Uploaded June 2020 | Updated September 2026, 1 week ago
Performed 48 hours after birth, it’s a medical procedure patients are unlikely to ever recall having.
The heel prick test is administered by midwives, who draw droplets of blood from a newborn baby’s heel, smear them on a sample card and send to Auckland Hospital’s LabPLUS testing centre.
Dr Dianne Webster, Clinical Lead for the Newborn Metabolic Screening Programme (NMSP), says “there are about 60,000 babies a year born in New Zealand and we pretty well screen all of them.”
The newborn blood test isn’t mandatory, but uptake is high. Dr Webster says the programme is highly regarded internationally and New Zealand would be one of the few countries to boast 100% coverage nationwide.
Initially called the Guthrie test, after its American creator, the heel prick test was introduced here, 50 years ago, by New Zealand’s only geneticist at the time, Professor Arthur Veale.
As Frank Film’s ‘Changing South’ discovers, most parents will never hear back once the blood sample has been processed. Those who do, will be told their baby may have a rare and possibly life-threatening condition.
For first-time parents, Justin and Tanya, the news came as a huge shock.
The heel prick test revealed their daughter, Stella, had Severe Combined Immune Deficiency (SCID), a condition which the NMSP only began screening for a year earlier. Stella was the first child to be diagnosed with SCID since testing was introduced.
Paediatric Immunologist, Dr Shannon Brothers, says “although babies appear healthy at birth, they go on to develop severe, persistent infections and die by a year old.”
Following diagnosis, Stella underwent chemotherapy and a bone marrow transplant when she was four months old.
When Frank Film met Stella her immunity was improving and the plucky 13-month-old toddler was able to leave the home environment to visit parks and open spaces, avoiding close contact with others.
Other conditions the programme tests for include cystic fibrosis, congenital adrenal hyperplasia, phenylketonuria, and congenital hypothyroidism.
Stella’s mother, Tanya, says “everyone thinks you’re not going to be that one in 100,000, but … when it comes down to it, we’re that one.”
She says if it wasn’t for newborn screening Stella may not have made it to her first birthday.
“That test is everything for us.”
WATCH FULL STORY
frankfilm.co.nz
Performed 48 hours after birth, it’s a medical procedure patients are unlikely to ever recall having.
The heel prick test is administered by midwives, who draw droplets of blood from a newborn baby’s heel, smear them on a sample card and send to Auckland Hospital’s LabPLUS testing centre.
Dr Dianne Webster, Clinical Lead for the Newborn Metabolic Screening Programme (NMSP), says “there are about 60,000 babies a year born in New Zealand and we pretty well screen all of them.”
The newborn blood test isn’t mandatory, but uptake is high. Dr Webster says the programme is highly regarded internationally and New Zealand would be one of the few countries to boast 100% coverage nationwide.
Initially called the Guthrie test, after its American creator, the heel prick test was introduced here, 50 years ago, by New Zealand’s only geneticist at the time, Professor Arthur Veale.
As Frank Film’s ‘Changing South’ discovers, most parents will never hear back once the blood sample has been processed. Those who do, will be told their baby may have a rare and possibly life-threatening condition.
For first-time parents, Justin and Tanya, the news came as a huge shock.
The heel prick test revealed their daughter, Stella, had Severe Combined Immune Deficiency (SCID), a condition which the NMSP only began screening for a year earlier. Stella was the first child to be diagnosed with SCID since testing was introduced.
Paediatric Immunologist, Dr Shannon Brothers, says “although babies appear healthy at birth, they go on to develop severe, persistent infections and die by a year old.”
Following diagnosis, Stella underwent chemotherapy and a bone marrow transplant when she was four months old.
When Frank Film met Stella her immunity was improving and the plucky 13-month-old toddler was able to leave the home environment to visit parks and open spaces, avoiding close contact with others.
Other conditions the programme tests for include cystic fibrosis, congenital adrenal hyperplasia, phenylketonuria, and congenital hypothyroidism.
Stella’s mother, Tanya, says “everyone thinks you’re not going to be that one in 100,000, but … when it comes down to it, we’re that one.”
She says if it wasn’t for newborn screening Stella may not have made it to her first birthday.
“That test is everything for us.”
WATCH FULL STORY
frankfilm.co.nz










![Sam and Alison - Artists Lives
Under the branches of an old pittosporum on the grounds of an historic flour mill in Waikari, North Canterbury, a solitary figure sits on a chair. Rugged up in coat and cap, left ankle crossed over the other, he holds a cup of coffee, now speckled with twigs; the book in his other hand opens on to a poem: “Don’t just sit there you complicit / bastard; get up and do something!”
