She Was Pregnant and Addicted to Fentanyl: How Keeping Her Baby Rescued Both Lives.
Eight months pregnant and in severe pain, Stephanie Rosell went to the ER after her infection worsened up her legs. Unemployed and homeless, estranged from her family, she resided in a small structure she had assembled in a acquaintance's garden. She was also addicted to fentanyl.
As medical staff managed 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 taken the drug before coming to the ER and had sufficient opportunity to get treated before she needed to go home to relapse. She thought she still had four weeks left to plan her recovery 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 condition in her limbs was severe, but medical staff detected she also had an ruptured membrane. The nurse, a caregiver named Izzie, warned her: if she left, she and her baby would be at risk of death.
The nurse convinced the doctor to give Stephanie measured quantities of fentanyl every few hours, knowing that abstinence might harm her and the baby. Post-birth Stephanie would be transitioned to methadone, a medication that eases withdrawal and is frequently utilized in rehabilitation.
After five days, on the 12th of November, Stephanie gave birth to a daughter weighing 4lb 8oz – premature, small but alive.
When the attendant inquired if she wanted to embrace her child, Stephanie said “no.” She was emotionless. Her pain relief did not work, her last dose of fentanyl had been given shortly before she gave birth.
She felt ill. Ill-equipped for parenting. Undeserving.
Stephanie had attempted sobriety multiple times while expecting, and felt awful each time she was unsuccessful. She felt hopeless, criticizing herself for not being able to do the impossible. An obstetrician told her to “simply” stop using. Even her source refused to sell to her when she became clearly expecting.
“Yet I was unable,” she said. “I needed help.”
The widespread belief that her love for her baby would make her stop using only led to deeper self-loathing and negative self-talk, a cause for her to use again. Yet she could not simply will her addiction away, any more than she could will away a persistent condition.
The infant was moved to the neonatal intensive care unit. When Stephanie finally saw her her, she was attached to monitors, so small she thought she would hurt her. Embracing her at last, she felt nothing. “I looked at her and was like, ‘What is our future?’” She continued to doubt she wanted to be her mother.
Two days later she decided to give her child the name Izzie, after the attendant who showed compassion to her.
Nurses and doctors told her about a specialized facility, a innovative treatment home where women and their babies are treated together, not apart.
In much of the US, where a baby is diagnosed with newborn addiction symptoms every 18 minutes, infants are still rushed to special care and medicated while their mothers face custody evaluations. But a developing system of centers like the care home is showing an important truth: when families are kept intact, results get better, custody cases decrease and long-term costs decline.
It took Stephanie a period to find strength to call, but she ultimately reached out. After verifying her eligibility for the program, two staff members came to bring her to the facility.
She departed the institution still in recovery, fearful and unsure about what would come next.
At the care center, Stephanie still was concerned that authorities would come remove her daughter – even though she was not sure she wanted to keep her. The fear lingered: that at any moment, someone could enter and take her baby away.
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.”
Survival outdoors, she said, was about getting by. Addiction came first; trust came last.
Stephanie had a single companion, but even that bond was fragile. The people she loved always found ways to hurt her. She lacked the ability to value herself, much less anyone else.
Every day, staff from the facility drove her to a recovery program, given as medication. Slowly, she was embracing sobriety.
She utilized each moment outside treatment with Izzie, and could see that her baby was obtaining necessary support 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 heightened sensory issues and required an specialist – all common issues 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.
On a day prior to the holiday, Stephanie sat in the visitation area, where those still using can come for monitored interactions with their babies. A support specialist, a recovery coach, came over with her own children in tow to drop off cookies. They all gathered around Stephanie, who was sitting on the floor holding Izzie.
The young ones stared in awe of the little newborn in Stephanie’s arms. “They were innocent,” Stephanie said. “My past did not matter to them. None of those things mattered to them.”
She holds a picture of the moment. She is wearing casual attire, a beanie with a pompom on her head, sitting on the wooden floor with the exit nearby. She is lean. Her posture is humble so you cannot see her face. She is holding Izzie up on her leg for the other kids to see and they are gathered around, admiring and touching to the baby.
One child, eight, asked the moms: “What about the fathers?” The moms tried to explain that the fathers had obligations, called away to other tasks, that they would be there if possible.
“In the future,” Jacob said, “I plan to be a great parent. I will teach them about love.”
Stephanie and Bunch-Smith exchanged glances. “I just lost it and fell apart,” Stephanie said. “If this little kid could see that newborns require care, then I could do this. I could parent.”
Methods to address babies with exposure have been used for a long time.
The assessment tool was developed in 1975|