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By Rebecca Feasey

I recently published a blog giving an overview summary of a research project that asked mothers in the television viewing audience to comment on their readings of motherhood on the small screen (Feasey 2016a). After presenting this work at a recent ‘Womb to World’ conference, I have been asked by Birthlight to consider the ways in which their members might be seen to adhere to or negotiate my original research findings. Birthlight members listened to my research and informed me of their individual maternal readings, before asking if Birthlight members could complete the questionnaire that informed the original project.

Birthlight is a ‘charity and teacher-training organisation focusing on the holistic approach to pregnancy, birth and babyhood’ (Birthlight 2016). During a time when pregnancy and childbirth are becoming increasingly medicalised, Birthlight members are committed to the ‘spiritual’ dimension of birth and view labour as a ‘light and fulfilling experience’ (ibid). The organisation supports families from conception through to the third year, with body-based practices inspired from yoga playing a crucial part in what members call ‘an expanding spiral of joy and wellbeing’ (ibid).  With this in mind, it is interesting to consider the ways in which Birthlight members responded to questions posed about representations of childbirth, their favourite maternal figures, those they can relate to and those that they see as problematic, and how this compares to the wider maternal population presented in the original research who had not spent time with the Birthlight group. In short, this blogpost seeks to draw attention to shared maternal responses from within and beyond the charity in question.

When asked if they liked to watch reality shows or television dramas about pregnancy or childbirth, many Birthlight members echoed the wider maternal population, with responses telling us that they not only felt an emotional connection with programmes such as One Born Every Minute (2010- ) when they were pregnant but that they looked to this programme and its successors for an insight into hospitalised childbirth. And like those women originally surveyed, the majority of those expecting Birthlight mothers, who were interested and invested in the show while pregnant, stopped watching soon after the birth of their first child due to an emotional or instructive need already fulfilled by the programme in question.

That said, for every Birthlight member who was emotionally invested in or looked for instruction in One Born Every Minute, there were those mothers who felt irritated, frustrated and angered by what they believed to be an unnecessarily dramatic and fear-inducing depiction of childbirth. What was interesting here was that for those women who looked to critique One Born Every Minute, they did so after their own childbirth, comparing their personal experiences to those seen on the small screen and finding them wanting. And such divisive readings of reality childbirth television echoes comments made by the original audience.

Comments relating to the question about ‘favourite’ television mothers again mirrored the wider maternal population as a number of these women pointed to the characters of Lorelai Gilmore (Gilmore Girls 2000-07), Lois Wilkerson (Malcolm in the Middle 2000-06), Sue Brockman (Outnumbered 2007-14) with the addition of Beverly Goldberg (The Goldbergs 2013- ) and Nadiya Hussain from Great British Bake Off (2010- ) fame. The common theme here was that these women were understood to be ‘real’ and believable characters rather than romanticised or rose-tinted figures, irrespective of their factual or fictional nature.

Some mothers pointed out that they struggled to find favourites or even likeable maternal figures because women in general and mothers in particular, tended to be marginalised in specific genres, which echoes recent research on what is being termed the ‘missing mother’ trope (Aström 2017). Sadly, however, this trope is not restricted to science fiction, fantasy or horror fare as suggested by some respondents, rather, it is evident in the wider cultural imagination. Indeed, a forthcoming volume makes the point that representations of motherhood are, across the medium of television, absent, missing and presumed dead in much popular media culture (ibid, Feasey 2017).

I was interested to find out if there were any mothers on television that inspired them or maternal figures that they could relate to, be it through parenting practices or sartorial choices, the Birthlight mothers formed an unwavering consensus, with each respondent answering in the negative here. That said, there was the acknowledgement from a maternal minority who felt that even though they could not relate to mothers on screen, they could on occasion learn from reality parenting texts such as the Three Day Nanny (2013- ), again echoing the findings from the original maternal survey.

Birthlight members were then asked to consider if there were any mothers on television that made them laugh, and the majority view was that there were very few humorous maternal figures on the small screen. Moreover, the small number of women that were mentioned such as Roseanne Conner (Roseanne 1988-97), Marge Simpson (The Simpsons 1989- ), Edina Monsoon (Absolutely Fabulous 1992-2012) and Lois Griffin (Family Guy 1999) were all firmly rooted in an earlier period of situation comedy. A few respondents made the point that although they didn’t like ‘laughing at’ other mothers, they felt a ‘frustrated laughter’ at those women who they deemed to be poor mothers, poor mothers by nature of their absence in their children’s lives. These responses blended into my next question that asked mothers in the television audience if they felt negatively towards maternal figures on the small screen, and if so, what was it about these mothers that encouraged ridicule or disapproval. Like the original responses, Birthlight mothers were divided, as some wanted to put an end to the ‘mommy wars’ which encouraged maternal divisions, whilst others spoke of their disapproval of what they deemed selfish mothers: those who put their own needs before and above their children – be it the Kardashian clan or the real desperate housewives.

