Reflections On 2010

Anyone who has seen the Lee Marvin gangster movie 'Point Blank' will recall the scene in which the only action depicted is Walker (Marvin), er, walking briskly along a corridor, the only sound heard that of his footsteps.

I had a similar experience earlier this year, at about five past five one morning, at the emergency entrance of a maternity hospital. I hope that anyone who saw me walking along those corridors would think me some kind of modern day Lee Marvin, all poise and purpose, instead of the jibbering, and quite lost, wreck I really was.

Our son was eight weeks premature when he was born. He breathed by himself from the outset,, giving his doctors great hope for his successful development. For sure, we do a great many things less well now than we have done in the past, but taking care of premature babies is not one of them. There has never been a better time or place for an eight-week premature baby to be born into than the United Kingdom of 2010.

He was in hospital a day shy of four weeks. During this time, one learned any number of new and interesting things; how to administer a tube feed (through the nose), for example, or the fundamentals of neonatal emergency medicine. Most vividly, one learned that no matter how much time and money the NHS spends trying to educate those associating with its some of its most vulnerable patients in the basics of hygiene, there will always be a narcissistic Glaswegian who'll say 'Ahm nae washin' ma hauns'.

They weren't one of Our Town's better ambassadors. But that the effort is sometimes pointless doesn't mean that it shouldn't be made.

However, the overwhelming impression I got from this experience is that having midwives is A Very Good Thing. In consequence, any move to cut the number of midwives working in the NHS must be A Very Bad Thing. Not only is it A Very Bad Thing, it would also be A Very Stupid Thing. British society in the 21st Century is full of what Chesterton might have called not common sense, but uncommon nonsense, and anything that might lead to the death of tiny children capable of surviving with the help of nothing more than a little technology and a great deal of care and attention is to be deplored.

He went on strike on Christmas Day, you know - he was having so much fun that he wouldn't go down for his afternoon nap. That's my boy.