�elia alden
No one has the right
to become a single
mother on the NHS
f some of the key terms
making up today’s
Lexicon of Outrage need
defining, let me help you
out. “Offended” – as in
“I’m offended you
mistook me for the gender I am”/ “used
an affectionate form of address with
me” – translates as: “I feel invisible, and
this is the easiest way to get attention.”
“Triggered” – as in “by telling me
upsetting historical or biological facts,
my teacher triggered my anxiety
issues” – is a variation on that same
theme. And anything decried as
“archaic” or “outdated” tends to mean
that somewhere along the line, plain
old common sense has been employed.
A new regional NHS policy banning
single women from accessing IVF is
being described by critics as both
“shockingly outdated” and
“demeaning”. And it’s true the wording
of the leaked internal document used
to justify the ban is brutal.
Current national NHS guidelines
state that all women under the age of 43
who have been trying to get pregnant
for two years should be offered IVF- which costs around £3,500 per cycle
- but the new policy that makes single
women in NHS South East London
ineligible is based on findings that: “A
sole woman is unable to bring out the
best outcomes for the child.”
“Single mothers are generally
poorer,” the 2011 document, seen by a
Sunday newspaper, states, “thereby
placing a greater burden on society in
general.” And it concludes: “Denial of
fertility treatment has a limited impact
on a woman’s life satisfaction.”
As a woman (blessed enough to be a
mother) I read those words through
parted fingers. Because it’s hard for me
to imagine anyone deliberately setting
out to do something as tough as raising
a child alone – although I know some
do, and NHS South East London will
doubtless have statistics backing up
their controversial decision. Because
the single mothers who read those
words will be cut to the quick by the
assumption their children won’t have
“the best outcome”. And because, in
the kind of bald localised terms these
bodies have to think in, those
statements are, no doubt, correct.
Inevitably, “denial of fertility
treatment” has been read bydissenters as “denial of children”. And
how could the effect of that denial on
a woman desperate enough to go
through the daily injections and
complex series of procedures that IVF
entails be “limited”?
Yet the word “denial” in that second
context also implies that it is every
woman’s right to be a mother: single,
married, gay, straight or identifying as
any one of the orientations laid out in a
sexual smorgasbord for us by the PC
brigade. And her right for that
motherhood to be paid for by the state.
If we extend that entitlementI
Cut and thrust: John Humphrys ran at the intruder in his garden, armed with a pair of secateursOnline telegraph.co.uk/opinion Email [email protected] Instagram @celia.waldenL
ast Sunday, I went to
church – Kim
Kardashian and Kanye
West’s favourite. Zoe Church,
founded by 39-year-old
hipster preacher, Chad
Veach, has made Christianity
cool again out here in LA (and
New York), populated as it is
by Gen-Z models and actors
in crop tops and degrees ofdeconstructed denim, who
sip on Zoe’s own-brand
coffee throughout the
service.
That service was held not
by Kanye (who likes to guest
host on occasion) but a
“celebrity” preacher who also
wore jeans – with a baseball
cap. And although I found the
singalongs rousing, andunderstood by the number of
digits being exchanged
outside afterwards how
efficient a dating service this
particular church could be, I
doubt any of the youngsters
or celebrities genuinely
searching for salvation there
are going to find it in a place
where “the merch”
(merchandise) available tobuy is detailed in the sermon.
They won’t find it in green
juices, yoga, meditation,
cow-cuddling (the new thing)
or any of the other religion-
lite fads promising to save
their souls, either. But that
won’t stop these fly-by-night
believers trying anything
that’s hip – and delivers
instant gratification.rationale to every area of life, we end
up in a Roald Dahl-esque world not
dissimilar to the one we’re living in
now. Grandmothers who won’t be
around to see their children graduate
should have a right to have IVF. Maybe
kids should be allowed to have kids.
We should have a right to perfect
health, despite our box-set death-
march lifestyles. And to gorge on
Krispy Kremes safe in the knowledge
that we won’t be “fat shamed” by GPs
who, frankly, should know better (I
mean, hello? They put obese people
on the cover of magazines now).
I should be allowed to have the
breasts I want – and Angelina Jolie’s
nose. And if I can prove the
“psychological distress” those
biological unfairnesses are causing
me, the NHS might fork out for both.
We are all entitled to the kind of 24/
joy that would give a “happy face
emoji” lockjaw. And if we don’t have
that: we are entitled to drugs. All of
this, it goes without saying, should be
free.
I’m being flippant, when social
infertility – a term that refers to
women who have reached their
30s/40s but have not found a suitable
partner to have a child with – is a very
real and nuanced issue that can’t be
comprehensively addressed either by
a set of blunt NHS guidelines or
indeed by this column. And as at least
42 per cent of marriages in England
and Wales will end in divorce, the
whataboutery we could enter into
around something as sensitive and
case dependent as “the best outcomes”
for our children is endless.
What’s certain, however, is that all
the options we now have at our
disposal have only bred a permanent
dissatisfaction with our lot. And
perhaps one of the most surprising
passages of the otherwise bone-dry
document that the new guidance has
been based on is where it quotes
Aristotle’s principle of equality: “Treat
equals equally, so a couple compared
to a couple is equal. A woman or man
compared to a couple is not equal, and
by attempting to think of them as such
has no ground or support.”