What was interesting here was the fact that Birthlight members came to the research with the expectation of proposing or presenting an ‘alternative’ maternal voice, based in part on their shared ‘holistic approach to pregnancy, birth and babyhood’ (Birthlight 2016). However, it is clear that irrespective of time spent in NHS, NCT, Birthlight or other pre-pregnancy, pregnancy, childbirth or childcare classes, there is little in the way of diversity in these maternal readings. Birthlight members mirrored the broader maternal response when these women spoke of a desire for more maternal diversity on the small screen. They noted that television under-represents disabled mothers, fostering and gay family units, the medium presents very little in the way of racial differences, and when any of these maternal minorities are depicted, it is said to be ‘in a stereotypical fashion’ with ‘exaggerated characteristics assumed by the broader media and society’.

Bibliography:

Aström, Berit (2017) The Absent Mother in the Cultural Imagination: Missing, Presumed Dead, London: Palgrave Macmillan.

Birthlight (2016) ‘Welcome to Birthlight: For the Greater Enjoyment of Pregnancy, Birth and Babies,’ Birthlight. Available at: http://www.birthlight.co.uk(accessed 12/09/2016).

Feasey, Rebecca (2017) ‘Television and the Absent Mother: Why Girls and Young Women Struggle to Find the Maternal Role’ in Berit Aström (ed)The Absent Mother in the Cultural Imagination: Missing, Presumed Dead, London: Palgrave Macmillan, pp.tbc.

Feasey, Rebecca (2016a) Mothers on Mothers: Maternal Readings of Popular Television,’ WordPress.com, Available at: http://motherhoodandtelevision.wordpress.com/motherhood-and-the-media/(accessed 12/09/2016).

Feasey, Rebecca (2016b) Mothers on Mothers: Maternal Readings of Popular Television, London: Peter Lang.

 

Rebecca Feasey is Senior Lecturer in Film and Media Communications at Bath Spa University. She has published a range of work on celebrity culture, contemporary Hollywood stardom and the representation of gender in popular media culture. She has published in journals such as the Quarterly Review of Film and Video, the Journal of Popular Film and Television, the Journal of Gender Studies,Continuum: Journal of Media & Cultural Studies and the European Journal of Cultural Studies. She has written book length studies on masculinity and popular television (EUP, 2008) and motherhood on the small screen (Anthem, 2012). She is currently writing a research monograph on the ways in which women respond to representations of motherhood on television (Pater Lang, 2015:http://motherhoodandtelevision.wordpress.com/).

Introduction

Extant literature on ‘reality’ programmes such as A Baby Story (1998), Maternity Ward (2001) and One Born Every Minute (2010- ) make reference to the various ways in which representations of pregnancy and childbirth on television can be seen to either romanticise or demonise the birth experience in relation to notions of authenticity, reality and rigid stereotyping (Maher 2004, Stephens 2004, Morris and McInerney 2010). At a time when women are said to be ill-informed about the birth experience (Maushart 1999) and naïve in relation to notions of age related infertility (Bonifazi 2003), the role and responsibility of ‘reality’ programming might be understood as a key player in educating a future or expectant mother about the experience of childbirth. Therefore, examining the depiction of pregnancy and childbirth in factual and fictional programming is an important part of both media and motherhood studies because the medium has the power and scope to inform and educate alongside its ability to entertain a contemporary audience.

Rather than offer what Joke Hermes refers to as an ‘exceptionally knowledgeable’ (1995) reading of such television texts, it is crucial that we take as our starting point, the voice of the actual rather than assumed, imagined or hypothetical audience here. In this way, and only in this way will we be able to understand the pleasures, frustrations and public health messages on offer on the small screen. As one mother in the audience stated:

Given how much we unconsciously learn or assume is true from the depictions (of pregnancy and childbirth programming), I think they contribute significantly to the myths about pregnancy and childbirth that may only be dispelled via good antenatal classes or the experience of one’s own pregnancy and childbirth.

In order to identify the ways in which mothers in the television audience respond to representations of pregnancy and childbirth on television I created an online questionnaire, and requested responses through a number of social, charitable and networking associations including the NCT, Media Parents, Mumsnet, NetMums, nursery chains and women’s networks (Feasey 2013a). The questionnaire asked mothers in the audience to speak about their preferred, favourite, admired and more negative depictions of motherhood on television, spanning different decades, channels, genres, factual and fictional categories, presenters, pundits, actors and characters, and much of these responses inform the book length study Mothers on Mothers: Maternal Readings of Popular Television (forthcoming). However, it is the question that relates specifically to pregnancy and childbirth programming that was overlooked in that volume that I seek to address here.

I asked mothers in the audience if they ‘liked to watch reality shows or television drama about pregnancy and childbirth?’ with the added guidance, should they chose to read it asking if ‘programmes such as One Born Every Minute and The Midwives are educational, entertaining, nostalgic or frustrating to watch? And querying why they ‘like to watch fictional television drama such as Call the Midwife about expecting mothers and labour?’

