There was a sea of faces to be studied---both inside and out---at Matchwood Brewing Co. yesterday:
Faces of doctors, some in tears.
Faces of OB Gyn nurses, many in tears.
Faces of folks who took their first breath at Bonner General Hospital, decades ago and or even in the very recent past.
Faces of numerous community members, leaders and volunteers, stunned, saddened but determined to do something about the loss of the labor and birth department at Bonner General, soon to be official in May.
Nurses and doctors, from the unit---all looking for or having already secured other jobs---told me about the moment they first heard a few weeks ago that their beloved department would be closing.
Some were at work; others were at home when they received word that an important meeting would be held in 45 minutes.
We thought someone on staff had died, one longtime OB-Gyn nurse said.
Members of the group told me that they soon learned that something soon to die happened to be the very setting where they had worked together over the years, bringing babies into the world and caring for infants and their mothers.
Emotions were visceral at times, especially toward the end of the event as Sandpoint Reader columnist and program emcee Jen Jackson Quintano, along with an OB-GYN doctor and some representative nurses spoke to the crowd which filled the facility.
Yesterday's Matchwood event was called an "Unhappy Hour." Beer and wine flowed as did lively conversation, reflection and lamentation.
A classic Plymouth station wagon sat just outside the door next to a table where people signed up to tell their birth stories.
The car served as the recording studio.
I spent time in the back seat telling my story to an ipad and the back-up microphone operated by a Blue Sky broadcasting staffer.
I recalled the 1977 and 1978 births of my son Willie and daughter Annie, respectively. My focus: those patient, wonderful nurses who showed their care and skill during the hours of labor, especially when Willie was born.
The interview ended, and it was apparent the "record" button on the ipad had not been punched, but I was assured that the back-up microphone had caught the three-five minute segment which would be archived for historical purposes.
Soon after my interview inside the Plymouth, I headed back inside the bar/restaurant where I met Annie and my niece Laura who had just completed their urban walk to Pine Street Woods.
About the same time, I noticed that longtime friend Janel Holm had, indeed, showed up.
Thrilled with this sighting, I summoned Annie and documented the moment the retired OB-Gyn nurse and my daughter met nearly 45 years after the October day when Janel had assisted Dr. Marienau as he delivered Annie Love aka Precious into the world.
A momentous occasion to have these two together at yesterday's event.
As one who was born in the Sandpoint Hospital and who has lived in Sandpoint ever since, I find it revolting, embarrassing and sad that our community, which can support accessories like music festivals, a thriving tourist industry, school sports, numerous other huge events, etc., suddenly, without notice, cannot provide the most basic need in life---coming into the world and taking one's first breath.
I know that politics has played a part in this decision, but it still seems unfathomable that those who made this decision could not do everything in their power to see that such a basic aspect of any community would continue to survive, regardless of the bottom line.
It's a sad and heart-breaking time for our community, and many faces I saw at yesterday's beautifully planned event reflected that.
Sandpoint, which has received the distinction of America's Most Beautiful Small Town, could and certainly should do better.
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