FOUR FINGERS AND THIRTEEN TOES — WHEN IS AN APOLOGY NOT AN APOLOGY?

The answer is quite simple – when it comes in the form of an Oral Statement from a Minister of State of the current British Government.

Yesterday, 14^th January 2010, was billed as the day Thalidomide impaired people in this country would hear the word “sorry”.  I, like many others, watched the Health Minister Mike O’Brien make the Oral Statement to an almost empty Chamber, which was sadly bereft of any political clout.  There was no Prime Minister to apologise, no Leader of the Opposition, who would set aside party political differences, to agree with the Prime Minister that for nearly five decades successive Governments, had “fudged” the issue of accepting the part played by previous administrations in the Thalidomide saga.  I had looked forward to applauding the show of unity from two senior political leaders, who both know, first hand, the responsibilities of caring for a disabled child.  Perhaps more importantly, I eagerly awaited a statement from the Prime Minister who is himself a disabled person. 

Instead, what was on offer was a statement of “sincere regret and deep sympathy” from an MP who is not even a member of the Cabinet.

You may wonder why I am so incensed … Sadly; a Statement of regret is not – by any stretch of the imagination – an apology.

An apology includes an admission of error or wrongdoing.  Regret merely expresses a desire that the event had not happened, without any acceptance of wrongdoing.

This is what was said … “The Government wishes to express its sincere regret and deep sympathy for the injury and suffering endured by all those affected when expectant mothers took the drug thalidomide between 1958 and 1961 … We acknowledge both the physical hardship and the emotional difficulties that have faced both the children affected and their families as a result of this drug, and the challenges that many continue to endure, often on a daily basis.”

It would only have taken a five letter word beginning with “s” and ending with “y” to have brought closure for many, in what was the worst medical disaster ever to be seen in Great Britain and the Commonwealth.

In the statement there was no admission that Government had supported Distillers in establishing a Biochemicals division during the early years of World War II.  There was no acknowledgement that, at the very least, a public enquiry should have been held into this tragedy, and most importantly, there was no acceptance of liability that Governmental and administrative failures allowed Thalidomide to wreak havoc with so many lives over a sustained period of time.

Wouldn’t it have been comforting to the parents of Thalidomide impaired children, to have been afforded the sincerity given to the Ghurkha veterans, after the campaign by Joanna Lumley for proper recognition of their plight.  Wouldn’t it have been appropriate for Government to acknowledge that our parents were placed in an impossible situation because of legal and other issues during the early years of the fight for compensation.   But then, maybe that would have been too much to ask. 

When my mother died at the young age of 49 years, I firmly believed that the strain of looking after such a severely disabled child took its toll on her health.  I know I am not alone when I say this.  There are many Thalidomide impaired people who have lost parents in circumstances like mine.  For this reason alone, it would have been of enormous comfort to us to hear a Governmental acknowledgement of responsibility.

When news broke of the agreement of further funding and of the pending formal statement, media hype was such that even the Sunday Times (so pivotal in the 1970’s fight and more recently during this current campaign) was expecting the Prime Minister to make the Statement.  However, what we got was a Minister who, at times, seemed ill at ease with the Statement he was making and spent much of his response time paying tribute to everyone involved in the negotiation process.  I am pleased there was an acknowledgement of the good work done by Lords Morris and Ashley, and of course, we cannot underestimate the contribution made by Harold Evans and his team at the Sunday Times.  However, not once did the Minister refer directly to the people at the forefront of the fight back in the 1960’s and 70’s – our parents. 

I have to make it clear that I commend the work of the present campaigners, and their commitment to the cause cannot be underestimated.  However, there was, I think, a lack of understanding that much of what needed to be said, should have been addressed to our parents.  For me, the anticipated apology was for them; as much as it was for us.

As and when the technicalities of how the additional funding will be managed are made known, it will of course make life a little easier.  I am however uncomfortable with the fact that the Minister referred simply to “Thalidomiders in England.”  The Thalidomide issue is a country-wide issue, and should have been addressed as such.  We Thalidomide impaired people in Wales, Scotland and Northern Ireland (not forgetting those in other Commonwealth countries) are right to feel a little aggrieved at being excluded from the “evaluation” of how our health needs “can be best met in the longer term.”