Reality programming: sensationalism, fear and the nostalgia of childbirth

Just under half of the respondents made it clear that they do not watch any form of factual programming that focuses on the experiences of pregnancy or childbirth, but what is fascinating here is their reasons. These women did not simply state ‘no’ or leave the section blank but they took the time to give brief or extended reasons for their lack of engagement with such texts.

The notion that these programmes are ‘too dramatic’ and ‘unnecessarily affected’ or ‘theatrical’ is interesting here, especially given that shows such as Channel 4s One Born Every Minute are made, marketed and oft applauded as ‘reality’ by the shows creators, midwives and contributors. One Born Every Minute is a British reality pregnancy and childbirth programme that focuses on the late pregnancy and childbirth narratives of a number of women in a busy maternity unit. The series is referred to as ‘fly-on-the-wall’ in line with the documentary tradition because it is filmed by 40 small, fixed, remote-controlled cameras in the maternity unit, including reception, the neonatal ward, the operating theatre and birthing pool, which, although not invisible, are not intrusive as they seem to blend in with the other technological paraphernalia that adorns each room in the ward (Feasey 2013b). Indeed, the programme has been commended for its natural depiction of late pregnancy and childbirth by Sue Macdonald, the education manager of the Royal College of Midwives. Macdonald tells us that the programme gives an accurate portrayal of childbirth that can be both ‘natural’ and in need of intervention. She goes on to say that the show can act as an educator for pregnant women because ‘it does help women think about what it’s going to be like and help them plan what they want for their birth’ (Macdonald cited in Saner 2011). However, this is not necessarily how the show is read by many mothers in the audience:

I found them irritating and obviously picking the parents for the drama and entertainment factor.

 I can’t stand One Born Every Minute, it picks the difficult or sensationalist birth stories, which is frightening or saddening.

This refusal to watch what were seen as dramatic birth stories was even more pronounced for those mothers in the audience who were already scared by the idea of childbirth or who had themselves experienced first hand or knew of a traumatic, or what Naomi Wolf refers to as an ‘ordinary bad birth’ experience (Wolf 2002).

I used to watch One Born Every Minute but now that I’m pregnant for the first time I find it slightly scary to watch, as I’m apprehensive about the process of giving birth.

I watched One Born Every Minute before I had my baby, before I even got pregnant. Once I got pregnant I couldn’t watch it. I also had quite a traumatic birth, so I find I can’t watch it any more really.

Some audiences refuse to watch because of what they view as the over-dramatisation of the birth-experience; others find the traumatic births realistic, but it is then this realism that prevents them from watching the show in case of what one mothers refers to as ‘flashbacks’ to her own traumatic experiences. Several women here make the point that shows such as One Born Every Minute have the power to inform a generation of new mothers, but that they are instead, misinforming them about the lived experience of pregnancy and labour. Another group again, comprising mothers, midwives and other health professionals shun the programme for its lack of verisimilitude to the lived reality of childbirth.

I cannot stand One Born Every Minute. The midwives consistently show poor practice and it does not show birth in a good light.

The portrayal of midwifes isn’t realistic. In the programme they sit round chatting with the mums-to-be for ages. In my experience I’d press the buzzer and have to wait around 20 minutes for attention and the midwives were way too busy to sit around chatting.

Other criticisms of the show take the form of its over representation of the socio-economically disadvantaged mother, based on the assumption that maternal participants are paid for their pregnancy and child-birth ‘performance’ in front of the camera. And even though Channel 4 does not offer a financial reward to mothers who appear on the show, this does not mean that there is not a working class bias to the women included in the production, or what one mother refers to as a ‘skewed picture of society and birth’. Another respondent echoed this comment as she tells us that ‘I do think that the show attracts a certain type of participant, typically lower socio-economic status, lower education and therefore I don’t believe this show is fully representative of the whole variety of experiences and reactions to childbirth’. One might well wonder what would convince any woman to agree to be filmed during labour, and the sentiment behind appearing on the programme is overwhelmingly that families want a professional, yet still personal ‘record’ of their baby’s birth, while also using the show to inform and educate other women about the possibilities of childbirth. For example one couple who appeared on the show announced that:

We were apprehensive, because it is a very private thing … But we thought it would be a good memento for the babies. We also wanted to promote neonatal care … Everyone on the programme was so supportive, so it never felt intrusive. It’s emotional for both of us looking back and seeing those intimate moments. At the time you’re so wrapped up in it that it’s nice to be able to replay it later …  Because we had tried for a long time to get pregnant, I think it was important to show people that through all the heartache good things can happen (cited in Saner 2011).

