2012 News Jan. 11

She was alone in a hospital room, filled with other young mothers, beds lined up against the wall of the large room.  Spaced by a chair where a family member could wait, and a small bedside table for the pitcher of water, privacy between beds was attempted with white heavy cloth curtains, draped from the ceiling.  No one was in the chair next to her bed, and few patients filled these beds.

She listened for the menacing drone of airplanes in the sky, and watched through the cracks in the walls, hoping to glimpse only sky and clouds.  The babies were so quiet.  They did not cry much, some were already injured from the air pressure draughts which affected their breathing.  Some had eardrum injuries from the blasts of the bombs.  War blasts were not gentle on the systems of infants, especially on those not full term, likely in these hard times.  When the mothers had poor nutrition or no prenatal care, as was common now, it was more usual than not.

The basket lay in the jamb of the door, and the baby in it.  The new mother jumped out of bed, grabbed the basket, went to the bomb shelter under the hospital when the sirens sounded.  Were they well enough to do that?  Did they get help right after labor?  with the ground shaking?  Many just lay in bed, pulled the sheets over their heads, and prayed.  Sixty-nine years ago I was born, and I still marvel at my Mother to live through all she did to survive.