Also, the public should be under no illusion that the 466 beneficiaries of this additional money will not become ultra-rich.  Put in context, £20 million will be distributed, at the discretion of the Thalidomide Trust.  By comparison, we should remember that during the latter months of last year, £90 million was shared between eight people in a massive lottery win.  Media headlines like “set for a deal” or “£20 million payout” are misleading and is not helpful in allowing us to continue the low-key life that most of us seek.  Friends may perceive us in a different light and people in the supermarket may look at us differently.  But what they forget is that the Statement of Regret or the additional funding does not change the simple fact, that we have very unique impairments that no amount of money or support can completely obviate.

During yesterday, the telephone at home did not stop ringing.  I was invited to comment on the so-called apology and make a statement for public consumption.  During these interviews, I expressed sadness that the much anticipated apology had not materialised.  Even having had the chance to now fully digest the Minister’s Statement I have not changed my view. 

As I left the BBC studios after one such interview, I noticed a small Robin perched on the wall just near to my car.  The Robin was my Mum’s favourite bird.  Its bright cheery red breast still reminds so much of her lovely warm personality.  As I passed, the bird flew away, and it left me wondering whether this was my Mum’s way of saying “No worries, it will be alright in the end.”  I am sure it will be, but I fear the opportunity for that long awaited and genuine, heart-felt apology has now passed, and such an opportunity will not arise again.

FOUR FINGERS AND THIRTEEN TOES – GADGETS AND GISMOS

In our house, the end of August traditionally heralds the arrival of a time to have a real good sort out.  That probably applies to most households anywhere in the world where there are kids getting ready to start the new school year.  But this August was a little bit different as James had decided it was time to have a good bedroom clearout.  You know, the kind of mass clearance that we do when we leave one part of our lives and move onto a new chapter.

The time had come to find more space for the trendy new clothes that had been bought over the holidays, and ditch the torn and battered posters in favour of new ones ranging from Sly Stallone to The Stig … You get the drift, the move from childhood to entrenched teenager!!

The Bank Holiday weekend dawned.  The weather was … wet as usual, and with gusto I sent Steve (my lovely hubby) into the abyss that had hitherto passed for the corner wardrobe in James’ bedroom.  Me, I don’t do cleaning! The little matter of four fingers and thirteen toes gives me a great escape clause.  However, I am a great believer in delegation and I am a superb supervisor!! 

James also opted out of the job in hand.  He had decided the time was right to accept an invitation to  spend the night (with a couple of mates) in a friends’ garden shed, that has recently been renovated “Extreme Makeover” style to accommodate a flat screen TV, a sofa, a mattress and a fridge (soft drinks only of course!)

So, back to the bedroom.  Out came the primary school books.  They were duly boxed up with the efficiency that can only come from a Solicitor archiving his files!!  Next out, came the Key Stage 3 books.  It only seemed like yesterday that my “baby” had moved from primary school to high school, and now his books were being crated up in the hope that these manuscripts would at some stage in the future open the memory to a time when innocence was bliss.  

Then came the real heart-wrencher … the baby stuff.  First the cuddlies – “Duck Duck” (he always went to nursery with James), “Dotty” (the stuffed cat that came from a great-grandparent) and all manner of other wonderful reminders of a magical time that I have chronicled in my book.

Then, we came across the gadgets and gismos that were acquired to make life easier for me in caring for James.  There was the baby grow that we bought for James to wear home from hospital with easy open poppers, that made getting him dressed and undressed as uncomplicated as possible.  But then the Pièce de résistance emerged.  A retractable dog lead that I used to extend the standard length walking reigns that you get for your inquisitive toddler.  I just clipped the lead onto the reigns and hey-presto, you have a child who thinks he’s walking ahead of the pack, but when danger strikes – just one flick of a switch and the toddler comes flying back – rather like superman (but, please be assured that no child was harmed during the use of this piece of equipment!!).  However, if I had a pound for every passer-by who asked whether he was pulling me along, I’d be rich woman!!!

