As I write, a measles outbreak has been declared in South East Wales where I live. Four people, apparently, have been diagnosed with measles not far from our home in the past few weeks.
Beverley Griggs, described as a “consultant in health protection for Public Health Wales, and chair of the multi-agency Outbreak Control Team”, told the Caerphilly Observer: “Measles is a highly infectious disease, and cases have been r ising across the UK and Europe in recent months, so this development is not unexpected.
“As a result of having clear evidence of spread from the initial case, we have declared an outbreak of measles in the Gwent area.”
Back in February, Sir Frank Atherton, Wales’s chief medical officer, apparently warned that measles outbreaks could become more frequent in Wales unless urgent action was taken. Sir Frank “called on parents to make sure their children are up to date with their childhood vaccinations”.
Meanwhile, despite this news and despite my greatest parental efforts, my four-month old son has not had a single immunisation.
We have had two appointments cancelled with the explanation that no one at the GP surgery – not a single doctor or nurse – is trained to give children vaccines. This is impossible, of course, because any qualified doctor is able to administer injections, but no, they need to t rain someone up to do this, which will take time.
One of my many parental attempts to get my child vaccinated – this time a phone call to my surgery to ask what is going on and whether there was somewhere else I could go and get these jabs – was greeted with the response: “I don’t know, I only work on reception.” I confess that I shouted at this person and then hung up the phone.
I am finding it increasingly hard to live in Wales and be a polite person. Every time I leave my house I feel as though I may as well go straight to the confessional and apologise in advance for all the angry and violent thoughts that will run through my head or indeed come out of my mouth over the course of the day.
I have also just come to the end of another Wales-specific medical battle, which involved trying to sort out my son’s tongue-tie, which compromises breastfeeding and can cause speech problems and other trouble later in life.
According to NHS Wales, tongue-tie does not exist as a problem and dealing with it – cutting the fold of tissue which connects the tongue to the bottom of mouth; a split-second procedure which produces almost no blood and which the baby forgets immediately – is “mutilation”. Over the border in England, however, the NHS will help you sort this out no problem.
Every morning, I am confronted by a series of pointless 20mph zones on the school r un – a genius new measure brought in by Wales’s Labour government. One such zone is on a long stretch of road with not a single house on it and often not a pedestrian in sight.
It fills me first with rage when I see the signs, and then with glee as I observe that 90 per cent of cars continue to drive at 40mph on this road anyway. I cannot help but think that my emotional energy could be more usefully expended in other ways.
An acquaintance who runs a shop in our nearest town was asked the other day by a visiting media crew if she’d like to meet Vaughan Gething.
This acquaintance, an intelligent and articulate member of the local community, replied: “Who is Vaughan Gething?” When she told our Pilates class this, six out of eight of us asked the same question.
For those who don’t know, Vaughan Gething is the First Minister of Wales. He replaced Mark Drakeford, who stepped down a month ago. He leads the Welsh government, yet most people don’t even know who he is.
“They didn’t let me meet Vaughan Gething after that,” said my acquaintance, and we all laughed. But what an utterly depressing state of affairs it is that so many of us have become so disengaged.
An excellent article in the Telegraph, headlined “Mark Drakeford’s Wales: how to ruin a country” goes into more detail about how this has come about – my tales are just anecdotal.
My mother, who escaped Communist Poland 45 years ago, says it is all too familiar to her. On the bright side, at least we can say with some certainty that the Catholic Church won’t be affected. If anything, judging by what happened in Poland, it could grow stronger as daily life becomes increasingly unbearable.
And in the meantime, perhaps I’ll become a better person from all the time spent confessing my ugly thoughts and rages.
<strong><strong>This article originally appeared in the May 2024 issue of the <em>Catholic Herald</em>. To subscribe to our award-winning, thought-provoking magazine and have independent and high-calibre counter-cultural Catholic journalism delivered to your door anywhere in the world click</strong> <mark style="background-color:rgba(0, 0, 0, 0)" class="has-inline-color has-vivid-cyan-blue-color"><a href="https://catholicherald.co.uk/subscribe/?swcfpc=1">here</a></mark>.</strong>
