She Was Pregnant and Addicted to Fentanyl: How Keeping Her Baby Transformed Their Futures.
In her eighth month of pregnancy and suffering, Stephanie Rosell visited the medical facility after her infection worsened up her legs. Jobless and without shelter, separated from loved ones, she lived in a shed she had built in a acquaintance's garden. She was also addicted to fentanyl.
As physicians addressed her infection, she started to feel anxious. Symptoms of withdrawal emerged. She slumped forward and became sick.
Stephanie finally broke down. “I have to get out of here. I have to go home and use drugs.”
She had taken the drug before coming to the ER and had only a brief window to get treated before she had to return to relapse. She thought she still had a month remaining to plan her recovery and deliver her child.
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 infection in her legs was severe, but physicians found she also had an amniotic fluid leak. The nurse, Izzie, warned her: if she walked out, she and her baby would be at risk of death.
She encouraged the doctor to give Stephanie measured quantities of fentanyl periodically, knowing that abstinence might harm her and the baby. Post-birth Stephanie would be switched to 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 4lb 8oz – early, small but alive.
When the caregiver questioned if she wanted to cuddle her newborn, Stephanie said “not now.” She was detached. Her pain relief did not work, her final administration of fentanyl had been administered a few hours prior to birth.
She felt unwell. Unprepared to be a mother. Undeserving.
Stephanie had sought recovery several times during pregnancy, and felt horrible each time she failed. She felt hopeless, berating herself for not being able to achieve the unattainable. An obstetrician told her to “simply” stop using. Even her source declined to supply to her when she became clearly expecting.
“However, I failed,” she said. “I needed help.”
The common assumption that her bond with her newborn would make her stop using only led to deeper self-loathing and negative self-talk, a impetus for her to return to drugs. Yet she could not just wish her addiction away, any more than she could will away a long-term illness.
The infant was moved to the neonatal intensive care unit. When Stephanie finally saw her her, she was attached to monitors, so tiny she thought she would hurt her. Embracing her at last, she felt detached. “I looked at her and was like, ‘What is our future?’” She still wasn’t sure she wanted to be her mother.
Two days later 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 new kind of care center where mothers and their drug-exposed newborns are treated together, not apart.
In many parts of America, where a baby is identified with newborn addiction symptoms frequently, infants are still rushed to special care and given drugs while their mothers face child-protection investigations. But a limited but expanding group of centers like this facility is showing an important truth: when mothers and babies stay together, results get better, custody cases decrease and overall savings increase.
It took Stephanie a period to find strength to call, but she eventually made the call. After ensuring she qualified for the program, two staff members came to collect her.
She departed the institution still in recovery, fearful and unsure about what would happen next.
At the care center, Stephanie still was concerned that CPS would come seize her child – even though she was hesitant about parenting. The fear lingered: that at any time, someone could walk in and remove her child.
For the beginning period, 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.”
Survival outdoors, she said, was about survival. Addiction came first; faith came last.
Stephanie had a trusted ally, but even that bond was fragile. The people she loved always found ways to let her down. She was unable to value herself, let alone anyone else.
Every day, staff from the facility drove her to a clinic for methadone, provided orally. Over time, she was starting to get clean.
She spent every minute outside treatment with Izzie, and could see that her baby was receiving appropriate attention she needed. Her girl had some trouble feeding at first, with adverse reactions to milk and obvious stomach troubles. She needed nutritional guidance. She also had increased sensitivity and required an professional – all frequent conditions for babies born with NAS.
If this little kid could see that these babies deserve to be loved, then I found the strength. I would become a mother.
On a day prior to the holiday, Stephanie remained in the shared space, where parents in active addiction can come for supervised visits with their babies. A support specialist, a peer support specialist, came over with her own family in tow to drop off cookies. They all gathered around Stephanie, who was seated on the ground holding Izzie.
The young ones stared in admiration of the little newborn in Stephanie’s arms. “They had no care in the world,” Stephanie said. “They overlooked my addiction. They focused only on the baby.”
She keeps a photo of the moment. She is dressed in dark trousers and a sweatshirt, a gray knit hat with a pompom on her head, resting on the floor with the entryway at her back. She is lean. Her face is downcast so you cannot see her face. She is lifting the baby on her lap for the young ones to see and they are gathered around, showing interest to the baby.
A young boy, eight, asked the moms: “What about the fathers?” The women attempted to clarify that the men were occupied, handling responsibilities, that they would be there if they could.
“In the future,” Jacob said, “I will excel as a father. I’m gonna show them that they deserve to be loved.”
Stephanie and her companion exchanged glances. “I just lost it and fell apart,” Stephanie said. “Seeing that even youth understand that newborns require care, then I could do this. I would become a mother.”
Approaches for managing drug-exposed newborns have been available for years.
The Finnegan NAS scale was established in 1975|