For disabled people, gadgets of any description can really make life easier.  Technical stuff, like voice activated software, that I now use on my computer has enhanced the quality of my working life so much.  It is sometimes hard to remember how I managed before, tapping away at the keyboard with two sticks, one tucked under each arm.  And, prior to that, scribbled writing with pen clenched between two fingers and my chin pressed down on the top of the pen for stability.

Similarly, those little lengths of doweling rod that I have strategically placed around the house still come into their own for pushing things back or pulling them closer.  I have a helping hand for picking things up that have been dropped on the floor — although don’t expect to be able to pick up anything heavier than a pen or a piece of paper. 

Whenever we go on day trips, holidays or to visit people with inaccessible homes, we take a folding portable ramp.  There are all sorts of gadgets and gizmos in our kitchen from battery operated can openers to electric knives.  The environmental control system is brilliant at being able to turn lights and other electronic equipment on and off, and of course the automatic front door opening system, which can be used either from an intercom or key fob, is essential.

But you know you are getting older when the gadgets you need are more functional than Hi-tech. 

Take the loo for example.  When it’s a struggle to get from your wheelchair to the toilet seat and back again, you know it’s time for action. 

So, how do you remedy such a delicate dilemma?  Well, the first thing you do is telephone your friendly Clos-o-Mat man.  He’s the guy who comes every now and again to service the shower toilet (it’s like a toilet with bidet combined).  When you finally get hold of him, you tell him that you need a higher plinth. 

After his visit, the result is a toilet that looks rather like a porcelain birthday cake.  Now, when I sit on the loo, I look like one of those figurines you see twirling around in the window of the local jewellers shop.  Steve and James think it’s hilarious.  But no matter, I now get on and off the loo with the grace and elegance of a ballerina!!

As a child and into my early teens I spent many hours in hospitals and rehabilitation units experimenting with all sorts of aids and equipment, which I was constantly told would make life easier and enable me to be independent!  Some of them, like my electric wheelchair, were brilliant and liberating.  Others were hideous, useless and impossible to use — a “bottom wiper” springs to mind! 

Picture the scene.  My legs end way above the average persons’ knees and I have two fingers protruding from each shoulder.  The bottom wiper was basically a plastic coated length of thick wire that had been bent at one end to make a loop so you could hold it.  The other end was coiled around a sponge.  I was expected to be able to tuck some toilet paper around the sponge – the toilet roll being out of reach seemed to have evaded the very keen occupational therapist – then wipe my derrière whilst I balanced on my ribs, on the arm of my wheelchair and with my dress held up in my teeth, all at the same time.  Now you know why I opted for a Clos-o-Mat!!!

I guess the moral of the story is this.  Over the years, the way I’ve had to do things has evolved.  A wacky approach to everyday life is part and parcel of being a disabled person.  No matter how many fingers and toes you have, everything is possible with some lateral thinking.  There really is nothing to be gained by worrying about how other people perceive you.  It is best to just get on and do what you do, as best you can.

FOUR FINGERS AND THIRTEEN TOES – A POISON CHALACE

Television drama can, by its very nature, be a vehicle to relay a message to the viewing public on an issue which is high in social, moral or political content.  And so I have no doubt, that many Thalidomide impaired people settled down to watch Holby City on BBC1 last night (25^th August 09) to see how using Thalidomide for medical purposes would be portrayed during primetime TV.

Mat Fraser, an accomplished actor in his own right, and also one of my many Thalidomide impaired friends, gave a good convincing performance of a patient diagnosed with Multiple Myeloma – a terminal cancer with limited treatments being available.  Having been diagnosed with Myeloma he was offered the choice of palliative care or a more radical treatment which, whilst not curing his condition, could prolong his life by possibly 18 months.  The irony in this case was the patient was a Thalidomide man in his late 40’s being offered the chance of “extra-time” by taking a concoction of drugs including Thalidomide – the very drug that had caused so much suffering during his lifetime.

