Some of the midwives and patients from the fifth series of One Born Every Minute. Photo: Phil Fisk
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One Born Every Minute is the opium of the masses

Like millions of others, I love Channel 4’s maternity documentary. But it is feeding us an overly rosy view of an NHS suffering from staff shortages and cutbacks.

OK, OK, so we all know that Made in Chelsea and The Only Way is Essex aren’t actually depicting the reality of life in Chelsea or Essex, but there’s something about medical reality TV programmes that somehow makes you think what you’re seeing is real. Channel 4’s Bafta-winning documentary series One Born Every Minute (OBEM) has recently returned to our screens for a fifth series. While its popularity is partly rooted in a certain voyeurism, many women (myself included), have watched it in the run up to childbirth in the hope of learning something of what was to come. After all, it’s a documentary, and though edited, isn’t scripted or staged. The care is real. The cleanliness, the calm, the almost ideological commitment to the profession, are all a true reflection of what our maternity units are like. . . right?

Like millions of you, I’ve tuned in to watch the messy business of childbirth. I’ve watched aghast as devoted midwives stay on past their shift to see through the labour of a woman whom they were so attentive to, you’d be forgiven for thinking they were long-lost friends. In one episode, they actually were! In more precarious situations, hoards of impeccably timed, rigorously diligent and profoundly empathetic midwives work in perfect harmony to support women, as if they were mythical angels of midwifery. The rose-tinted atmosphere is heightened by personal narratives from the midwives, who often talk about their profession as a dream vocation. While I don’t doubt many midwives do enter the profession thanks to vocational aspirations, statistics also tell us that midwives are leaving the profession in droves, suggesting that “tea and cake interspaced by miraculous experiences” might not be an entirely accurate portrayal of what their working lives are like.

For me, OBEM was a window – or so I thought – into the type of care I could expect to receive on the NHS. I wish I could confirm that the series offers an accurate depiction of the type of care you can expect to receive as an expectant mother, because frankly, it is exactly the level of care women should be receiving. And for many health professionals, it is precisely the type of care they wish they could deliver. But both my personal experience and crucially a range of figures, suggest otherwise.

One can safely assume that the maternity wards that agree to be filmed are not those struggling with staff shortages or overcrowding problems, as many of our maternity wards currently are. But I’ve come to wonder whether OBEM doesn’t actually act as a sort of pacifying decoy where there might otherwise be mass indignation as to what is truly happening in our hospitals.

The programme has aired over a period during which NHS restructuring means many maternity units are being downgraded or even shut down because of staff shortages and overcrowding. According to a recent survey, new mothers describe maternity units as “severely understaffed “with “overworked staff” on postnatal wards in particular. More than half of birthing units are not meeting the staffing guidelines set out by the Royal College of Obstetricians and Gynaecologists and a third of mums in labour are now being turned away from wards, a scene we have so far seen only once on the last season of OBEM! The Royal College of Midwives is campaigning for 5,000 more midwives to be recruited to meet growing demand and speaking last year its chief executive Cathy Warwick warned: “We are many thousands of midwives short of the number needed to deliver safe, high-quality care.”

In the series, we watch as consistently composed midwives with all the time in the world tend compassionately to labouring women in state-of-the-art facilities. And yet meanwhile, many of us experience a system in which overworked and over-stretched midwives struggle to meet requests beyond the barest essentials. And who can blame them when, unlike the midwives on OBEM who seem to enjoy endless tea breaks, the midwives who don’t make it onto our screens report that missing meal breaks and finishing shifts late is a daily occurrence. As one midwife confessed to me: “One Born Every Minute is about as similar to my experience of being a birth centre midwife as Green Wing is to working in a hospital.”

We have our own perceptions of the NHS, shaped by the images we see on our screens. In the case of OBEM, these images are embellished with stories of women’s struggles within a pristine and perfectly-oiled system. If our own experiences differ from the narrative, we assume it’s an anomaly, an exception – that we were simply “unlucky”.

The reality is that the NHS chief executive Sir David Nicholson says £20bn must be shaved from the budget by March 2015, much of which involves hospital closures or downgrading. This is something which many campaigners see as cost-cutting not, as is claimed, an attempt to provide a more efficient service. While we happily watch an army of midwives fawning over newborns in immaculate hospitals, the government is undertaking the biggest NHS restructuring in history, which massively impacts the levels of care women can expect to receive.

The Maternity Services Survey 2013, which examines the experiences of women in 137 NHS Trusts in England, found that “more women felt that they were treated with kindness and understanding and had confidence and trust in the staff caring for them during labour and birth” than during the last survey in 2010. But it also revealed some worrying findings.

Among them was the fact that almost one in five women feel their concerns during labour were not taken seriously. Of the 230 women who provided comments about their experiences of accessing care, only one comment was positive. Of the remaining comments, over 87 per cent referred to women’s negative view of their care.