In terms of criticisms of reality pregnancy and childbirth programming, one mother speaks of the role and responsibility of the maternal cliché, making the point that while One Born Every Minute plays to ‘lots of clichés, e.g. the surge of love or elation on seeing your baby for the first time’ this may ‘not be the case for all women as some feel calm, others panic, others feel numb’. And this sentiment echoes the work of maternal scholars and sociologists who have previously suggested that not only is the ‘good’ mother (one who blossoms during pregnancy, bonds with her baby on contact and then spends every waking moment tending to the diverse needs of a baby, then toddler, then infant, adolescent and adult with no thought to her own needs, wants or desires) a romanticised ideal for some mothers, but that the continued cultural power and pervasiveness of this ideal is harmful to those women who do not or cannot conform to this ‘accepted’ image of contemporary motherhood (Oakley 1979/81, Maushart 1999, Arnold 2003, Green 2004, Borisoff 2005, Douglas and Michaels 2005, Warner 2007, Feasey 2013b).

Although a number of women in the audience have diverse reasons for overlooking or critiquing One Born Every Minute, just over half of those who responded to my questionnaire were entertained and in some cases, informed by, and took comfort in the programme in question. We are told that several women prefer pregnancy and childbirth reality shows to their scripted counter-parts because programmes such as One Born Every Minute ‘don’t try to gloss over the realities of actually having a baby’. Rather, they were said to ‘give a good insight into the reality of childbirth in all its guises’ and therefore ‘demystify the whole experience’ of childbirth. And likewise, ‘I appreciate that it is heavily edited as a Docudrama, but expectant parents do watch it, and it does show some interesting aspects of birth’. However, when this self-same respondent notes that she only ‘sometimes watches … less than I used to’ she echoes a significant number of comments as many women made the point that they were only committed to the show for the duration of their own pregnancies and that due to their own lived experiences, they no longer needed the life lesson or reassurances that these programmes offered:

I suppose I now feel that now I’ve ‘done it’ myself I don’t need to watch anyone else or gain any more information!

I enjoyed watching for a short time, mainly when I was pregnant or shortly after I had my children, but I no longer watch them much. I now have enough reality in my life not to need any more!

For those women who continue to watch pregnancy and childbirth reality programmes after pregnancy, the overwhelming motivation for doing so is nostalgia, to use the programme as a reason to think back to their own pregnancy and birthing experiences, be it days, weeks, years or decades previously:

Yes I love the reality shows, it brings beck memories of my own labour and births.

Reminds me of the pain of labour and the indescribable joy of the birth of your child.

For those who continue to watch the show long after their own pregnancies and childbirth experiences, there are those who speak less of a specific nostalgic experience, and more of an enjoyment of what can be generally understood as ‘the human condition’:

My husband and I love to watch One Born Every Minute because it’s the beauty and wonderfulness of human life with all the possibilities of life and love.

Reality television programmes (such as One Born Every Minute) are interesting and entertaining (emotion and sharing a very special moment in somebodies life) – both before and after I had children.

While mothers in the audience were enthralled by the depiction of new life and growing families in reality programming, so too, they took pleasure in watching the minutia of family interaction and the funny ‘silly’ or amusing behaviours of the pregnant women, midwives and the revolving door of family, friends and birth partners. But another set of voices emerged, they were in the minority, but I wonder how much of this is to do with female self-censure and notions of ‘appropriate’ feminine dialogue. Some women spoke of envy, a sense of missing out, in part to do with primary or secondary infertility struggles, or on the back of their experiences as adoptive mothers or lesbian co-mothers.

I do watch, I probably shouldn’t, I am always torn between joy for those women on screen and my own desperation to be in their shoes.

 I have the joy of my own family, and I wouldn’t change it for the world, but as an adoptive mother I never went through the highs and lows of pregnancy and childbirth and I have often watched programmes like One Born Every Minute and wondered about what could have been …

Women habitually watch, refuse to watch or view pregnancy and childbirth reality programming for a limited time due to a relatively small number of reasons, education and childbirth instruction, vicarious and nostalgic experiences, a broader sense of the human condition or a veiled notion of envy. What was clear however in all responses, be they applauding or critiquing the reality genre, the notion of the real (or lack thereof) was crucial to their commentary. With this in mind then, it is enlightening to see the ways in which these same women respond to depictions of pregnancy and childcare when removed from the genre codes of realism and verisimilitude.

The fictional drama: pregnancy, childcare and the role of the midwife

Call the Midwife (2012- ) is a BBC drama based on books written by Jennifer Worth, a midwife working in the 1950s East End and supplementary testimonials from others midwives from the period. With this in mind, it is perhaps unsurprising that respondents remarked on the quality of the production, irrespective of their comment concerning pregnancy and childbirth on the small screen. In short, there were three key reasons given for watching the show and they are inextricable linked, namely: historical interest, feelings of nostalgia for a personally experienced or more hypothetical time, and the ability to compare pregnancy, childbirth and health practices from the 1950s to the present day. In terms of historical interest we are told that:

I like the dramas as they show us what pregnancy and childbirth was like before and the challenges they faced.

I watch Call the Midwife sometimes … it’s really well done and fascinating/interesting again to see the way things were done in a different era.

