Annelotte, aged 24 and Nicolette’s second child, used to say she would never grow old. Sadly, that turned out to be true. She will always be 24. Did she know it without realising?
In early August 2023, Annelotte had a sore throat. That infection resolved after a week. But a day later, she developed a sinus infection. That proved more persistent. The headaches it caused meant she could no longer sleep while lying down. She slept half-sitting up in bed. Not only did she have severe headaches, but she also vomited from time to time.
Nicolette tells Annelotte’s story to warn people and make them alert:
On Sunday evening, 6 August, I spoke to Annelotte. She was starting to feel discouraged and was fed up with still being sick. Yet she didn’t want me to come and collect her and take her home to Zwolle. She wanted us to go on holiday on Monday, as planned.
On Monday afternoon, she was able to see someone at the GP office. Not the doctor, however, but the assistant. Fortunately, she would be seen. I actually assumed that the assistant would arrange for her to be prescribed a course of treatment. She immediately called back that afternoon. The doctor’s assistant’s diagnosis was sinusitis. She was told to take paracetamol and ibuprofen.
Annelotte feels too ill to look after herself. She resolutely turned down our offer to pick her up. “Yeah, OK, it’s a nuisance, but nothing serious. Just go and enjoy your holiday!” As we were on holiday in South Limburg, Annelotte went to stay with her aunt Claudia on Monday evening. Her aunt had come to pick her up. My sister told me that she was indeed quite ill, but she’d managed to eat something and had managed to retain it. On Tuesday, Annelotte felt a lot better and went for a walk outside in the sun with her aunt in the afternoon. She even wanted to walk a bit further. She sent a cheerful text saying she’d been through the worst and would stay with her aunt for a while longer to be pampered.
The next day she complained that the severe headache had returned and that it was very painful. She also had to vomit again. Every time I say something to her, it seems as though I’m waking her up. We agreed that she would have a nap. I called her several times that afternoon, without success. Because she didn’t answer, I thought she was, at last, asleep.
That Wednesday afternoon, she vomited again around 4 o’clock. At half past four, my sister came home from work and could no longer get through to Annelotte. Annelotte was just moaning. My sister didn’t trust it and rang us, saying, “Please come straight away.”
We jumped straight into the car; it turned out to be the longest two and a half hours we’d ever spent in the car, travelling from South Limburg to Haarlem. Annelotte was taken to the hospital in Haarlem with sirens blaring. It was decided to transfer her to a more specialised hospital.
They waited for us for a while in Haarlem. We were able to give Annelotte a kiss, and then she was gone. In the ambulance, accompanied by a doctor due to the critical situation, on her way to Amsterdam UMC. We drove after her. And then there was your child, lying there in the ICU. Very pale and hooked up to all sorts of machines. I was terrified of losing her. Around 11 pm, we were initially sent home. After a lot of insistence, we were allowed to sleep in a family room. Close to Annelotte.
Around midnight, we said goodnight to Annelotte and went to bed. At 1.30 am, we were woken by a knock on the door. A nurse was standing there. I thought Annelotte had woken up, but unfortunately it was bad news. Annelotte was experiencing too much pressure on the right side of her head and needed urgent surgery to give her brain more space. A section of her skull would be removed to reduce the pressure on her brain. We just managed to give her a kiss and off she went to the operating room. Once again, I had that awful feeling that this was the beginning of the end.
Finally, at a quarter to 6, we received a call: the immediate danger had passed, the operation had gone well. The neurologist had been the first to operate on her. The ENT specialist was the second to operate. The ENT specialist had rarely seen such a severe infection. We were allowed to go to Annelotte. She was lying there with all sorts of machines on either side of her bed, a bright pink stripe of antiseptic on her forehead and a towel draped over her head as her hair.
The situation was now stable, and we had to wait and see how things would progress. Unfortunately, the pressure on the left side became too high and a second operation followed. More panic and fear, and again that terrible feeling that Annelotte wouldn’t make it. This time, a section of her skull was removed on the left side. Fortunately, this second operation also went well and took less time.
I found it terrifying to see how badly her head had swollen. I struggled to recognise my own child. Fortunately, the swelling did quickly subside.
That night, I woke up around 2.30 am and felt the urge to go to Annelotte. It was the first time I was alone with her. I encouraged her to fight with everything she had. That we were ready to help and encourage her. But I also told her that if she couldn’t cope any longer, I was prepared to let her go out of love, and that it would be all right, however terrible it might be.
Two and a half relatively quiet days followed. The pressure in her brain kept increasing. The sedation was then intensified, which reduced the pressure slightly. The scans to see what the pressure was doing to her brain showed some brain damage.
Immediately upon arrival at the hospital, we had already been told that Annelotte would never leave the hospital as the same Annelotte again, but that she was still young and that young people were exceptionally good at recovering. According to them, her age worked in her favour.
On the afternoon of Sunday 13 August, it was first mentioned that we would have to accept the possibility that things might go wrong. The doctors found themselves with their backs against the wall and were, in truth, at a point where they no longer knew what to do. I predicted then that she would pass away on Tuesday.
We spent two nights in the guest accommodation at Amsterdam UMC. Fortunately, it was close to Annelotte.
On Monday, Annelotte’s condition gradually deteriorated during the day. The pressure in her head kept increasing and we were also told that there was further brain damage. When we phoned the ICU briefly in the evening, before going to bed, we were told that her response to a pain stimulus had greatly reduced. Unlike before, she no longer lifted her hand.
On Tuesday morning, I was awake by 5.15 am. I couldn’t wait any longer and rang the ICU. I received more bad news. Annelotte’s condition had deteriorated again and, for the first time, a neurologist had visited her during the night. The fact that we were allowed to come straight away, rather than after 8 am, said a lot to me.
Around half past two, we had a meeting with the team looking after and supporting Annelotte. You see the doctors walking down the corridor. You can tell straight away from their expressions that they’re not bringing good news. The conversation was short and intense. The first thing they said was that Annelotte had suffered so much brain damage that she wouldn’t even survive as a vegetable. The second was the question of whether she was eligible for organ donation. It’s like being in a bad film.
After this conversation, I went into planning mode. Family were phoned, friends were messaged, and the funeral photographer was arranged. Once everyone had said their goodbyes, the six people closest to Annelotte remained. Her brother and sister-in-law, two friends, her stepfather and me, her mother. We held her and held her hands, put on her playlist and sometimes sang along softly. Slowly but surely, the intervals between her breaths became longer and longer. Finally, at 9.12 pm, six days after she was hospitalised, Annelotte passed away.
‘A star that shines twice as bright, dies twice as fast’
