Skip to main content

Rant warning: belittling women

British society. British life. British medicine. All victims of insult, ridicule and damning comment - from time to time. With regard to the latter, and specifically the NHS, currently time to time is all the time. However, there are some things that we take for granted in the UK and in the light of what follows, perhaps we should be standing on the roof-tops and declaring what a fantastic country this is.

Women here - since the sexual revolution of the 1960s - have the right to choose if and when they get pregnant. The contraceptive pill is to thank for a reduction in numbers of women dying as a result of botched, back-street abortions. Yes - I mean dying! Bleeding to death, or dying from an overwhelming pelvic infection, are both horrible ways to go. And preventable. The contraceptive pill is not 100% safe, no medication is, but the newer ones, taken correctly, are over 99% effective in the prevention of pregnancy.

We take for granted our right to choose. And so far the British state supports this.

It should send shivers up all our spines then, that some right wing fundamentalists in America are, not only suggesting that the teaching of contraception be stopped in schools, but are also proposing a law, that would allow employers to penalise women who take the pill for contraceptive, and not purely medical, reasons. They even have a potential presidential candidate who has apparently stated that raped women should be forced to have their 'gifts from God' and be denied abortions. I wish I was making this up!

Maybe, prohibiting contraception is an underhand way of making professional development impossible for women in America and thereby increasing the rate of male employment. Or is that too cynical?

I am scared by this. And I think we all should be. I hope that, in this case, the observation where America leads, we follow is not prophetic.

Apologies to anyone looking for funny anecdotes about Littlest and Four-legged-friend. I'll get back to that tomorrow.

In the meantime, perhaps living in Britain is not so bad after all.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Colour, Delacroix, flochetage and why don't we all have a go at inventing words

Yes - it is a real word. Flochetage. Well, a real-ish word. One invented by the painter Delacroix, when he found the dictionary cupboard bare and required a word to describe his technique of layering different coloured paints, using lightly pulled brush strokes to create texture and pattern and thereby enhance his base-layer colours (... lost? - stick around, read on and all will become clear. Or perhaps muddier ...). Flochetage implies both stringiness and threadiness. Apparently. And it sounds good - in a filling-the-mouth-with-sound sort of a way. Try it ... flochetaaaage. Not that I speak French. So I am probably mis-pronouncing it. Nor am I an artist. So what do I know about painting techniques - except that I think this one works. What I do like is the concept - you invent a new technique in whatever it is you do, hunt around for the vocabulary to describe it, find the dictionary is lacking, so make up a word of your own and announce to the world what it means. Delacroix isn...

My beloved boy, how lucky I have been

It's an odd thing that when we are waiting for someone to die ... and I say someone here even though the one in question was a dog - but to us he had character and a place forever in our hearts and was more of a familiar someone than some of the people in our lives. So, I'll start again - it's an odd thing that when we are waiting for someone to die, our senses go into overdrive. We notice things that normally would be part of the background of our every day. We breathe more - or rather, we don't but what we do is notice our breathing more, as we watch his. We pause. We think. We listen to ourselves and our inner voices speak. Memories flood our dreams ... though sleep is fitful.  Why am I telling you this? ... ... we lost this beautiful boy today And in the hours before he went, I saw perfect spheres of dew on blades of grass - little orbs holding micro-images of our world; a bumble bee drunk on nectar, yellow-dusted with pollen, resting in a crocus; ten - yes, ten! ...

Walking, wondering and not walking at all

We all walk. I walk every day. I also lie. I don't walk every day, as in I don't take the dogs for a walk every day. Poor boys, in this season of tax returns and desperate seeking of extra work and working to pay the tax bill, they are the losers. Four-legged-friend was looking distinctly skinny in his hind legs, when I brushed his coat while he wolfed down his supper this evening (he tries to eat the brush if I take it near him at any other time, so meal times have become grooming times). Oddly, I lose out on the walking too, but this fails to have the same effect on my 'skinniness'... Anyway, we all walk. We walked on Christmas day - Littlest and I walked at the weekend - Slowly. Time to appreciate the trees. Time to encourage the smelly boys into the freezing water. Time for the sun to go down. Time to walk very, very slowly - Littlest's finger phone was engaged throughout in deep discussion with the zoo warden - da...