Dying children. Parents who are broken for life. That is the image many Dutch people have of a children's hospice, a place where terminally ill children spend the final stages of their lives. How does the Netherlands handle terminal care for children? Reporter Maurice Laparlière spent 24 hours at the Lindenhofje children's hospice in Amsterdam.

I must admit, people I know looked worried when I told them about this assignment. Did I really want to put myself through that, they asked. The word "hospice" is inevitably associated with death. Bring children into the equation and it seems like the worst place in the world, every parent's nightmare.

Sandwiches
The Lindenhofje is in the middle of a bustling Amsterdam neighbourhood. I take a deep breath and step inside. There's a homey atmosphere. All associations with hospitals are instantly banished. I'm just in time for lunch. A teenager and two cheerful kiddies of nursery school age are waiting to tuck in. The young ones sing a song before wolfing down their sandwiches, full of fun and appetite. The supervisors take note of how many sandwiches they eat, as two of the three have diabetes. The children here have all kinds of health problems; some suffer from arrested development. But like every child, their eyes light up when they see a roving reporter's headphones and microphone: it's playtime! 

Tubes and wires
I get to know the three healthiest children from a group of nine. All are sick and need extra care and attention, though at a glance they appear well enough. These kids spend a few days at the Lindenhofje every now and then to give their parents some respite and to allow them to devote more attention to the rest of the family. But there is another side to the Lindenhofje. A door next to the baby's playpen leads through to a medical room with a stretcher, wires, tubes and machines. 

Slowly but surely, the children arrive. David is five years old and severely disabled. He will never be able to walk, sit or speak. His future is very uncertain. The same is true of twins Luca and Mattheo, two cute little blond boys of three. They suffer from convulsions which put so much strain on their bodies that they are not expected to live beyond the age of 15.

Big smile
Their father Jacques says he enjoys every moment he gets to spend with his two sons. He doesn't think about the future. As he massages their legs, he says his greatest reward is when they give him a big smile. Sometimes it happens, sometimes it doesn't. 

The severely disabled children in the group are placed on a big bean bag to watch the Teletubbies on TV. Sometimes they are lifted onto somebody's lap. I still have no sense of death pervading the atmosphere at the Lindenhofje. There is just too much laughter. Care coordinator Chantal de Leeuw explains:

"We shouldn't deny that these are seriously ill children. Their health can deteriorate suddenly and we are equipped to deal with that here. At the Lindenhofje, we have children from 0 to 19, whose health is just good enough to keep them out of hospital but too poor for them to be at home all the time. What they like best is that we don't walk around here in white coats. There's no hospital smell and the place isn't full of medical equipment." 

And then Chantal touches on what is probably the heart of the Lindenhofje and similar children's hospices:

"However sick a child is, they always want to play. However bad their situation, they are looking for warmth and fun. Rosa, who is thirteen, lost her sight due to a brain tumour. She loved playing cards and board games. Even though she was so ill, she learned Braille so that she could keep on playing cards and came up with a system of plastic tubes to keep track of where her counters were on the board. Make no mistake, children can be incredibly resilient." 

Lust for life
The evening flies by. We watch television and build a railway track. Some of the healthier children are given a pill to take or receive an insulin jab for their diabetes. The children with serious mental or metabolic disorders look like they are in their own world but seem content. The overall atmosphere is relaxed. 

After a while I've completely forgotten that I'm in a home for terminally ill children. Remembrance cards on the wall and a notice board dedicated to the memory of 17 children show that things are not always this pleasant and calm at the Lindenhofje. Death is present at this children's hospice, but it's no match for the lust for life among the children and the parents here.