The character had enjoyed a good life despite his impairment, and recently discovered he was the father of a child by his Vietnamese girlfriend.  He was therefore presented with a dilemma as to whether he accepted his condition or sought to prolong his life in order to spend time with his son before his death.  

What concerns me for viewers, who have not been affected by the Thalidomide tragedy, is that the outcome of the programme will be that far more people with Myeloma and possibly other conditions will now misguidedly demand Thalidomide.

Thalidomide is currently licensed for the treatment of Multiple Myeloma, but is still being prescribed on a “named patient” basis and for research purposes for other conditions.  The manufacturers continue to work on its development, and of course in the process make many millions of pounds from striving to regenerate what was commonly known as a ‘wonder drug’.

During the programme, the script writers touched upon the havoc Thalidomide wreaked in the 1960’s.  Mat’s character relayed his desire to just walk down the street – anonymously – and without people staring at him.  Had they been brave enough, I think the script writers could have gone much further… Throughout the world there are thousands of Thalidomide impaired people, not only of my generation, but also of the so-called second generation in South America, who struggle to cope with their Thalidomide impairments.  Chronic pain, depression and bodies ageing at a far greater rate than our peers, are just some of the problems that we face on a daily basis.

But I appreciate that patient storylines are there to link the continuing saga of the medical personnel at Holby, which run through the whole of the series and can only be limited in what they cover.

In 1999, I attended a convention organised by the Thalidomide Victims Association of Canada.  During the convention, one of the Doctors who spoke bravely told us how he foresaw a situation where Thalidomide impaired people might benefit from the use of Thalidomide for cancers and other conditions in later life.  

And so it was that last night’s programme became a case of drama meeting fact, which mirrors much of what we see on television.  The dilemma of health over risk is one which presents itself on a daily basis to those working in the field of medicine and medical research.  It was not an easy subject to tackle, and for me the jury is still out as to whether the BBC did justice to this contentious issue, or not.

One of the closing images from programme showed the Thalidomide man pondering over whether to take the drug.  In the end, his decision was made on the basis that by taking the drug he would be able to see his son, and some of you reading this blog may consider that to be the right decision. 

Having lived with my Thalidomide impairment, and seen the regeneration of Thalidomide gather pace over the last decade, I am still not convinced, that given its past, it is right for the drug to be used at all.

If science deems that Thalidomide should be used for patient care, then unlike the patient on Holby City who was just offered a pamphlet about the drug, those who are either advised or are considering using Thalidomide should remember its history and be told of its known toxicity so that they can make an informed choice on usage.

(More information on this issue can be found in Four Fingers and Thirteen Toes by Rosaleen Moriarty-Simmonds)

FOUR FINGERS AND THIRTEEN TOES – HOLIDAY PLEASURE DELIVERS CHINESE SURPRISE

So, the holiday season is about half way through, the weather has not been great but we can console ourselves with the knowledge that Christmas is about 19 weeks away – what a thought!

Generally, holidays allow you to look forward to spending some time with your family, and doing things together that you don’t usually have time for at other more hectic times of the year.  And for our family it is no different. 

Our holiday destination this year was agreed as being Jersey in the Channel Islands.  So, having packed and left instructions for family members looking after the house, we set off on our annual sojourn for 12 nights of domestic bliss!!

Our journey was pretty stress-free, we got the car onto the catamaran without loosing the exhaust, the lift from the car deck to the passenger deck was working and I entertained myself with some duty-free shopping to pass the four hour journey in search of that illusive yellow ball that we sometimes see in the skies above the UK.

Jersey holds really good holiday memories for me.  I went there on numerous occasions when I was a teenager and later as a wannabe independent young adult.  When James was born, we took him to the Island for his first proper “bucket and spade” holiday and he had a ball.

Over the years the Island has changed, and is now far more ‘user friendly’ for disabled people.  All of the attractions and places of interest that we visited were fully accessible, and as we all have an interest in history, and particularly the second world war, we learnt a great deal about the historic aspects of our destination that sometimes you can overlook when you go on holiday.