While these mothers spoke of their historical interest in a by-gone era of health and medicine, the majority of women who spoke favourably about the show found entertainment and emotion in their ability to not only look back, but in comparing the 1950s depictions with more contemporary health, medicine and social norms:

I like Call the Midwife for historical interest. I read the books before the series was made and it was fascinating to see what has changed – and what hasn’t – in the past 50 years.

Drama is different as its obviously going to be a little unrealistic for dramatic purposes or for the storyline. Call the Midwife is good as its enjoyable seeing how things have moved on.

Although many women spoke of notions of historical interest and a fascination for charting different healthcare practices over previous decades, there were also those women who spoke of a more specific feeling of nostalgia. More mature mothers in the audience used the word nostalgia rather than more general terms of historical interest as the programme both harked back to a bygone era and spoke to them about their own lived experiences of family life during the period in question:

I love Call the Midwife because of its nostalgic era. It’s a gentle programme that’s endearing to watch, no swearing or violence. But wonderful characters and relationships.

Watching Call the Midwife gave me such pleasure. I was born in 1947, so the time is nostalgic. I remember well the child health clinic, the Virol, orange juice and brewers yeast tablets; having a friend who contacted polio wearing callipers. His mother gave birth to twins and they were placed in the bottom drawer of the wardrobe until a wicker washing basket could be bought, as money was tight. The washing basket could be used later and money was well spent. Washing nappies has become a thing of the past.

The programme can be said to remind audiences of a different period, when norms of etiquette and domesticity were understood to be safer and more chaste. In this way the programme can be seen to offer a ‘romanticized nostalgia for the good old days’ (Grainge 2003). However, the show might perhaps be less a yearning for a preferred but irretrievable past and more a ‘fabricated approximation of the past’ (Drake 2003) so that those selectively stylised clothes, home furnishings and hospital rooms ‘operate as catalysts for recollection’ (ibid) and mobilise a feeling of a past security, reassurance and comfort. The feeling of comfort for a by-gone era tended to be experienced by younger mothers watching the programme, while more mature mothers and grandmothers in the audience vocalised nostalgia based on their own lived experiences, memories and recollections. This is not to say that their own memories are not in some way rose-tinted, but this is a different viewing position than those looking at the programme as an initial introduction to the historical period.

While most mothers watching Call the Midwife were fascinated and enthralled by the notion of difference and change between 1950s birthing practices and those of today, a small number of women made the point that pregnancy and birthing is a universal, timeless experience, unchanged since time immemorial:

I loved Call the Midwife … although since having a baby it has been a more emotional watch. I like it more because of the historical and universality of motherhood/giving birth.

As fictional drama, albeit based on the accounts of a practising midwife, the programme is removed from the genre codes and conventions of reality programming. And yet one mother notes that the programme ‘is actually sometimes more realistic about childbirth, despite it being fiction’. That said, like its reality counterparts, the show is held up to similar audience critiques, in that it is simultaneously too dramatic and too sentimental according to different women in the television audience. In terms of traditional notions of romanticism and sentimentality we find:

Call the Midwife I felt was in a way romanticised even with some negative endings. The drama series was ultimately a drama and was meant to make you feel.

I enjoy fictional programmes such as Call the Midwife … they are nostalgic and well written, I’m often ‘sucked in’ and find myself cheering for a character or crying when an emotional scene is aired! I suppose I quite like the fact that child birth on these shows is rather romanticized … reality being rather less attractive.

While one mother applauds the show for its ‘sympathetic depiction of birth’ that presents childbirth ‘as a part of life as opposed to a dramatic medical emergency as normally depicted’, another suggested that the show was, like its reality predecessor, too sensationalistic. In terms of being too sensationalistic, we are told that ‘I did enjoy Call the Midwife as it focused on the midwives and what they could do with limited resources. However, as the series went on it did get frustrating that every episode seemed to include a rare and catastrophic event’.

While both factual and fictional programming are accused of both dramatising and romanticising representations of late pregnancy and childbirth on the small screen, both were understood, according to different maternal audiences, to be at times, frustrating, educational, emotional and entertaining. What was interesting here however is what these shows contribute to mass media depictions of feminism, femininity and a woman’s role, as several mothers made the point that One Born Every Minute and Call the Midwife depict strong, courageous and resourceful women, removed from predictable notions of objectification and stereotypical sex-role stereotyping. Those women who spoke of their interest in watching the eponymous midwives routinely spoke of the ‘strength, courage and capabilities’ of these women in what are deemed ‘adverse & challenging situations … the midwives are strong female role models’. In my desire to learn a little more about why mothers watch, or refuse to watch, depictions of pregnancy and childbirth on screen, I have discovered something perhaps even more significant to the field of film, television and media studies, and that is that powerful women exist on television, just perhaps not in the genres and programmes that we might routinely expect. Much recent feminist scholarship examines, unmasks and interrogates the representation of women in contemporary television, including the depiction of the matriarch in the prime-time soap opera, the single girl in the situation comedy format, female empowerment in adult animation, the kick-ass heroine in the fantasy teen and science fiction text, the abrasive female detective in the cop show and the exhibitionism of women in reality programming, and yet it is here, in depictions of midwives and medical professionals that we find female strength and stamina.

