She Was Pregnant and Addicted to Fentanyl: The Decision to Keep Her Child Rescued Both Lives.
Eight months pregnant and in severe pain, Stephanie Rosell arrived at the medical facility after an infection began spreading up her legs. Unemployed and homeless, estranged from her family, she resided in a small structure she had assembled in a companion's property. She was also dependent on fentanyl.
As physicians addressed her infection, she grew increasingly fearful. Withdrawal was setting in. She leaned over the bed and became sick.
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 sufficient opportunity to get treated before she had to return to relapse. She thought she still had four weeks left to figure out how to get clean and deliver her child.
The medical professional intervened. She told Stephanie she was not going anywhere.
“I am leaving,” Stephanie said.
But the doctors would not let her go: the leg infection was critical, but doctors had discovered she also had an ruptured membrane. The nurse, a caregiver named Izzie, warned her: if she departed, she and her baby would face grave danger.
She encouraged the doctor to give Stephanie measured quantities of fentanyl periodically, knowing that abstinence might harm her and the baby. Once the baby was born Stephanie would be transitioned to methadone, a treatment that reduces symptoms and is frequently utilized in rehabilitation.
Five days later, on the 12th of November, Stephanie gave birth to a baby girl weighing 4lb 8oz – early, small but alive.
When the attendant inquired if she wanted to cuddle her newborn, Stephanie said “not now.” She was numb. Her anesthesia was ineffective, her last dose of fentanyl had been administered four hours before delivery.
She felt unwell. Ill-equipped for parenting. Unworthy.
Stephanie had sought recovery repeatedly before birth, and felt horrible each time she failed. She felt without value, criticizing herself for not being able to achieve the unattainable. An obstetrician told her to “simply” stop using. Even her supplier would not provide to her when she became obviously with child.
“But I couldn’t,” she said. “I needed help.”
The common assumption that her love for her baby would make her quit only led to deeper self-loathing 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 long-term illness.
The infant was moved to the NICU. When Stephanie finally saw her her, she was attached to medical equipment, so little 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.
Following a brief period she decided to give her child the name the same as her nurse, after the attendant who showed compassion to her.
Hospital staff 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 identified with infant withdrawal condition frequently, infants are still whisked to NICUs and given drugs while their mothers face parental assessments. But a small, growing network of centers like the care home is showing an important truth: when families are kept intact, outcomes improve, custody cases decrease and future expenses reduce.
It took Stephanie a period to find strength to call, but she eventually made the call. After verifying her eligibility for the program, a couple of employees came to bring her to the facility.
She departed the institution still in withdrawal, anxious and doubtful about what would come next.
At the care center, Stephanie still was concerned that CPS would come take Izzie – even though she was hesitant about parenting. The fear lingered: that at any moment, someone could arrive and remove her child.
For the initial fortnight, Stephanie kept to herself. “I avoided interaction,” she said. “I didn’t have a lot of trust at that point.”
Survival outdoors, she said, was about getting by. Substances came first; faith came last.
Stephanie had one close friend, but even that relationship was delicate. The people she loved always found ways to cause pain. She lacked the ability to love herself, much less anyone else.
Every day, staff from Maddie’s Place transported her to a recovery program, provided orally. Gradually, she was embracing sobriety.
She spent every minute when not in sessions with Izzie, and could see that her baby was receiving appropriate attention she needed. Her infant faced feeding challenges at first, with intolerance to some formulas and pronounced gastrointestinal issues. She needed feeding therapy. She also had increased sensitivity and required an specialist – 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 sat in the visitation area, where parents in active addiction can come for supervised visits with their babies. An advocate, a recovery coach, came over with her own children in tow to drop off cookies. They all assembled beside Stephanie, who was resting on the carpet holding Izzie.
The young ones stared in wonder of the tiny infant in Stephanie’s arms. “They had no care in the world,” Stephanie said. “My past did not matter to them. Such issues were irrelevant.”
She holds a picture of the moment. She is clad in black pants and a hoodie, a gray knit hat with a decoration on her head, resting on the floor with the entryway at her back. She is lean. Her face is downcast so you miss her features. She is lifting the baby on her knee for the young ones to see and they are standing close, fawning and reaching out to the baby.
Jacob, eight, asked the moms: “What about the fathers?” The parents responded that the men were occupied, handling responsibilities, that they would be there if they could.
“When I have kids,” Jacob said, “I’m going to be the best dad ever. I’m gonna show them that they deserve to be loved.”
Stephanie and her companion made eye contact. “I became emotional,” Stephanie said. “Seeing that even youth understand that these babies deserve to be loved, then I could do this. I could parent.”
Methods to address drug-exposed newborns have been available for years.
The assessment tool was developed in 1975|