“This is the one that gives me the shits every time I walk past,” says sculptor, writer and activist Sam Mahon. “Who the f… is this?”
Of course it is him, Mahon himself, a sculptural representation of the artist by the artist at the artist’s home; a call to arms for environmental or political action that for Mahon is what art is all about.
“I think all art should be political. Every good sculpture should have context, form and story.”
Can’t some be there just for the beauty of the work?
“That’s called wallpaper. Art has a voice and the minute that voice is taken away from us by some corporate who says we should only have decoration and no story, we are in trouble.”
It is 40 years since Mahon bought the mill, then a cheap but derelict place on a 2.8-hectare patch of mainly bare land.
Now it is the home, studio, garden, foundry and horse paddock for Mahon, his partner, artist Alison Erickson, and their 15-year-old daughter Charlie.
When Frank Film visits on a bitter June morning, Erickson, in gloves and duffel coat, is heading outside to start up the furnace to melt the bronze in an age-old process of lost wax casting.
At school, she says, Erickson was the sort of kid “who was always in the art room at lunch time”. While living down the road, she became a frequent visitor to the studio. “Sam would hand me a block of limestone or he taught me how to make stained glass,” she recalls. “I just thought it was wonderful, kind of magical.”
Then, at the age of 18, “I never left.”
Since then, Erickson has built a figurative sculptural practice recognised for its contemplative evocations of environmental change and human intimacy. In Canterbury, these include Looking for something that will last (2019) in Diamond Harbour, The winds of change (2015) outside the Rangiora library and A room of one’s own (2022) at Tai Tapu Sculpture Garden.
“I enjoy the technical sides of casting bronze as well as the actual sculpting and the ideas that initially go into it,” she says. “It’s fun to push the edges a little bit and see how tiny you can get things.”
Where Erickson focuses on sculpture, Mahon’s career has straddled painting, sculpture and writing, including The Year of the Horse, winner of the Best First Book Award in 2003, the much acclaimed The Water Thieves in 2006 and, in 2008, My father’s shadow: a portrait of Justice Peter Mahon, an insight into the man best known as the Royal Commissioner into the Mount Erebus disaster.
His art spans the spidery subtlety of Regret in Christchurch’s Botanic Gardens (1997) to the more than twice-life-size rendition of former environment minster Nick Smith squatting, trouser-less, over a glass of water – a highly public protest against the impact of intensive dairying on Canterbury’s rivers and aquifers.
It was blunt, divisive, indicative of a self-styled voice of protest that drives his work.
In the studio, alongside a small figure of Swedish environmental activist Greta Thunberg, stands the head of Israeli prime minister Benjamin Netanyahu. “I dont like him very much,” says Mahon, brushing a hand over his wrist, “so I carved his face then painted it with my own blood.”
Inside the lofty spaces of the workshop, he points to a small kinetic work combining the intrigue of a mid-century mechanical toy with political dissent. At a push of a button (or the insertion of a coin), small figures swing into Sisyphean action: a woman with a child on her back pushes a lever, a man works a grinding machine, another supports a plinth on which a rotund figure, a “one-percenter” says Mahon, referring to the wealthy elite who make almost twice as much as the bottom 99 percent of the world’s population, lounges back, large hand grasping the slender stem of a wine glass. The miniature movable bits, says Mahon, draw people in, “and then they get the idea – that [US comedian] George Carlin idea that if you want to cut somebody’s throat you put a razor blade in the muffin.”
He points to the moving carousel: “This is the muffin.”
It is uncompromising work built in an uncompromising climate. Canterbury’s winters are cold, the mill is old, the work itself hard.
“It’s spare, but it’s rich,” says Mahon. “Everything we’ve done here, all this, is built on art and art practice.”
By Sally Blundell of Frank Film
Credits:
Producer/Director/Cameraman/Interviewer: Gerard Smyth
Writer/Researcher: Sally Blundell
Editor: Oliver Dawe
Researcher/Second Camera: Ellie Adams
Line Producer: Erina Ellis
Sound Design/Mix: Chris Sinclair
Production Manager: Jo Ffitch
Attributions:
Nick Smith photos courtesy of Andrew Lukey Sam and Alison - Artists Lives](https://i.ytimg.com/vi/xPOXNBVA6R4/mqdefault.jpg)