
A short time later, on the 12th of November, Stephanie had a daughter weighing 4lb 8oz – premature, small but alive.
When the attendant inquired if she wanted to hold her baby, Stephanie said “not now.” She was detached. Her pain relief did not work, her final administration of fentanyl had been given shortly before she gave birth.
She felt ill. Not ready for motherhood. Unworthy.
Stephanie had sought recovery several times during pregnancy, and felt terrible each time she relapsed. She felt without value, blaming herself for not being able to do the impossible. An OBGYN told her to “just” stop using. Even her source would not provide to her when she became visibly pregnant.
“Yet I was unable,” she said. “I had to seek support.”
The widespread belief that her affection for her child would make her recover only led to deeper self-loathing and self-abuse, a trigger for her to return to drugs. Yet she could not easily command her addiction away, any more than she could overcome a chronic disease.
The infant was moved to the NICU. When Stephanie eventually visited her, she was attached to tubes and leads, so tiny she thought she would harm her. Embracing her at last, she felt nothing. “I gazed upon her and was like, ‘What am I going to do with you?’” She still wasn’t sure she wanted to be her mother.
Two days later she decided to give her child the name Izzie, after the professional who provided support to her.
Medical personnel told her about a care center, a innovative treatment home where women and their babies are cared for jointly, not apart.
In numerous states, where a baby is diagnosed with neonatal abstinence syndrome (NAS) regularly, infants are still whisked to NICUs and given drugs while their mothers face child-protection investigations. But a developing system of centers like the care home is showing an important truth: when parents and infants remain united, results get better, foster placements fall and overall savings increase.
It took Stephanie a while to gather the courage to call, but she ultimately reached out. After verifying her eligibility for the program, a couple of employees came to collect her.
She left the medical center still in withdrawal, fearful and unsure about what would follow.
At Maddie’s Place, Stephanie still worried that CPS would come remove her daughter – even though she was not sure she wanted to keep her. The concern persisted: that at any moment, someone could enter and remove her child.
For the beginning period, Stephanie remained isolated. “I avoided interaction,” she said. “I lacked confidence at that point.”
Survival outdoors, she said, was about getting by. Drugs came first; reliance came last.
Stephanie had a trusted ally, but even that bond was fragile. The those close to her always found ways to let her down. She was unable to care for herself, much less anyone else.
Every day, staff from the center drove her to a treatment center, administered in pill form. Slowly, she was beginning recovery.
She spent every minute beyond therapy with Izzie, and could see that her baby was getting the specialized care she needed. Her infant faced feeding challenges at first, with intolerance to some formulas 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 found the strength. I could parent.
During a pre-holiday visit, Stephanie remained in the shared space, where parents in active addiction can come for supervised visits with their babies. An advocate, a peer support specialist, came over with her own children in tow to deliver baked goods. They all assembled beside Stephanie, who was resting on the carpet holding Izzie.
The young ones stared in awe of the small baby in Stephanie’s arms. “They showed no judgment,” Stephanie said. “They overlooked my addiction. They focused only on the baby.”
She holds a picture of the moment. She is clad in dark trousers and a sweatshirt, a beanie with a bobble on her head, sitting on the wooden floor with the door behind her. She is thin. Her head is tilted forward so you miss her features. She is lifting the baby on her knee for the other kids to see and they are gathered around, admiring and touching to the baby.
One child, eight, asked the mothers: “Why are there no men?” The women attempted to clarify that the fathers had obligations, called away to other tasks, that they would be there given the chance.
“Once I become a parent,” Jacob said, “I plan to be a great parent. They will know they are valued.”
Stephanie and her companion looked at each other. “I became emotional,” Stephanie said. “Seeing that even youth understand that these babies deserve to be loved, then I was able. I could be a mom.”
Tools for treating infants affected by substances have existed for decades.
The Finnegan NAS scale was developed in 1975|
