A Pregnant Woman's Battle with Fentanyl Addiction: Choosing Motherhood Rescued Both Lives.
Pregnant and experiencing intense discomfort, Stephanie Rosell visited the hospital emergency room 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 built in a friend’s yard. She was also dependent on fentanyl.
As physicians addressed her infection, she started to feel anxious. Withdrawal was setting in. She leaned over the bed 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 arriving at the hospital and had sufficient opportunity to get treated before she was compelled to leave to use once more. She thought she still had several weeks to figure out how to get clean and give birth.
The medical professional intervened. 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 left, she and her baby would not survive.
She encouraged 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 drug that alleviates cravings and is frequently utilized in substance abuse treatment.
After five days, on 12 November 2022, Stephanie gave birth to a daughter weighing a small weight – early, tiny yet healthy.
When the attendant inquired if she wanted to cuddle her newborn, Stephanie said “not now.” She was emotionless. Her pain relief did not work, her previous intake of fentanyl had been administered a few hours prior to birth.
She felt ill. Unprepared to be a mother. Unworthy.
Stephanie had tried to get clean multiple times while expecting, and felt horrible each time she was unsuccessful. She felt hopeless, blaming herself for not being able to do the impossible. An obstetrician told her to “only” stop using. Even her supplier refused to sell to her when she became clearly expecting.
“But I couldn’t,” she said. “I had to seek support.”
The pervasive expectation that her love for her baby would make her quit only led to greater shame and negative self-talk, a trigger for her to use again. Yet she could not just wish her addiction away, any more than she could overcome a chronic disease.
The newborn was transferred to the NICU. When Stephanie at last met her, she was connected to medical equipment, so tiny she thought she would break her. Holding her for the first time, she felt empty. “I just stared at her and was like, ‘What am I going to do with you?’” She still wasn’t sure she wanted to be her mother.
After two days she decided to call her daughter Izzie, after the professional who provided support to her.
Nurses and doctors told her about a care center, a unique recovery environment where mothers and their drug-exposed newborns are cared for jointly, not apart.
In many parts of America, where a baby is identified with infant withdrawal condition frequently, infants are still rushed to special care and treated with pharmaceuticals while their mothers face custody evaluations. But a developing system of centers like this facility is demonstrating a key fact: when families are kept intact, results get better, custody cases decrease and overall savings increase.
It took Stephanie a while to gather the courage to call, but she finally did. After ensuring she qualified for the program, care providers came to pick her up.
She stepped out of the hospital still in withdrawal, anxious and doubtful about what would follow.
At the care center, Stephanie still was concerned that child services would come take Izzie – even though she was not sure she wanted to keep her. The anxiety remained: that at any time, someone could walk in and take her baby away.
For the initial fortnight, Stephanie remained isolated. “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.”
Homelessness, she said, was about enduring. 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 let her down. She was unable to love herself, much less anyone else.
Daily, staff from the center drove her to a recovery program, given as medication. Over time, she was beginning recovery.
She utilized each moment when not in sessions 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 pronounced gastrointestinal issues. She needed dietary support. She also had increased sensitivity and required an professional – all typical problems for babies exposed to substances.
If this little kid could see that these babies deserve to be loved, then I found the strength. I could be a mom.
On a day prior to the holiday, Stephanie was in the common room, where individuals struggling with substance use can come for guided meetings with their babies. Katie Bunch-Smith, a mentor, came over with her own children in tow to deliver baked goods. They all crowded near Stephanie, who was sitting on the floor holding Izzie.
The young ones stared in awe of the little newborn in Stephanie’s arms. “They showed no judgment,” Stephanie said. “They overlooked my addiction. Such issues were irrelevant.”
She has an image of the moment. She is dressed in black pants and a hoodie, a gray knit hat with a pompom on her head, sitting on the wooden floor with the entryway at her back. She is thin. Her face is downcast so you cannot see her face. She is holding Izzie up on her leg for the young ones to see and they are standing close, showing interest to the baby.
A young boy, eight, asked the parents: “Why are there no men?” The parents responded that the fathers had obligations, engaged elsewhere, that they would be there given the chance.
“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 the specialist 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 would become a mother.”
Tools for treating infants affected by substances have existed for decades.
The Finnegan NAS scale was created in 1975|