Conclusion

While Channel 4s One Born Every Minute and the reality pregnancy and childbirth genre was critiqued for both scaremongering and reassuring women about the ‘reality’ of childbirth, the long-running show continues to be most popular with new mothers and younger mothers when compared to those who spoke favourably about the BBC One Drama, Call the Midwife. And although there were a small number of concerns about the routine over-dramatisation of problematic births in the latter production, most middle aged and more mature mothers in the audience spoke with enthusiasm about the period production both because of and in spite of its commitment to pregnancy and childbirth through the midwives of the period[i].

Although there is limited evidence here of the ways in which pregnant women watch the reality genre for pregnancy advice and childbirth instruction, perhaps we should look to the fictional drama as the most important educator. In the final episode of the fourth series, Doctor Turner/ Stephen McGann prescribed the sedative thalidomide to a pregnant mother[ii]. And while many women in the audience are now prepared for much of the drama that will no doubt make up the fifth series of the show in question, there are many who will be shocked and surprised at the outcome of a seemingly innocent prescription. And it is for this reason that Call the Midwife is essential viewing, not just for new or existing mothers, but to a generation of young women unaware of the outcome of taking that seemingly harmless drug.

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• Wolf, Naomi (2002) Misconceptions: Truth, Lies and the Unexpected on the Journey to Motherhood, London: Vintage.

By Rebecca Feasey 

Infertility is a common experience among women within and beyond the UK, and this experience ‘is not usually discussed publicly, at least in detail’ (Striff, 2005: 189). Although a woman’s infertility story is generally only witnessed by the medical profession, there has been a recent trend in the women’s tabloid and gossip sector whereby celebrities share their infertility stories with a willing public. With this in mind I hope to briefly outline the codes and conventions of the celebrity infertility narrative in order to consider the ways in which these confessional discourses might be considered as an extension of the informative public health campaign or, alternatively, as a more stigmatising discourse.

Infertility

Although there is no single definition of infertility, it routinely refers to a couple that cannot conceive despite having regular unprotected sex (NHS 2014a). Women who are able to become pregnant, but then have repeated miscarriages, are also considered infertile (CDC 2014). In order to fully understand the commonality of this experience, it is worth noting that one in six couples in Britain may have difficulty conceiving while an estimated 25 per cent of all women and their partners will experience an episode of infertility during their lifetime in the United States. And, according to the World Health Organisation, these rates have remained stable for several decades (Warren-Gash, 2013).

Age-Defying Physiques and Fashions

The fashion industry, marketers and media environment have started to tell audiences that ‘40 is the new 30’ (Michault, 2005), or that ‘40 is the new 20’ (Cosmopolitan, 2014) due to the ways in which fashion-forward celebrities are seemingly defying the aging process in terms of both their physical appearance and sartorial choices. Likewise, the cosmetics industry seems committed to making mature skin more radiant than ever before, and the ‘latest statistics from the British Association of Aesthetic Plastic Surgeons show demand for anti-aging procedures soared in the past year – even despite the recession’ (Peacock, 2013).

40 may well be the new 30, or indeed, the new 20 in terms of physical appearance and surface attractiveness, however, it is worth remembering that even though 95 per cent of couples who have regular unprotected sex will conceive naturally within two years of trying, ‘the chances of becoming pregnant are much lower in older women’ (NHS, 2014a), however age-defying their appearances.

Age-Defying Physiques and Infertility

Indeed, many of the 40-something women who the mass media applaud for their youthful physiques, on trend fashions and smooth visages are those self-same celebrities who have struggled with infertility. While stars such as Courtney Cox, Sarah Jessica Parker, Marcia Cross, Sharon Stone and Nicole Kidman are championed in the beauty and fashion sector for looking ‘youthful […] despite having passed the dreaded “middle-age” milestone’ (Daily Mail, 2013), it is worth thinking about the ways in which these women might be understood as both fashion and fertility role models.

After all, if one considers the ways in which celebrities in general, and female celebrities in particular, have been formally and informally positioned as public health campaigners for diseases such as breast and cervical cancer (Ashton and Feasey, 2013), then it is possible to extend this argument and consider the ways in which women such as Sarah Jessica Parker might be understood in this self-same way as an unofficial spokesperson for infertility.

Championing the Celebrity Infertility Story

After all, although a celebrity’s willingness to share their diagnosis and treatment with the public might be understood as a calculated self-exposure exercise, such candid confessional discourses about infertility can bring this topic into the public consciousness, and in this sense be beneficial for other infertile women and as a broader public service regarding age-related infertility.

