Hormone Pregnancy Tests

Jonathan Reynolds Excerpts

Thursday 13th October 2016 Commons Chamber

[Jonathan Reynolds (Stalybridge and Hyde) (Lab/Co-op)]

I, too, thank my hon. Friend the Member for Bolton South East (Yasmin Qureshi) for securing today’s debate. It is a privilege to follow the fine speeches from my hon. Friend the Member for Makerfield (Yvonne Fovargue) and the hon. Member for Livingston (Hannah Bardell).

I rise today at the request of my constituent Susan, who is from Stalybridge. It was in the early ’70s that Susan suspected and hoped that she was pregnant. With no home urine stream pregnancy testing yet available, Susan did what any woman of her generation would do—and will do for years to come—and visited her local GP. Yet that simple visit, that routine appointment, was to haunt her with the need for answers for the rest of her life. As with 1.5 million others of her generation, several of whose stories we have learnt about today, Susan’s GP prescribed her with a couple of pills, to be taken a day apart, to determine whether she was indeed pregnant. If she was not, she would bleed, and if she was, she would not.

The pills were handed over without lengthy explanation, detailed precautions or any warning. These pills Susan now knows to be Primodos. The Primodos she took contained a now unfathomably strong cocktail of hormones: 10 mg of norethisterone and 0.2 mg of ethinyl estradiol—I ask the House to forgive my poor pronunciation. Those hormones, in those doses, equate to 13 morning-after pills or 157 contraceptive pills. Yet many patients, like Susan, at that most optimistic moment in their lives, had no inkling of what the pills contained. They simply trusted their doctor.

In 1972, Susan’s beautiful baby daughter Sarah was born. As time would tell, Sarah had severe learning difficulties. Now 44, Sarah will never enjoy her life independently. She relies on others for her care. She will never work, marry or have her own children. Her family face the challenges that all families with a loved one with additional needs face—the limitations, obstacles and “what ifs”.

In 1978, six years after Sarah was born, Primodos was withdrawn from the medical market amid fears it prompted instant miscarriage. For many women, its stated purpose of indicating whether they were pregnant or not may, sadly, have been more like “pregnant or not any more”. For those women fortunate enough to carry their babies to term, thousands may never know whether the wide-ranging disabilities their children share, from brain damage to heart defects and sensory impairments to undeveloped limbs, may have been caused or worsened by hormone pregnancy testing, or those allegedly harmless little pills—pills whose use many doctors and researchers queried at the time; pills that were to be decisively discontinued.

I do not rise today to suggest that every single disability or birth defect originating from the period of its use was caused by Primodos. That would of course be speculative. I do not rise to say that any specific reparations from Bayer, the manufacturer, should be made or to ask the Government, the NHS or the pharmaceutical industry to take speculation as fact. I rise to say that we need to give women such as Susan the opportunity to examine whether that speculation is indeed fact—whether suspicion could give way to transparency and whether peace of mind is a price worthy of investigation. I believe it is time for a thorough public inquiry into the safety of Primodos, its passage on to GPs’ shelves and its effects on both the babies who survived and those that did not. I fully accept that it may not be possible to identify all the answers, but it is none the less time to ask the right questions.

I myself am the father of four beautiful children. My eldest son has significant learning difficulties, including pronounced autism. He is absolutely wonderful and I love him and always will, yet I cannot pretend that, through the initial years of his diagnosis and in the many challenging situations that have followed, any parent would not be in a position of asking themselves “Why? Why my child? What has caused his condition? It is something that we did?” Listening to this debate, I am glad that my son is a millennial baby and not a child of the ’60s or ’70s, because if there were the slightest hint that his life chances might have been robbed by something wholly preventable and unnecessary, I confess that I would find that very difficult indeed to deal with.

Yet the importance of a rigorous investigation into this drug goes beyond the need to examine the past. We must call for this investigation because failure to do so may jeopardise something so important and fundamental to our treasured NHS, and that is the implicit trust that our doctors know what is best for us. If we allow potentially harmful drugs to ease in and out of widespread use without robust examination, that will chip away at the assurance that trained professionals are sure that they know what is best for us.

Another of my constituents was the notorious, late Dr Harold Shipman. I have close friends who had a parent among his victims. Indeed, almost everyone in the town of Hyde knows someone affected by the crimes of Harold Shipman. I have therefore experienced the most extreme example of how abuse of the fundamental trust between doctor and patient can rock a community to its core. Our NHS doctors are among the best in the world and each of us owes the whole UK medical profession our gratitude for the tireless public service they give. A GP is more than a stranger in a room; they are a friend, a confidante, an advocate and a signpost to further help.

I am sure no GP wants to find themselves in the awful position of wondering whether they have dispensed prescriptions without being fully aware of the risks to the patients who took the medication. Let us not undermine this most important of relationships by failing to look closely enough at the drugs that we have asked doctors in the past to distribute. Let us put Primodos under the microscope—for Susan, for Sarah and for continued trust in our NHS.