Amos' Medical Bills
Donation protected
After 9 months of a healthy pregnancy, my wife Annie went into labor in the early hours of Easter morning 2019. It appeared that her labor would be as quick and as smooth as any mother that has given birth could wish for and that later that day we would be holding our first child. Little did we know that we would have to wait 7 more days before we could hold our baby.
After 53 hours of grueling and painful labor, our baby boy, Amos Michael, was born on April 23rd. After catching him, I handed him to Annie where he lay motionless and silent for a second before the nurse practitioner grabbed him to help him start breathing. He was pale and completely limp. I stood close to the table and spoke words of encouragement to him. “Good job, buddy.” “Just breathe, you can do it.” “I love you, son.” The doctors worked feverishly with the sense of urgency growing. From where I was standing, I could see that he was alive, his eyes open, and his mouth weakly gasping for air. It is a memory that I will never shake: looking my baby in the eyes, waiting for him to breathe, unable to help, fearing that he may die before ever taking a breath in this world. I continued to speak to him, with my legs and body trembling. We could hear the doctors call, “Code blue, baby boy” and we knew that he was in trouble. I could hear one of the doctors say, “I can’t get his lungs to open.” Over thirty doctors, nurse practitioners, and nurses flooded the delivery room. The doctor who had helped deliver our son was with Annie and said, “Look at all of these people who love your baby.”
Once stable enough, he was rushed into the NICU. His room was very small and the doctors needed their space to work on him, so I went back to the delivery room to be with Annie. I walked in when the nurse practitioner was updating Annie. We were told that we had a very sick baby and were given no assurances that he would live. If he did live, the nurse practitioner informed us that there was a 90% chance of brain damage due to the extended lack of oxygen at birth. We would have wait 4 hours to see him.
When we approached his room, I could see through the small rectangular window the pink leg of a baby kicking. Once in the room, we saw just how severe his condition was. He was attached to a high frequency ventilation machine, his head wrapped in gauze to protect sensors monitoring his brain activity, checking for seizures, and he was placed on top of a cooling blanket so that his body and brain could be protected from any further damage. All that we could touch was a little glove on his left hand every few hours.
The attending neonatologist gave us an update later that day. He said that our baby was critical but stable and that in 28 years of practicing he had “never pushed so hard on a bag and the lungs still not open.” He explained that our boy had Persistent Pulmonary Hypertension in an Infant. He explained what the body cooling was for (to prevent further brain damage from lack of oxygen at birth) and that he would be on it for a full 72 hours. Most incredible was that after seeing our little guy be so weak intially, he had to be sedated more than expected because he wiggled so much as soon as they got oxygen into his body. The ventilator was pumping at about 200 breaths per minute to keep his lungs open. He had IV fluids, antibiotics to ward off any potential infection, a central line in his belly button and one in his arm.
We had not come up with a name at this point, as we wanted to meet our child before settling on something. Our room was not near our son and while parents in the rooms next to us were kept awake by the sounds and cries of their hungry babies, we were trying to cope with not only being unable to be with our son but also not hearing his cries. We both looked for names that would fit our little son and Annie found “Amos,” which means Brave, Strong, and Carried by God. We went in to see him that morning, looked at him carefully, and asked him what he thought. Still sedated, we could see that he was trying to open his eyes and we felt that was a sign that we had chosen a fitting name.
The next few days we waited for the body cooling to be taken off and to see how Amos would respond to being warmed up. He responded well immediately. Tests on his organs showed full functionality – which gave us all hope that perhaps his brain would be spared. An MRI came back all clear, showing no brain damage measured by the MRI. We were told he would be on the high frequency ventilator for three weeks, which he only needed for four days, shocking his entire team. His next step down was a traditional ventilator that an adult might need; they said that this could take a week or more to wean Amos off of. It took him one day. When they removed the breathing tube, Annie and I were on hand with the hopes of hearing our baby cry for the first time, about four days after being born. He made only a little noise, far from the cry that a parent hopes to hear, but it meant the world to us. The next day he was on a CPAP machine for a further step down of breathing support; again we were told it could be days but he only needed it for one day. The remainder of his hospital stay was, thankfully, uneventful. The nurses and doctors treated him like a “well-baby,” and we were able to hold him, and comfort him, and comfort each other. Those final days were focused on getting Amos to eat exclusively by mouth, instead of the feeding tube. Amos, our strong fighter, was determined to eat despite all he had been through and despite a severe tongue and lip tie that make breastfeeding much more work for a baby. The only thing that Amos needed to come home with was an oxygen tank until his body could adjust to the higher altitude here in Colorado. Nine days after we were told that he may be in the hospital for a month or more, Annie and I broke down crying as we carried Amos into our home.