Those “shockingly outdated” words
sound like plain common sense to me.WALDEN’S
WORLD
My Sunday service at
the A-listers’ churchAny Today fan would know to beware Humphrys
H
e can’t have been a
Today listener, can he- the man who broke
into John Humphrys’s home?
Anyone who had woken up to
the BBC Radio 4 host’s own
brand of tetchiness-spilling-
over-into-outright-aggression
would know that the man
was likely to come at you
with a pair of secateurs – he’s
done the same thing to his
guests verbally for 32 years.
Recounting the event in
Waitrose Weekend magazine,
76-year-old Humphrys has
admitted that, in retrospect,
charging at the intruder he
had spotted behind a bush in
his garden one morning, and
brandishing the garden
implements “as though they
were a cavalryman’s sabre”,
had been an “unwise choice”.But none of us knows what
our instincts would be in such
moments. I remember one
male friend explaining that
when he came down the stairs
in the middle of the night to
find a burglar standing there,
the prevailing feeling wasn’t
anger or fear, “but a kind of
social awkwardness – as
though neither of us quite
knew what the etiquette was”.RII SCHROER FOR THE TELEGRAPHWe all feel entitled to
the kind of joy that
would give a ‘happy
face emoji’ lockjaw
When did exam results
become a festival of excess?
S
crolling through my social
media, the words “Dubai here
we come! Roll on Thursday!”
sprung out from a friend’s page.
It struck me as odd, going away so
late in the holidays, but then the
significance of Thursday registered:
GCSE results day. My pal was doing
what many consider the norm these
days – preparing to celebrate exam
results with all the lavishness of a
milestone birthday or wedding.
Most parents I know are booking
the day off work at the very least.
The majority are having extended
family over for dinner, or a special
meal out. There are garden parties
planned with marquees and bunting,
and I’ve seen requests for bakers to
produce exam-themed cakes.
And me? Well, I will be going with
my son Will to collect his results on
Thursday morning, but beyond that,
nothing. I might make something a
bit more special for our dinner, and
obviously my congratulations (or
commiserations) will be laid on
thick. But I refuse to turn my son’s
results into a festival of excess, built
on how much money I can spend.
And I certainly won’t be parading
him or his results on Facebook.
It’s no secret that having children
provides all manner of opportunities
to stealthily boast about everything
from your newborn’s sleeping
prowess, to how your seven-year-old
will only eat broccoli. However, as
the mother of a 16 year-old, I was
glad to be at the stage where most of
the parents I know were over
child-related humble bragging and
more likely to be showing
off about their own
gym regimes, new
cars, or exotic
holidays without
the kids.
Then exam time came,
and good Lord, the ante
was upped. Suddenly it
was wall-to-wall
“hashtag dedicated”
pictures of kids poring
over their revision notes,
updates about every exam,
and now, “nail-biting” andAhead of this week’s
GCSE results, Kelly Rose
Bradford urges parents
to keep calm“x more sleeps” posts counting down
to results day.
It became so tedious that I muted a
few friends, and even removed myself
from a Whatsapp group. An
overreaction perhaps, but I know I’m
not alone in finding it all a bit much.
“Is Sarah’s daughter the only child
taking exams?” one pal messaged me,
as a mother we know shared daily
updates of her offspring’s revision
schedule, with photos of superfood
smoothies she was forcing down her
to apparently boost her brainpower.
“Do you think Claire is OK?”
another mum asked, as a mutual
friend cancelled all social
engagements claiming she couldn’t
“take her eyes off the ball” during the
exam period and leave her son home
alone. What she expected her very
studious and academic boy to get up to
if she popped out to a yoga class or
book club, God only knows. Of
course, she shared the
acts of martyrdom on
Facebook, alongside
the hashtags “devoted
mother” and “exam
stress”.
I then saw parents mark
their youngsters’ final
exams with an expensive
treat – I know (through
Facebook, naturally) of at
least one A-level student
who came home to find a
new car on the driveway.(“Will they take it back if his grades are
rubbish?” queried my son) While the
mum of a Year 11 girl we know whisked
her daughter and three friends away
for an “end of exams girls’ week” on a
Greek island, a grinning picture of
them around the pool with a bottle of
champagne appearing on Facebook
seemingly before they’d even had time
to unpack. “They’re not old enough to
be drinking,” was my very
unimpressed son’s response.
Perhaps I’m a bit “hands off ” about
it all, thanks to my own experience.
Back in August 1989, my parents didn’t
even ask what I’d got when the brown
envelope dropped on the doormat. In
fact, the postman was more interested
in my results than my family. And as
for celebrations... I think my best
friend and I shared a few illicit cans of
beer in the local churchyard.
And while all this very over the top
celebrating doesn’t sit well with me, it
did momentarily leave me wondering
if I should be pushing the boat – or the
credit card – out on Thursday?
I got my answer last night, when I
saw yet another parent posting about
their plans (a celebratory weekend in
Paris). Will’s reply when I asked if he
was disappointed we weren’t having a
party or a trip away convinced me my
attitude was right: “No way,” he said.
“All my friends just want their parents
to butt out. The fuss is embarrassing.
Especially when they put it online.”
And looking at my computer screen,
he gave a hollow laugh. “Finn is
dreading Paris – he’s hoping his results
are so bad they get him out of going.”Making the grade: garden parties, cars
and lavish holidays await on results dayGETTY IMAGESOn song: Kanye
West performs
at the 2019
Coachella
Valley Music
and Arts
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new carThe Daily Telegraph Tuesday 20 August 2019 *** 19
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