We also enjoy the opportunity to spend some time reading, but Stephen forgot his book.  As a trip to Waterstones was planned anyway for me to do some book marketing, Stephen and James browsed the fiction shelves whilst I had a meeting with the Manager. I’m pleased to say that the availability of “Four Fingers and Thirteen Toes” now extends to Jersey.

Being the parent of a teenager presents its own particular challenges in the vein of holiday entertainment.  What you do has to hold the attention of an apprentice “Kevin”.  It was also James’s pending fourteenth birthday, which just happened to fall about midway through our break.  James was obviously excited … “I don’t want anyone to know it’s my birthday … Grandma hasn’t arranged a birthday cake at breakfast has she? … And “don’t you dare sing happy birthday to me within earshot of anyone.” 

OK, it was hard, my ‘baby boy’ is growing up; but this proud Mum wanted everyone to know it was his birthday.  So we rounded James’s day off with a visit to the Noble House Chinese Restaurant just outside St. Helier. 

The last time we were in Jersey, we had dined at the restaurant and it had ample space for two wheelchair users, and so when Steve booked the table, he didn’t even think to mention the fact.  Needless to say when we arrived at the restaurant, the Maitre D’ was rather surprised.  It transpired that there were a number of educational and corporate seminars taking place on the Island during our stay, and one such group had a booking for around twenty five people.  The problem was that the restaurant had recently undergone renovations and was partly divided into small booths that were no good for us.

However, a table was laid for us in an inconspicuous corner of the main dining area, and we had a lovely evening tucking into some of the finest Chinese food that we have tasted for a long time.

Now, have you ever been in a room and you just can’t help but overhear the conversations that are going on around you?  Sometimes it’s idle curiosity, and sometimes you just connect with certain words and phrases that those in the room are using.  As I love to watch people, I quickly gleaned that the party in the restaurant were midwives on the Island for a midwifery convention.  I could hear a couple of welsh voices in the group, and not being one to let an opportunity slip away, I decided that this may well be a captive audience who might be interested in my book.

Having finished our meal, James and Steve left me to my own devices.  Armed with a few business cards promoting “Four Fingers and Thirteen Toes” I approached the table.  In circumstances like this, you never really know whether you will be greeted with indifference or genuine interest.  I am pleased to say I was greeted with a real genuine interest that filled the time for these midwives between hors d’oeuvres and main course.

On chatting to them, it was clear that the age range around the table was considerable – from those experienced midwives to those just starting out on a promising and worthwhile career.  We talked about the inevitable impact of Thalidomide and on how those in the medical profession help disabled people in their quest to have children, and then came a quite astonishing coincidence.

The lady who was in charge of organising the evening indicated that she had practiced in Manchester and had delivered the first baby to be born to one of the most severely disabled Thalidomide impaired people.  The mother in question was none other than one of my oldest and closest friends Janette Cooke (nee Mottley).  For those of you who have read my book, you will recall that Janette passed away shortly after her 40^th birthday, but Janette’s successful delivery of her baby Kelly-Ann was in so many ways the catalyst for others, including me, to be given the chance of motherhood.

So with the holiday over, all the laundry done, and a mountain of work to catch up on, I’m now back at my desk, and of all the 100’s of emails in my inbox there was one that caught my eye.  It was promoting the TV appearance of another good Thalidomide impaired friend of mine – Mat Fraser.

For those of you reading this blog and having an interest in TV medical drama, can I recommend some viewing for you this week.  Watch out for Holby City on BBC1 this coming Tuesday, 25^th August at 8pm.  It is running a storyline about a Thalidomide man who has cancer.  Nothing special about the cancer story line, but the irony in this story is that the patient is asked to consider taking Thalidomide to prolong his life.  I hold strong views on the continued use of Thalidomide which can be found in “Four Fingers and Thirteen Toes”. 

I don’t know how the Holby storyline progresses, but it will be interesting to see how this contentious issue is dealt with during prime time TV.  Let’s hope that it balances fairly the rights and wrongs of using the drug, and it allows the viewer to make up their own mind on whether the benefit of using Thalidomide is outweighed by the risk of exposure.  We shall just have to wait and see.