This open Window

poetry and prose by local writers

edited by Jim mitsui

Bonner General Hospital was small when I was born there, replaced by a modern version when my children were born. By the time my grandchildren arrived it had been enlarged and modernized.

An integral part of the community, babies have been delivered there for over 70 years. And yet, despite Sandpoint’s huge influx of people (so many people!) in the last 30 years, because of extremism and politics in Idaho, the hospital is struggling.

No doctor will take the chance of delivering a baby there.

I saw the headline weeks ago:

As Of May 2023, No More Babies Will Be Born at Bonner General Hospital.

Impossible I thought, sad I thought, A travesty I thought,

I wrote an angry-ish tirade on my Facebook account. Many thumbs up, angry face, sad face, emoticons later I knew all of my friends agreed.

For a young mother to have to drive to Coeur d’Alene or, worse yet, Spokane.

To have to drive that distance for all the prenatal appointments and to deliver her baby?

Hotel By The Airport

Hotel by the airport, elevator up, room 225. King size bed.

Walk outside, next door, restaurant closed, bar open, cold sandwich, turkey on rye, salad, honey mustard dressing, sterile mayo pouches tear open on fingers. Water with no ice, paper straw, toothpick wrapped for individual use. Run back to room in rain storm, windy, restless night, light sleep not deep. Got up before early alarm, 3:50 a.m. Shower, dress, organize, and out.

Hotel lobby busy, foreigners, and a flight crew away from home, lukewarm English muffin, wimpy toaster. Butter?

Something in a packet. Used two.

Packaged hot cocoa mix, reminder of why I packed my own homemade mix, tomorrow will be better. Heavy bags stashed by table, collect food, then sit. Don’t talk. Eat.

Go out to car, dirty clothes stay. Locked. Walk in morning dark, black ice, careful. Inside long line for bag drop. Big groups. Checked in five pounds under. Whew! Security line long, don’t look tense. Take off belt. Anxious pits, sweaty. Raise arms for body scan. Microwaved. Backpack in crate. Rollers. X-ray. Searched by hand. Who put a pocket knife in my toothbrush bag? Not mine. Do people plant these? Throw it away. Get to departure gate, now boarding. Sit for group 3. Put on belt. Vague memory of Christmas present, a pocket knife. Time to go.

What if she has no car, or she and her husband have just one car? How does that affect her finances, time off from work for her and for her spouse. How to deal with children already in the home, all the hard things made harder.

What if she is due in January and the roads are dangerous? How many women with difficult financial situations will just skip those important prenatal appointments?

I’m was very glad my babies are all born,

Palpable, palatable, placeable, placable, pedagogical, palatial, pompous, partial, plenty, pleasant, plain, plaything, plastic, pathetic, prim, professional, proper, patrician Pin a adjective upon me Pin a mood

Pin a name tag

Pin a diamond

Pin the tail on the donkey I’ve felt that sting before I’m falling, I have fallen, I fall I fell, I was felled, I feel — too much yet not enough

There’s smoke wafting by the house

There’s smoke rising from bombings in Mariupol There’s smoke in Arizona, Colorado, and New Mexico

There’s smoke where there’s fire

There’s smoke spewing from the divide

Blues (not in my backyard)

all my grandchildren are born, no great-grandchildren anticipated yet. And then the Easter surprise the little family of four filed in to say hi.

I saw it first, the “Big Sister” emblazoned on my granddaughter’s T-shirt. My brain struggled for a moment.

“That’s not right, she’s the youngest, she’s not the big sister.” I looked at my daughter-in-law she smiled, I smiled, exclamations, excitement, hugs all around.

In November there will be a new baby to cuddle, everyone knows I love a fresh baby.

And then I remembered the hospital, the doctors’ fear of being sued or worse charged with a crime.

My daughter-in-law can’t even get an appointment in Sandpoint no doctor will take on a pregnant woman.

Coeur d’Alene doctors are busier already, so her appointment is weeks out.

Her family doctor encouraged her to eat well, take her vitamins and wait.

They must wait to hear the heartbeat, wait to see the ultrasound.

At least it’s not in my backyard is suddenly squarely in my front yard.

It’s blocking my fucking view and I’m pissed!

Sandra is that rarity, a native of Sandpoint. She writes poetry, loves to work in her yard, and is easy to smile.

A Pondering

Over abortion education

race immigration economics defense law and order taxation voting incarceration sexual identification the Constitution Smoke is pouring from our heads

Who will douse it, drown it, drench it Who will squash it, slosh it, spill it Who, how, what, where, why, when

Amy is a transplanted Baltimore girl who has lived in Sandpoint since 1999. She is getting ready to move to a house in the Syringa Heights area with Rob and is anticipating the experience of unpacking her own stuff after being in limbo for the past six months. She is thankful for the kindness of friends.