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 medical facility after her infection worsened up her legs. Unemployed and homeless, cut off from her relatives, she lived in a shed she had constructed in a acquaintance's garden. She was also hooked on fentanyl.
As medical staff managed her infection, she began to panic. Symptoms of withdrawal emerged. She bent over the bedside and threw up.
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 just enough time to get treated before she was compelled to leave to get high again. She thought she still had four weeks left to find a way to become sober and give birth.
The nurse had other ideas. She told Stephanie she was staying put.
“Yes, I am,” 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 departed, she and her baby would face grave danger.
The nurse convinced the doctor to give Stephanie measured quantities of fentanyl periodically, knowing that symptoms could threaten her and the baby. Post-birth Stephanie would be placed on methadone, a treatment that reduces symptoms and is frequently utilized in addiction recovery.
After five days, on 12 November 2022, Stephanie had a daughter weighing 4lb 8oz – born before term, small but alive.
When the caregiver questioned if she wanted to hold her baby, Stephanie said “not now.” She was detached. Her pain relief did not work, her last dose of fentanyl had been provided shortly before she gave birth.
She felt unwell. Ill-equipped for parenting. Undeserving.
Stephanie had attempted sobriety multiple times while expecting, and felt terrible each time she failed. She felt without value, berating herself for not being able to do the impossible. An obstetrician told her to “only” stop using. Even her supplier declined to supply to her when she became clearly expecting.
“Yet I was unable,” she said. “I required assistance.”
The common assumption that her love for her baby would make her recover only led to deeper self-loathing and negative self-talk, a cause for her to relapse. Yet she could not easily command her addiction away, any more than she could will away a long-term illness.
The infant was moved to the NICU. When Stephanie finally saw her her, she was connected to tubes and leads, so tiny she thought she would harm her. Embracing her at last, she felt detached. “I gazed upon her and was like, ‘What is our future?’” She still wasn’t sure she wanted to be her mother.
After two days she decided to give her child the name after her caregiver, after the nurse who had been so kind to her.
Nurses and doctors told her about Maddie’s Place, 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 infant withdrawal condition frequently, infants are still quickly moved to hospitals and treated with pharmaceuticals while their mothers face child-protection investigations. But a limited but expanding group of centers like Maddie’s Place is proving a simple point: when mothers and babies stay together, results get better, foster placements fall and overall savings increase.
It took Stephanie a while to gather the courage to call, but she finally did. After verifying her eligibility for the program, care providers came to collect her.
She left the medical center still in recovery, fearful and unsure about what would come next.
At the care center, Stephanie still worried that child services would come seize her child – even though she was not sure she wanted to keep her. The concern persisted: 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.”
Life on the streets, she said, was about getting by. Substances came first; reliance came last.
Stephanie had a trusted ally, but even that relationship was delicate. The individuals she cared for always found ways to let her down. She did not know how to care for herself, let alone anyone else.
Daily, staff from Maddie’s Place drove her to a recovery program, given as medication. Over time, she was embracing sobriety.
She devoted all her time when not in sessions with Izzie, and could see that her baby was receiving appropriate attention she needed. Her girl had some trouble feeding at first, with sensitivity to certain foods and obvious stomach troubles. She needed feeding therapy. She also had increased sensitivity and required an specialist – all typical problems for babies affected by withdrawal.
If this little kid could see that these babies deserve to be loved, then I could do this. I could be a mom.
One afternoon before Thanksgiving, Stephanie remained in the shared space, where parents in active addiction can come for guided meetings with their babies. Katie Bunch-Smith, a peer support specialist, visited with her own five kids in tow to drop off cookies. They all gathered around Stephanie, who was resting on the carpet holding Izzie.
The young ones stared in wonder of the little newborn in Stephanie’s arms. “They showed no judgment,” 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 dressed in dark trousers and a sweatshirt, a gray knit hat with a decoration on her head, seated on the ground with the door behind her. She is lean. Her head is tilted forward so you cannot see her face. She is holding Izzie up on her knee for the other kids to see and they are standing close, admiring and touching to the baby.
A young boy, eight, asked the parents: “What about the fathers?” The parents responded that the fathers had obligations, handling responsibilities, that they would be there if possible.
“Once I become a parent,” Jacob said, “I’m going to be the best dad ever. I will teach them about love.”
Stephanie and her companion looked at each other. “I broke down,” Stephanie said. “Seeing that even youth understand that infants need affection, then I was able. I could parent.”
Approaches for managing babies with exposure have been available for years.
The evaluation method was created in 1975|
