As a medical social worker, Casper stands next to parents and children.
In addition to his work as a therapist at Praktijk Tijd, Casper Fijlstra is a medical social worker in the neuro-oncology department of the Princess Máxima Center. There, he supports parents of children with brain tumors and "walks alongside them." His work is part of pediatric palliative care, where closeness, listening, and regaining strength are essential.
This attitude toward addressing the difficult was evident from an early age. As a teenager, he once asked a classmate, "I heard your father passed away. How is that for you?" For him, it was a normal question, but she found it extraordinary. That openness and calm still form the foundation of his work.
Casper doesn't take over, but helps parents regain their strength in a stressful situation. He's a warm, calm man who observes, identifies, listens, and adapts. His work is meaningful, and in certain situations, intense. "I follow the flow of what's happening and try to empower parents. I observe and stay close, so we can maintain an overview together, especially during periods or hospitalizations when everything seems to be happening simultaneously. What parents and children experience is almost impossible to grasp. They deserve the support they need, and that support starts with truly listening."
A second company
When a child becomes seriously ill, parents enter a world completely unfamiliar to them. A rollercoaster of emotions: hope, sadness, disbelief, anger, the realization that things might not work out… it turns their whole life upside down. A family is always a business, but when illness strikes, a second business emerges. Besides the diverse emotions, everything has to be monitored: medical appointments, treatments, communication with healthcare providers, practical matters, and caring for other children. It's complex and intense. How do you run that extra-large business? I help parents restructure their lives, creating more space for peace, connection, and resilience. This might mean working less, temporarily receiving sick leave, or engaging their community more actively. Some parents are incredibly independent. They want to be on their own. But then it all comes crashing down. Then I say: you've always managed well independently, but this situation calls for something different. What could you outsource? And to whom? I adapt without forcing. Parents are always in charge.
Regaining carrying capacity
My work is multifaceted and moves between the practical and psychosocial dimensions. It ranges from arranging accommodation expenses or preparing for an appointment with the occupational health physician to conversations about grief, loss, living loss, and seeking perspective. I listen, explain what needs to be said, and respect if someone doesn't (yet) want to talk about something. Parents determine how close I can be, which varies depending on the phase. Sometimes I'm deeply involved, other times I'm out of the picture, for example, during treatment periods when parents are well on their way and can manage on their own.
My primary focus is helping parents rediscover their resilience. People often have more talent than they realize. Sometimes they're already using those talents without even realizing it. I point this out, so they can see for themselves. I encourage them to dare to ask for help, to set boundaries, and to instruct those around them on what actually helps. Self-care is crucial in this regard. Do you have an evening to yourself? Can you take breaks? Together, we explore what brings peace; for some, that might be exercising, for others, a dinner with friends. And I keep asking: are you still able to seize those moments? I mirror what parents themselves show and say, so they can recognize their own strengths again.
I see and hear the complex journey parents walk. I try to acknowledge and appreciate that. When someone asks a doctor a challenging question, I say, "You did it. Let's pause for a moment." By identifying what's working, you create space. For trust, for self-esteem, for perspective. It's not therapy in the traditional sense, but care and guidance with a focus on growth, in the most vulnerable circumstances.
Take care of myself
The parents I coach deserve my full attention. Therefore, I have no choice but to be present professionally, but also to be personally present. This only works if I take good care of myself. Within our team, we monitor each other and share our experiences. Self-care isn't a luxury for me, but a necessity. I seek out places where I find lightheartedness and inspiration: a film, music, an exhibition. That helps me stay balanced. Before a meeting, I take a moment to switch off. Sometimes with a cup of coffee, sometimes by looking out the window. The view from the Princess Máxima Center is beautiful and green. Such a moment helps me to be truly present.
Even after the death of a child, I consciously take time for myself. I have rituals: a walk in the woods, throwing a pebble into the sea. This way, I reflect on that child's life and create some kind of closure for myself. I do this consciously. And sometimes I don't know what to do myself. Then I figure out what I can do with it. That's how I continue to learn, from parents, colleagues, and experiences. I don't believe in being finished.
What I wish for people
We live in a society that seems to be getting faster and faster. Everything has to be smooth, efficient, and solution-oriented. But some situations actually call for slowing down. For a moment of reflection. I hope people dare to adjust the pace of their interactions to the intensity of the moment. That they dare to stay with difficult situations without having to immediately resolve anything. Simply being present, truly listening, is often enough. I also hope people learn to ask: what do you need? Instead of filling in or avoiding. There's more openness about illness and death these days, but there's still a lot of discomfort. Many people don't know what to say and prefer to avoid someone. Yet, it's precisely that staying, that being close, that can make such a difference.
Not everything in life is controllable. There are illnesses that cannot be cured, losses that are incomprehensible. But we can choose to be there for each other. That's what I want for parents, children, and colleagues in pediatric palliative care, and what I hope to continue to contribute to society at large. Simply by persevering.