She Was Pregnant and Addicted to Fentanyl: How Keeping Her Baby Saved Them Both.
Pregnant and experiencing intense discomfort, Stephanie Rosell visited the medical facility after an infection began spreading up her legs. Jobless and without shelter, cut off from her relatives, she resided in a small structure she had constructed in a friend’s yard. She was also addicted to fentanyl.
As doctors treated her infection, she started to feel anxious. Symptoms of withdrawal emerged. She slumped forward and threw up.
Stephanie finally broke down. “Listen, I gotta go. I have to go home and take a hit.”
She had used fentanyl before coming to the ER 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 figure out how to get clean and give birth.
The nurse had other ideas. She told Stephanie she was staying put.
“I am leaving,” Stephanie said.
But the hospital refused to discharge her: the leg infection was serious, but doctors had discovered she also had an amniotic fluid leak. The nurse, Izzie, warned her: if she walked out, she and her baby would face grave danger.
Izzie persuaded the doctor to give Stephanie controlled doses of fentanyl periodically, knowing that abstinence might harm her and the baby. After delivery Stephanie would be placed on methadone, a drug that alleviates cravings and is often prescribed in substance abuse treatment.
A short time later, on 12 November 2022, Stephanie delivered a infant weighing a small weight – born before term, tiny yet healthy.
When the attendant inquired if she wanted to embrace her child, Stephanie said “no.” She was numb. Her anesthesia was ineffective, her final administration of fentanyl had been provided a few hours prior to birth.
She felt unwell. Not ready for motherhood. Not fit.
Stephanie had tried to get clean several times during pregnancy, and felt terrible each time she failed. She felt hopeless, blaming herself for not being able to achieve the unattainable. An doctor told her to “simply” stop using. Even her supplier declined to supply to her when she became visibly pregnant.
“But I couldn’t,” she said. “I required assistance.”
The pervasive expectation that her love for her baby would make her recover only led to greater shame and negative self-talk, a cause for her to use again. Yet she could not just wish her addiction away, any more than she could overcome a chronic disease.
The baby was taken to the special care nursery. When Stephanie eventually visited her, she was connected to medical equipment, so little she thought she would harm her. Embracing her at last, she felt nothing. “I just stared at her and was like, ‘How will I care for you?’” She remained uncertain she wanted to be her mother.
After two days she decided to call her daughter the same as her nurse, after the nurse who had been so kind to her.
Hospital staff told her about a specialized facility, a unique recovery environment where parents and infants affected by substance use are cared for jointly, not apart.
In many parts of America, where a baby is diagnosed with newborn addiction symptoms frequently, infants are still rushed to special care and treated with pharmaceuticals while their mothers face child-protection investigations. But a limited but expanding group of centers like the care home is showing an important truth: when families are kept intact, results get better, custody cases decrease and future expenses reduce.
It took Stephanie some time to build confidence to call, but she eventually made the call. After confirming she would be a good fit for the program, a couple of employees came to collect her.
She departed the institution still in detox, scared and uncertain about what would come next.
At the care center, Stephanie still feared that authorities would come take Izzie – even though she was hesitant about parenting. The fear lingered: that at any moment, someone could arrive and separate them.
For the initial fortnight, Stephanie remained isolated. “I avoided interaction,” she said. “I lacked confidence at that point.”
Survival outdoors, she said, was about enduring. Substances came first; trust came last.
Stephanie had a trusted ally, but even that bond was fragile. The those close to her always found ways to cause pain. She lacked the ability to value herself, much less anyone else.
Each day, staff from Maddie’s Place took her to a clinic for methadone, given as medication. Gradually, she was embracing sobriety.
She utilized each moment beyond therapy with Izzie, and could see that her baby was getting the specialized care she needed. Her daughter struggled with eating at first, with intolerance to some formulas and obvious stomach troubles. She needed nutritional guidance. She also had sensory challenges 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 was capable. I could be a mom.
During a pre-holiday visit, Stephanie sat in the visitation area, where those still using can come for supervised visits with their babies. An advocate, a recovery coach, stopped by with her own five kids in tow to deliver baked goods. They all assembled beside Stephanie, who was seated on the ground holding Izzie.
The young ones stared in admiration of the small baby in Stephanie’s arms. “They showed no judgment,” Stephanie said. “They overlooked my addiction. Such issues were irrelevant.”
She holds a picture of the moment. She is clad in dark trousers and a sweatshirt, a beanie with a bobble on her head, seated on the ground with the door behind her. She is slender. Her head is tilted forward so you miss her features. She is holding Izzie up on her leg for the children to see and they are standing close, admiring and touching to the baby.
Jacob, eight, asked the moms: “What about the fathers?” The parents responded that the fathers had obligations, handling responsibilities, that they would be there given the chance.
“Once I become a parent,” Jacob said, “I plan to be a great parent. I’m gonna show them that they deserve to be loved.”
Stephanie and Bunch-Smith made eye contact. “I broke down,” Stephanie said. “When a child recognized that these babies deserve to be loved, then I found the courage. I could be a mom.”
Tools for treating babies with exposure have existed for decades.
The evaluation method was created in 1975|
