‘I'm afraid I have bad news, guys…’
The life of Tess Hoens is wonderful, but even she has things that don't quite go as she had hoped. And she wants to write about that. Because there is already enough of a facade and because honesty helps. Tess has a desire for children, but getting pregnant is still not working. This week she thinks back to that one time she was pregnant.
The pregnant life is easy to get used to. More and more often I unconsciously rub my lower belly, behave lazily, and let my boyfriend pamper me with that. Setting aside the fatigue, I feel good. My mother tells me that she also had a more than fine pregnancy but maybe that's why she had such a terrible delivery. Okay, deliveries are not fun at all, but if I can believe her story, she came out of it, with 60 stitches down there, feeling even worse. Oh well! That's a worry for later, tomorrow is only our second ultrasound.
‘My scooter is broken, we need to take a Felyx to the OLVG tomorrow morning I think,’ says my boyfriend that evening (for those who don't live in a big city in the Netherlands: Felyx scooters are parked all over the city and can be rented through an app). He checks his phone to see if there’s one nearby and there is.
The next morning we walk towards the thing but it won't budge, the app isn't working or the scooter itself isn't working. My boyfriend usually refuses to use public transport but with two broken scooters, there isn't much else to do. Together in the tram on the way to another ultrasound, I find it wonderfully cozy and charming. Still, I slept poorly last night because I find it exciting too. That's part of it.
When we arrive at the Overtoom, we hear a loud bang and the tram stops, an alarm goes off and all passengers are asked to leave the tram. While my boyfriend orders a taxi, I start to stress, it's getting tight to arrive on time for our appointment and why is everything going wrong? Could this be a strange omen? ‘Don't be so paranoid!’ I say sternly to myself. But when the taxi still hasn't arrived five minutes later, I start shouting in the street. I panic.
Eventually, we arrive at the hospital three minutes late and we rush inside. Our ultrasound is rescheduled with the lovely nurse specialist who told us the good news last time. She thinks, of course, that we are perfectly on time. My boyfriend looks at me and shrugs, his eyes say it all: ‘I told you that you were stressing out for nothing.’
With my legs back in the stirrups, ready for the ultrasound, my heart rate quickens. We will hear our baby's heartbeat for the first time. My boyfriend and I hold each other's hands tightly. She brings the device in and what seems like seconds feels like hours. It takes too long for me, but I tell myself that everyone will feel that way. Then she looks at us with a serious face and says: ‘I'm afraid I have bad news, guys…’