Indeed, an exhaustive number of contributions to newspaper blogs and postings congratulate these women for speaking publicly about their infertility. This outpouring of appreciation is understandable and indeed to be expected if one considers where and how this information is available. Celebrity infertility stories are routinely found in the women’s gossip and tabloid sector, alongside a range of blogs and celebdocs, and these media forms have historically relied on the celebrity confessional. My point here then is that while celebrities have long been relaying intimate stories of romance, family and heartache, they have more recently begun to share their most candid infertility narratives. Rather than deride these women for trivializing their infertility stories for financial or fame reward, it is worth noting that these stories are of significance to those women who too are struggling with infertility, more so in fact than more factual or news based accounts of disease or affliction (Ashton and Feasey, 2013). Time and again, blogs thank performers for being open and seemingly candid about their infertility stories (Yuppy Mom, 2010; BustedKate, 2013; Wertman, 2013; Gorenstein, 2014).

Courtney Cox and her then husband David Arquette struggled with infertility because although Cox managed to get pregnant, immunity problems meant that she struggled to stay pregnant. After suffering several miscarriages, Cox turned to IVF and at the age of 41 had a healthy baby girl. After the birth of her daughter Cox spoke publicly about her use of IVF and made it clear that ‘in vitro is a wonderful thing that people can do in this day and age’ (nobabyonboard, 2014).  Likewise, after suffering from secondary infertility, Sarah Jessica Parker, then 43, and husband Matthew Broderick spoke about their use of a gestational surrogate to carry their twin girls after exploring a variety of ways of expanding their family’  (Knight, 2010).

IVF and Surrogacy are viable fertility options, with obvious success stories, and in one sense then the ways in which stars such as Cox and Parker share their birth stories is helpful in terms of educating women about their fertility options.

The Partiality of the Celebrity Infertility Story: The Healthy Newborn

That said it is of course worth mentioning several concerns that are pertinent to these and a myriad of other celebrity infertility narratives. Firstly, these women tend only to announce their infertility struggles once they are holding their healthy newborn, which in itself sends out a rather misleading finale to the infertility narrative. Erin Striff makes this point when she tells us that:

[P]ublic fertility stories are often structured as a “near-miss,” in that we know of a celebrity’s previous failed rounds of IVF only when they may at the same time perform their successful achievement of pregnancy … the struggle with infertility only becomes acceptable to discuss in the public eye if it has been overcome in some way, reiterating the feeling that infertility is something to be ashamed of (Striff, 2005: 195).

In short, celebrity infertility has become, to some degree, accepted, but only on the back of a successful fertility story. Even though Sharon Begley of Newsweek reported that ‘getting a baby’ through assisted procreative technologies was almost as easy as getting a tattoo (cited in Sterling, 2013: 124), the truth is that these procedures fail more often than they succeed, and this reality is rarely spoken of as part of the celebrity infertility story.

The success of IVF depends on the age of the woman undergoing treatment, with 32.2 per cent success rate for women under 35, a 20.8 per cent success rate for women aged 38-39, a 5 per cent success rate for women aged 43-44 and a 1.9 per cent success rate for women over 44 (NHS, 2014b). Therefore, even though there have been numerous technical advances relating to assisted conception in recent years, ‘IVF remains, at best, a hopeful art driven by the best of intentions and less than complete knowledge’ (Hall, 2005: 71). The overwhelming majority of these personal stories have a happy ending which ‘minimize[s] the infertility experience perhaps making those who actually experienced the harsh realities [of] infertility feel even more isolated and stigmatized’ (Sterling, 2013: 99).

The Partiality of the Celebrity Infertility Story: The Cost of Treatment

Secondly, IVF is expensive, and even though the NHS does offer 3 rounds of IVF for women under 40 and one round of IVF for women over 40 there are specific criteria that these women must reach. And if these women are not eligible then private treatment costs approximately £5000 depending on treatment needed per cycle (NHS, 2014b). And in terms of surrogacy in the UK, although the law states that ‘no surrogate may receive any form of payment during or after a surrogacy agreement’, intended parents must pay for reasonable ‘expenses incurred by the surrogate’ ranging from about £7,000-£15,000 (Surrogacy UK, 2014) on the back of the costs incurred if a woman is ‘planning to use the services of an IVF clinic’ (ibid).  Therefore, although one might refer to infertility as just a ‘90s affliction’ that could be overcome with fertility treatments (Sterling, 2013: 124), the reality is that these techniques are unavailable to the average woman. Gorenstein says it best when she tells us that money can’t buy you the ‘ability to conceive a child on your own. Though it can certainly help you get the best treatment’ (Gorenstein 2014).

However even though success rates and financial constraints are given scant attention in the successful celebrity infertility narrative, my third point here is that links between aging and infertility for women, and the role of egg donation are notable in their absence.

