On Easter Monday (21 April ‘25), I woke up with a slight headache. I was at a cottage by the sea with my parents, sisters and boyfriend for a weekend getaway at the time. Without any worries, we headed back to Amsterdam, but as the day progressed, the headache worsened. I ate a soup, took a paracetamol, and then went to bed early.
Around 11 o'clock I tell my boyfriend that the headache is really unbearable and ask if he'll call a doctor. The ambulance comes and then leaves again because there isn't enough cause to take me with them.
Vincent goes to bed a little later too, but wakes up a few hours later because I'm restless and suddenly grab his arm in my sleep. When Vin turns on the light, he sees that I'm lying stiffly in bed and not reacting. Vin immediately calls 112 and not long after, I'm taken down by the fire brigade via the balcony (I would have loved to have seen footage of that haha). The ambulance then speeds off to the AMC.
There wasn't any immediate stress at first. The doctors were there in time and I had received all the necessary medication.
If the medication doesn't appear to work quickly enough, the alarm bells start ringing. Buildup of cerebral fluid causes too much pressure in my head. In the morning, I'm seen by a neurologist who decides that urgent surgery is needed. Apparently, it wasn't all that stress-free after all.

During the operation, a drain will be inserted into my skull to drain cerebrospinal fluid. Analysis of the cerebrospinal fluid has confirmed that I have bacterial meningitis. Bacterial meningitis (also known as meningococcal disease) occurs 1,000 times a year in the Netherlands, and 20% people die from this serious bacterial infection. For me, too, it was a matter of life or death.

My family and friends are facing terribly anxious days. On Wednesday, doctors say they don't know if or when I will wake up. Even if I were to come out of my coma, it's impossible to say in what condition that would be. I'm still in intensive care and the medication and surgery haven't had the desired effect yet.

Then, on Thursday morning, I suddenly wake up. I have feeling in my whole body and recognise the people around me, but I'm still extremely tired. That evening, I'm allowed to leave the ICU, moving to the Brain Care ward, and (despite everything still being a blur for me) I'm making unexpected progress.
Things are going so well that from Monday I'll start begging to go home. At that point, I'll naturally be on my own and no one will support my 'I want to go home' plan. The doctors are thinking more along the lines of 6 (!!!!!) weeks inpatient at rehabilitation centre Reade. On Tuesday, I therefore argue with the doctors, my mother(-in-law) and Vin, but still without success. On Wednesday, things are already going so much better that I finally win the 'competition'. I'm finally allowed to go home.

At the time, I thought it was all absolute nonsense and that everyone could just get back to normal as far as I was concerned. I wasn't looking for pity, but only now am I beginning to realise what hell it must have been for my parents, my sisters, for Vin, and my friends. The fear that I wouldn't wake up again, might not know who Vincent was anymore, couldn't move my legs anymore, etc., etc.

Before I got ill, I was really very fit. I exercised every day, ate healthily, and didn't drink or smoke. There was really no reason at all for me to have gotten this.

And now, a few months later, things are going unbelievably well. I'm slowly building up my work again, receiving good outpatient support at Reade, and am enjoying being able to go out in the evenings once more. I'm so MEGA GRATEFUL that I'm still alive. My short-term memory has really taken a hit, and I get tired more quickly, but it could have ended up much worse.
That's why I'm really keen to run the half marathon for the It's me Foundation. More money needs to be raised for research. If the doctor hadn't decided to operate on me straight away on Tuesday, I probably wouldn't be here anymore.

I'm training extremely hard because my fitness completely disappeared due to my hospitalisation, in order to run 21 km on 19 October. That will be almost half a year after I fell ill and the moment for me to bring it to a dignified close.

So if you're reading this and thinking wow, that's intense: donate!!!! Don't do it for me, but for the research.

Thanks in advance, lots of love,
Marinda

PS.
Don't forget to enjoy every day. Life is beautiful.