My granny died on July 8th, 2010, which is five years and nine days ago today. It was extremely warm, for a Dutch summer and I was extremely sad, for a mom to be for the third time. I was due to deliver baby Bobbie on the 14th of July. Lucie, our first daughter, was going to be Bobbie, but Joost didn’t think Bobbie was a good name, for a girl. That was before we both thought having a third child was not a good idea btw, but if you start reasoning to have a third, you will find enough reasons not to go for it.
The 14th started with me riding a very heavy Dutch bike with both Boris and Lucie in it to buy shoes for Lucie. We quickly bought them (the 18-months-old was still easy going fashion-wise back then) and when I was about to ride home, my sister phoned me: ‘Mom is in the hospital, nothing serious, I don’t think you need to come over.’
She thought, I thought, we all thought that mom was stressed, sleep deprived and heartbroken because she lost her mom just a week before. Grief must have been the reason for a heavy heart, for chest-pains, for the signs of heart problems. Right?
Wrong. I went to the hospital to find my mom attached to a variety of machines. The doctors were running tests on her and all we could do was wait. When I quickly walked out to park the car in a more appropriate parking lot, my sister phoned again: ‘You have to get over here, something is very, very wrong!’ I rushed in – as far as you can rush when you’re 40 weeks pregnant – to find my mom attached to even more machines and surrounded by a lot of people in long white coats. Five minutes later she was transported to another hospital, the sirens were loud and a team of heart surgeons was already waiting for her.
Turned out she had an aorta rupture, but not completely, because that would have been fatal. The doctors explained that the aorta basically consists of an ‘inner and outer tire’ and only the inner one was partly damaged. It was a very critical situation. We were standing at her bed and my mom was already drugged to get her blood pressure as far down as possible. She told me later that she believed that she was telling us not to worry and she also thinks she winked at my husband and my sisters forever-fiancé to make them feel at ease. Of course she didn’t.
She did survive the 8-hour surgery though. Three days later, Bobbie was born. I’m forever grateful for being able to celebrate two birthdays this week. Happy fifth birthday to Bobbie and happy fifth (re-)birthday to my amazing mom!
Oh and Bobbie was and still is a real Bobbie; positive, energetic, super sweet and she might be an actress one day…