Eline: ‘Before I knew it, I was in an ambulance again’

Image: Valerie Visschedijk

Eline is married to Bas, star mom of Louie * and is now 30 weeks pregnant with the second. In this column she talks about her pregnancy after loss and everything that comes with it. This week about the sudden hospitalization.

“I’m going to call an ambulance to take you to Nijmegen anyway”, is what the midwife says after I’ve hung on a beeping monitor with two caps on my stomach for half an hour. The combination of my very restless stomach and a premature birth on my hospital resume ensure that the doctors do not dare to take any risks. I get lung maturation, contraction inhibitors and am immediately transferred to the stretcher. Tears stream down my cheeks.

“Tears are streaming down my cheeks”

Shivering like a straw

It’s like the movie from two years ago is playing out again. Another ambulance, again to Nijmegen and again all way too early. “If you, please, please sit down for a while,” I repeat like a mantra in my head as I make contact with the baby in my belly. I’m shivering like a straw in the delivery room I’m assigned. Everything flashes in my head.

Fortunately, after numerous investigations, it appears that the situation is not (yet) very alarming and that the doctor considers the chance that I will give birth in the short term to be small. However, it is necessary that my uterus calms down. A huge lesson in surrender and trust, because what can you do except take another contraction inhibitor and stay calm? Nothing. Wait and hope.

Memories

After a restless night I break the next morning. All the tension and sadness pops out at once. I had been anxiously hiding this away for so long. The hospital in Nijmegen where we lived between hope and fear for four weeks, the NICU with a treasure trove of memories and traumas and those long corridors I hoped never to walk through again. And now I was there again…

I couldn’t move, there was no escape. The only option? right through it. I cried and cried, let all the beautiful and painful memories of this place fly by and felt that huge knot in my stomach when I walked out of the NICU with Bas. We talked and were silent. Divided and disappeared in our own world. We deal with all those emotions. Both our way.

Hope and trust

They were intense days, but somehow it also feels like this was necessary. As if this – the confrontation with this place – was the only way to process this piece of trauma and to open my heart completely to the baby in my belly. I am very grateful to be able to type this column from the couch, that we are back home and everything is quiet. I just hope it stays that way for a few more weeks. That’s all you can do: keep hope and trust!

Since the death of her son, Eline also runs a magazine for parents of deceased children. Knowing more? Visit www.nelmagazine.nl

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