Annie and I are so thankful and grateful for the amazing care that both Amos and Annie received. Without the guiding and loving hands of the doctors, nurses, nurse practitioners, and staff whom we consider angels, it is very likely that we could have lost Amos and Annie through complications. Because of his diagnosis and need for body cooling, Amos was immediately enrolled in the Colorado Early Intervention Program which will follow his development until his third birthday. The program is designed to catch and head off any potential developmental delays. This includes any physical, occupational, emotional, nutritional, or mental therapies. Amos is now home and right on track developmentally as a 3-month old. We could not be more proud of Amos and while he has a strong will, we have been able to see that he also has a tender heart, as he can quickly pick up on the energy in a room. So we know that he felt all of the love and prayers from so many people who have never even met him in those early, uncertain days of his life.
Unfortunately, we need some help. I am a high school math teacher and Annie is a yoga instructor. The health insurance offered through my district (even at the lowest level of care for a family) would be close to 30% of my paycheck – which we knew we could not afford. We looked into health shares, which we learned would reimburse us for medical expenses. Our health share has been incredibly slow in processing his bills (previous bills have taken 8 months or more and are still in process), which are now totaling $169,000. There is no way that we could ever pay this debt. Even if we signed up to pay the minimum amount on a payment plan, the combined minimum monthly payments would likely bankrupt us before getting reimbursed. Combining all of the providers, the minimum monthly payment is over $7,000. We have looked into financial aid at the hospital but are just over the income requirements to qualify. Most of the medical bills have a 30- day period from the statement date before being sent to debt collection, which we are now approaching. It appears that most of the bills have already been received, but even this week on the eve of his 3-month birthday, we received another bill. We fear that due to the lack of urgency in our health share in addressing the bills, we may have to pay even more in interest and our credit may suffer.
It has been incredibly difficult to ask for even more support than has already been given to us. The story of Amos’ birth is filled with helping hands, tears, prayers, and love. We have been overwhelmed hearing about all of the people that have kept him in their prayers. While Annie and I wish that we didn’t need to ask for financial help, this is a part of his story that we look forward to sharing with him – the part where so many people have found ways to show him love, kindness, and generosity having never even met him. With any money generously donated, it is our intent to make the minimum monthly payments to each provider while our health share negotiates the final cost. It is our hope that they will fully reimburse us, but given our current experience we have no guarantee of that happening or happening quickly. If we are able to reach our goal, we want to reimburse those who have generously donated, minus the small percentage GoFundMe takes from each donation. However, we cannot promise when or even if that will happen. If anything changes as far as the billing totals or needs, we will post updates on the status of bill totals and reimbursement. If you choose not to be reimbursed, know that you will be contributing to any of Amos’ future medical needs and/or any post-secondary education or training. Thank you for taking the time to read Amos’ story and considering helping us out.
With love and gratitude,
Ben, Annie, and Amos
After 53 hours of grueling and painful labor, our baby boy, Amos Michael, was born on April 23rd. After catching him, I handed him to Annie where he lay motionless and silent for a second before the nurse practitioner grabbed him to help him start breathing. He was pale and completely limp. I stood close to the table and spoke words of encouragement to him. “Good job, buddy.” “Just breathe, you can do it.” “I love you, son.” The doctors worked feverishly with the sense of urgency growing. From where I was standing, I could see that he was alive, his eyes open, and his mouth weakly gasping for air. It is a memory that I will never shake: looking my baby in the eyes, waiting for him to breathe, unable to help, fearing that he may die before ever taking a breath in this world. I continued to speak to him, with my legs and body trembling. We could hear the doctors call, “Code blue, baby boy” and we knew that he was in trouble. I could hear one of the doctors say, “I can’t get his lungs to open.” Over thirty doctors, nurse practitioners, and nurses flooded the delivery room. The doctor who had helped deliver our son was with Annie and said, “Look at all of these people who love your baby.”
Once stable enough, he was rushed into the NICU. His room was very small and the doctors needed their space to work on him, so I went back to the delivery room to be with Annie. I walked in when the nurse practitioner was updating Annie. We were told that we had a very sick baby and were given no assurances that he would live. If he did live, the nurse practitioner informed us that there was a 90% chance of brain damage due to the extended lack of oxygen at birth. We would have wait 4 hours to see him.
When we approached his room, I could see through the small rectangular window the pink leg of a baby kicking. Once in the room, we saw just how severe his condition was. He was attached to a high frequency ventilation machine, his head wrapped in gauze to protect sensors monitoring his brain activity, checking for seizures, and he was placed on top of a cooling blanket so that his body and brain could be protected from any further damage. All that we could touch was a little glove on his left hand every few hours.
The attending neonatologist gave us an update later that day. He said that our baby was critical but stable and that in 28 years of practicing he had “never pushed so hard on a bag and the lungs still not open.” He explained that our boy had Persistent Pulmonary Hypertension in an Infant. He explained what the body cooling was for (to prevent further brain damage from lack of oxygen at birth) and that he would be on it for a full 72 hours. Most incredible was that after seeing our little guy be so weak intially, he had to be sedated more than expected because he wiggled so much as soon as they got oxygen into his body. The ventilator was pumping at about 200 breaths per minute to keep his lungs open. He had IV fluids, antibiotics to ward off any potential infection, a central line in his belly button and one in his arm.
