Fentanyl Addiction During Pregnancy: How Keeping Her Baby Saved Them Both.
In her eighth month of pregnancy and suffering, Stephanie Rosell visited the medical facility after a serious infection started to spread up her legs. Without a job or home, separated from loved ones, she resided in a small structure she had assembled in a companion's property. She was also addicted to fentanyl.
As physicians addressed her infection, she began to panic. The onset of withdrawal began. She slumped forward and became sick.
Stephanie finally broke down. “I have to get out of here. I have to go home and get high.”
She had taken the drug before seeking medical help and had sufficient opportunity to get treated before she needed to go home to use once more. She thought she still had several weeks to plan her recovery and have this baby.
The medical professional intervened. She told Stephanie she was not going anywhere.
“Yes, I am,” Stephanie said.
But the doctors would not let her go: the condition in her limbs was serious, but physicians found she also had an ruptured membrane. The nurse, a caregiver named Izzie, warned her: if she walked out, she and her baby would not survive.
Izzie persuaded the doctor to give Stephanie regulated amounts of fentanyl every few hours, knowing that withdrawal could endanger her and the baby. After delivery Stephanie would be transitioned to methadone, a medication that eases withdrawal and is frequently utilized in rehabilitation.
Five days later, on 12 November 2022, Stephanie gave birth to a daughter weighing just over four pounds – early, small but alive.
When the attendant inquired if she wanted to embrace her child, Stephanie said “I cannot.” She was numb. Her pain relief did not work, her final administration of fentanyl had been provided a few hours prior to birth.
She felt ill. Not ready for motherhood. Not fit.
Stephanie had tried to get clean repeatedly before birth, and felt horrible each time she was unsuccessful. She felt without value, blaming herself for not being able to do the impossible. An OBGYN told her to “only” stop using. Even her supplier refused to sell to her when she became clearly expecting.
“However, I failed,” she said. “I required assistance.”
The widespread belief that her affection for her child would make her quit only led to deeper self-loathing and self-harm, a impetus for her to return to drugs. Yet she could not simply will her addiction away, any more than she could eliminate a long-term illness.
The baby was taken to the neonatal intensive care unit. When Stephanie at last met her, she was connected to tubes and leads, so small she thought she would break her. Embracing her at last, she felt empty. “I looked at her and was like, ‘How will I care for you?’” She remained uncertain 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 specialized facility, a innovative treatment home where women and their babies are supported as a unit, not apart.
In many parts of America, where a baby is diagnosed with neonatal abstinence syndrome (NAS) regularly, infants are still whisked to NICUs and medicated while their mothers face parental assessments. But a limited but expanding group of centers like the care home is proving a simple point: when parents and infants remain united, outcomes improve, custody cases decrease and long-term costs decline.
It took Stephanie some time to build confidence to call, but she finally did. After ensuring she qualified for the program, care providers came to collect her.
She departed the institution still in detox, scared and uncertain about what would happen next.
At Maddie’s Place, Stephanie still was concerned that CPS would come take Izzie – even though she was not sure she wanted to keep her. The concern persisted: that at any point, someone could arrive and take her baby away.
For the beginning period, Stephanie stayed withdrawn. “I preferred to be alone,” she said. “I was suspicious at that point.”
Life on the streets, she said, was about enduring. Substances came first; trust came last.
Stephanie had one close friend, but even that connection was tenuous. The individuals she cared for always found ways to hurt her. She lacked the ability to value herself, let alone anyone else.
Daily, staff from the center drove her to a recovery program, given as medication. Gradually, she was embracing sobriety.
She utilized each moment outside treatment with Izzie, and could see that her baby was getting the specialized care she needed. Her daughter struggled with eating at first, with adverse reactions to milk and obvious stomach troubles. She needed dietary support. She also had increased sensitivity and required an specialist – all typical problems for babies born with NAS.
Seeing that even a young person understands the need for care, then I found the strength. I could parent.
On a day prior to the holiday, Stephanie remained in the shared space, where individuals struggling with substance use can come for guided meetings with their babies. A support specialist, a peer support specialist, 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 showed no judgment,” Stephanie said. “They overlooked my addiction. Such issues were irrelevant.”
She has an image of the moment. She is wearing casual attire, a gray knit hat with a bobble on her head, seated on the ground with the entryway at her back. She is thin. 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 crowding near, fawning and reaching out to the baby.
One child, eight, asked the parents: “Where are all the dads?” The women attempted to clarify that the men were occupied, handling responsibilities, that they would be there given the chance.
“In the future,” 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 became emotional,” Stephanie said. “If this little kid could see that these babies deserve to be loved, then I was able. I could be a mom.”
Tools for treating babies with exposure have been used for a long time.
The Finnegan NAS scale was created in 1975|