The UK may well be one of the safest places in the world to give birth, but all is not well. It has one of the worst rates of stillbirth in the developed world, and according to a globally-renowned professor of maternal care, government restructuring is to blame. What’s more, despite the majority of maternal deaths happening post-birth, budget pressures mean that almost half of new mothers are not immediately made aware of how to spot life-threatening conditions. And although the government has pledged that women can expect consistent care from a single midwife during labour, 46 per cent say they do not receive this.

OBEM has shone much-needed light on the experiences of women in labour, but the programme’s rosy depiction of our maternity wards shields us from the gruesome reality of what’s actually happening to them. If we were privy to the strains being placed on our wards, we might just be spurred into action. While the NHS is in need of profound change to render it more sustainable, care for women and babies at the very start of life should be shielded from cuts. Let’s not confuse the care we wish we had with the care we actually have and in so doing, end up lulled into a false sense of security. In the age of progress, we often assume things can only get better. The truth is, programmes like OBEM depict how it should be. Sadly, for many of us, that won’t be the reality.

Myriam Francois is a writer, broadcaster and academic with a focus on current affairs, the Middle East, Islam and France. She currently works as a broadcast journalist for TRT world, a global news network, and was the presenter of documentaries including BBC One's “A Deadly Warning: Srebrenica Revisited”.

She is a Research Associate at the Centre of Islamic Studies (CIS) at SOAS University, where her research focuses on British Muslim integration issues. She also undertakes the centre’s media outreach and research dissemination in relation to its work on British Muslim communities.
Myriam is currently a PhD (DPhil) researcher at Oxford University, focusing on Islamic movements in Morocco. 

She tweets @MFrancoisCerrah

Photo: André Spicer
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“It’s scary to do it again”: the five-year-old fined £150 for running a lemonade stand

Enforcement officers penalised a child selling home-made lemonade in the street. Her father tells the full story. 

It was a lively Saturday afternoon in east London’s Mile End. Groups of people streamed through residential streets on their way to a music festival in the local park; booming bass could be heard from the surrounding houses.

One five-year-old girl who lived in the area had an idea. She had been to her school’s summer fête recently and looked longingly at the stalls. She loved the idea of setting up her own stall, and today was a good day for it.

“She eventually came round to the idea of selling lemonade,” her father André Spicer tells me. So he and his daughter went to their local shop to buy some lemons. They mixed a few jugs of lemonade, the girl made a fetching A4 sign with some lemons drawn on it – 50p for a small cup, £1 for a large – and they carried a table from home to the end of their road. 

“People suddenly started coming up and buying stuff, pretty quickly, and they were very happy,” Spicer recalls. “People looked overjoyed at this cute little girl on the side of the road – community feel and all that sort of stuff.”

But the heart-warming scene was soon interrupted. After about half an hour of what Spicer describes as “brisk” trade – his daughter’s recipe secret was some mint and a little bit of cucumber, for a “bit of a British touch” – four enforcement officers came striding up to the stand.

Three were in uniform, and one was in plain clothes. One uniformed officer turned the camera on his vest on, and began reciting a legal script at the weeping five-year-old.

“You’re trading without a licence, pursuant to x, y, z act and blah dah dah dah, really going through a script,” Spicer tells me, saying they showed no compassion for his daughter. “This is my job, I’m doing it and that’s it, basically.”

The girl burst into tears the moment they arrived.

“Officials have some degree of intimidation. I’m a grown adult, so I wasn’t super intimidated, but I was a bit shocked,” says Spicer. “But my daughter was intimidated. She started crying straight away.”

As they continued to recite their legalese, her father picked her up to try to comfort her – but that didn’t stop the officers giving her stall a £150 fine and handing them a penalty notice. “TRADING WITHOUT LICENCE,” it screamed.


Picture: André Spicer

“She was crying and repeating, ‘I’ve done a bad thing’,” says Spicer. “As we walked home, I had to try and convince her that it wasn’t her, it wasn’t her fault. It wasn’t her who had done something bad.”

She cried all the way home, and it wasn’t until she watched her favourite film, Brave, that she calmed down. It was then that Spicer suggested next time they would “do it all correctly”, get a permit, and set up another stand.

“No, I don’t want to, it’s a bit scary to do it again,” she replied. Her father hopes that “she’ll be able to get over it”, and that her enterprising spirit will return.

The Council has since apologised and cancelled the fine, and called on its officials to “show common sense and to use their powers sensibly”.

But Spicer felt “there’s a bigger principle here”, and wrote a piece for the Telegraph arguing that children in modern Britain are too restricted.

He would “absolutely” encourage his daughter to set up another stall, and “I’d encourage other people to go and do it as well. It’s a great way to spend a bit of time with the kids in the holidays, and they might learn something.”

A fitting reminder of the great life lesson: when life gives you a fixed penalty notice, make lemonade.

Anoosh Chakelian is senior writer at the New Statesman.