We had not come up with a name at this point, as we wanted to meet our child before settling on something. Our room was not near our son and while parents in the rooms next to us were kept awake by the sounds and cries of their hungry babies, we were trying to cope with not only being unable to be with our son but also not hearing his cries. We both looked for names that would fit our little son and Annie found “Amos,” which means Brave, Strong, and Carried by God. We went in to see him that morning, looked at him carefully, and asked him what he thought. Still sedated, we could see that he was trying to open his eyes and we felt that was a sign that we had chosen a fitting name.
The next few days we waited for the body cooling to be taken off and to see how Amos would respond to being warmed up. He responded well immediately. Tests on his organs showed full functionality – which gave us all hope that perhaps his brain would be spared. An MRI came back all clear, showing no brain damage measured by the MRI. We were told he would be on the high frequency ventilator for three weeks, which he only needed for four days, shocking his entire team. His next step down was a traditional ventilator that an adult might need; they said that this could take a week or more to wean Amos off of. It took him one day. When they removed the breathing tube, Annie and I were on hand with the hopes of hearing our baby cry for the first time, about four days after being born. He made only a little noise, far from the cry that a parent hopes to hear, but it meant the world to us. The next day he was on a CPAP machine for a further step down of breathing support; again we were told it could be days but he only needed it for one day. The remainder of his hospital stay was, thankfully, uneventful. The nurses and doctors treated him like a “well-baby,” and we were able to hold him, and comfort him, and comfort each other. Those final days were focused on getting Amos to eat exclusively by mouth, instead of the feeding tube. Amos, our strong fighter, was determined to eat despite all he had been through and despite a severe tongue and lip tie that make breastfeeding much more work for a baby. The only thing that Amos needed to come home with was an oxygen tank until his body could adjust to the higher altitude here in Colorado. Nine days after we were told that he may be in the hospital for a month or more, Annie and I broke down crying as we carried Amos into our home.
Annie and I are so thankful and grateful for the amazing care that both Amos and Annie received. Without the guiding and loving hands of the doctors, nurses, nurse practitioners, and staff whom we consider angels, it is very likely that we could have lost Amos and Annie through complications. Because of his diagnosis and need for body cooling, Amos was immediately enrolled in the Colorado Early Intervention Program which will follow his development until his third birthday. The program is designed to catch and head off any potential developmental delays. This includes any physical, occupational, emotional, nutritional, or mental therapies. Amos is now home and right on track developmentally as a 3-month old. We could not be more proud of Amos and while he has a strong will, we have been able to see that he also has a tender heart, as he can quickly pick up on the energy in a room. So we know that he felt all of the love and prayers from so many people who have never even met him in those early, uncertain days of his life.
Unfortunately, we need some help. I am a high school math teacher and Annie is a yoga instructor. The health insurance offered through my district (even at the lowest level of care for a family) would be close to 30% of my paycheck – which we knew we could not afford. We looked into health shares, which we learned would reimburse us for medical expenses. Our health share has been incredibly slow in processing his bills (previous bills have taken 8 months or more and are still in process), which are now totaling $169,000. There is no way that we could ever pay this debt. Even if we signed up to pay the minimum amount on a payment plan, the combined minimum monthly payments would likely bankrupt us before getting reimbursed. Combining all of the providers, the minimum monthly payment is over $7,000. We have looked into financial aid at the hospital but are just over the income requirements to qualify. Most of the medical bills have a 30- day period from the statement date before being sent to debt collection, which we are now approaching. It appears that most of the bills have already been received, but even this week on the eve of his 3-month birthday, we received another bill. We fear that due to the lack of urgency in our health share in addressing the bills, we may have to pay even more in interest and our credit may suffer.
It has been incredibly difficult to ask for even more support than has already been given to us. The story of Amos’ birth is filled with helping hands, tears, prayers, and love. We have been overwhelmed hearing about all of the people that have kept him in their prayers. While Annie and I wish that we didn’t need to ask for financial help, this is a part of his story that we look forward to sharing with him – the part where so many people have found ways to show him love, kindness, and generosity having never even met him. With any money generously donated, it is our intent to make the minimum monthly payments to each provider while our health share negotiates the final cost. It is our hope that they will fully reimburse us, but given our current experience we have no guarantee of that happening or happening quickly. If we are able to reach our goal, we want to reimburse those who have generously donated, minus the small percentage GoFundMe takes from each donation. However, we cannot promise when or even if that will happen. If anything changes as far as the billing totals or needs, we will post updates on the status of bill totals and reimbursement. If you choose not to be reimbursed, know that you will be contributing to any of Amos’ future medical needs and/or any post-secondary education or training. Thank you for taking the time to read Amos’ story and considering helping us out.
With love and gratitude,
Ben, Annie, and Amos
Organizer
Annie Adams
Organizer
Colorado Springs, CO