The Partiality of the Celebrity Infertility Story: Egg Donation and Age as a Contributing Factor

Fertility declines with age, indeed, a growing number of fertility clinics refuse to admit 45-year-old women for treatment (Gatrell, 2008: 48). And yet, since 2000, the tabloid and women’s magazine sector has routinely covered stories and presented photo-shoots with a growing number of older celebrity figures from the film, literary and political arena delivering healthy babies, with no mention of egg donation. To name but a few:  Marcia Cross (44) Cherie Blair (45), Mimi Rodgers (45), Marcia Gay Harden (45), Iman (45), Susan Sarandon (46), Halle Berry (46), Arlene Phillips (47), Angela Bassett (47), Kelly Preston (47), Holly Hunter (47), Geena Davis (48), Wendy Wasserstein (48), Helen Fielding (48), Elizabeth Edwards (48) and (50) and Beverly D’Angelo (49).

Schlosberg tells us that Marcia Cross is unique on the celebrity motherhood circuit for openly discussing the use of donor eggs. That said, ‘even then she only says it’s common knowledge how difficult it is for women in their forties to get pregnant with their own eggs. She always stops short of admitting to using them herself’ (Schlosberg, 2011).

Doctors have been heard commentating that ‘the probability of conceiving and delivering a child with a woman’s own eggs at forty-five is virtually zero (Sterling, 2013: 99), and as such older mothers who themselves struggled with fertility lambast ‘nameless celebrities for not sharing the truth about infertility and for making mature motherhood seem so effortless (Cited in Sterling, 2013: 67). In this same way, blog posts echo this point when they ask ‘wouldn’t it be lovely if just one celebrity would come forward, be vulnerable and say: “I am a mother via egg donation and I am proud”’ (Global IVF, 2013).

I am not of course suggesting that these women have used assisted reproductive techniques, indeed, most have not admitted reproductive help of any kind, I am merely pointing out the exceptional nature of their celebrity birth stories that might mislead a generation of women as to the reality of their own fertility options. My concern is simply that the successful celebrity infertility narrative masks statistical facts relating to fertility, pregnancy and new motherhood. And although there is a growing trend towards delaying motherhood, as women are seen to have children in their late 30s and beyond, it is worth noting the rise in what is understood as ‘reproductive complacency’ (Global IVF, 2013). After all, a ‘survey of educated young professional women found that 90 per cent thought that they could wait until age 45 to start having their own biological children, even though next to none over 44 are able to, despite advanced technology’ (Bonifazi 2003 cited in Feasey, 2013: 146). After all, the ‘live birth rate for women using assistive reproductive technology … with fresh, non-donor eggs or embryos is 15% at age 40, 5% at 43, and 2% after 43’ (ibid, 146).

Conclusion

To conclude then, the average age of a first time mother in the UK is growing (ONS, 2014); more women than ever before are having children in the late 30s and early 40s and beyond (ibid); Assisted Reproduction Technologies are advancing; the number of women taking advantage of such techniques is increasing and more celebrities than ever before are presenting their infertility stories in the women’s tabloid and gossip sector.

Although one might suggest that the celebrity infertility confessional can offer hope through identification with the celebrity revelation by defying the privacy of infertility treatment, the partial account on offer here could perhaps lead to reproductive complacency, false hope or go further to reinforce the sense of stigma and failure that many infertile women are said to be experiencing (Woollett, 1994: 54), none of which can be understood as helpful to individuals or beneficial to society.

Reference List

• Ashton, D and Feasey, R (2014) ‘This is Not How Cancer Looks’: Celebrity Diagnosis and Death in the Tabloid Media, Journalism: Theory, Practice and Criticism – Celebrity News. 15:2, pp.237-251
• BustedKate (2013) ‘Celebrities Who Have Talked About Their Miscarriages’ BabyMed [Online] Available at: http://www.babymed.com/blogs/bustedkate/celebrities-who-have-talked-about-their-miscarriages (March 24 2014)
• CDC (2014) ‘Reproductive Health: Infertility FAQs’, Centers for Disease Control and Prevention [Online] Available at: http://www.cdc.gov/Reproductivehealth/Infertility/ (March 24 2014)
• Cosmopolitan (2012) ‘Is 40 the New 20’, Cosmopolitan [Online] Available at: http://cosmo.intoday.in/story/is-40-the-new-20/1/8599.html (March 24 2014)
• Daily Mail (2013) ‘Why Forty Really is the New Thirty’, IOL Lifestyle [Online] Available:
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• Feasey, R (2012) From Happy Homemaker to Desperate Housewives: Motherhood and Popular Television, London: Anthem Press
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• Gatrell, Caroline (2008), Embodying Women’s Work, Maidenhead: Open University Press.
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Rebecca Feasey  is Senior Lecturer in Film and Media Communications at Bath Spa University. She has published a range of work on celebrity culture, contemporary Hollywood stardom and the representation of gender in popular media culture. She has published in journals such as the Quarterly Review of Film and Video, the Journal of Popular Film and Television, the Journal of Gender Studies, Continuum: Journal of Media & Cultural Studies and the European Journal of Cultural Studies. She has written book length studies on masculinity and popular television (EUP, 2008) and motherhood on the small screen (Anthem, 2012). She is currently writing a research monograph on the ways in which women respond to representations of motherhood on television (Pater Lang, 2015: http://motherhoodandtelevision.wordpress.com/).