We’re all a bit scared right now. Indeed, if we aren’t, we should be. The tentacles of Covid-19 are everywhere and getting worse. And we are warned that health systems are under serious strain.

In England, where the new, more contagious strain has begun to predominate, the problems are doubtless magnified. We are told that in some areas, ambulances are piled up outside hospitals, because there is no room inside.

You wear a mask, you wash your hands frequently, and you do your best to avoid other people in shops or even walking down the street. Whatever happens, you know you don’t want any emergency to happen right now requiring hospital care.

But what if it does?

Seriously high blood pressure

My blood pressure, like that of so many older people, has been rising little by little over the years. Every time I attend my local health practice, they tend to check it and remark it is on the high side, but no need for action yet.

About a week ago, it had risen again, and I was advised to take a reading every day at home to see how it was doing. I bought a monitor and was duly taking readings twice a day and noting them down.

Then one late afternoon, the reading was higher than normal – just after a series of relatively trivial irritations.

My broadband connection was down, I had phoned my provider and struggled with its automatic answering system. I don’t know anyone who doesn’t find these irritating, but the bottom line came when the voice told me my mother’s maiden name was wrong. I swore at the phone and hung up.

And rising still

Taking my blood pressure shortly after, I noted the reading was considerably higher than normal, but went to have dinner. Afterwards, I thought I would just check that it had gone down, to assure myself. It hadn’t – it had gone up! According to the chart, it was at a dangerous level.

What to do? My husband exclaimed that I should in no circumstance go to the local hospital, because of fear of my catching Covid. I rang my most knowledgeable family member, and she said I absolutely needed to be in a hospital – the reading was that serious. I could have a heart attack or a stroke.

Even more tribulations

I phoned 999 (the emergency number), where I was asked some questions and then told no ambulance was available for four hours! I should get myself to the hospital by taxi, but first I should ring 111, the number for medical advice.

That number said there was no one available to take my call and I should go online. But I couldn’t. My internet connection was down.

I felt completely helpless.

Situations like what I experienced make you realise how stranded people are when there is no way to get to help.

I decided I had to be brave. We phoned a taxi and, with great trepidation, got me to the hospital.

The hospital

This is a good London hospital. I have been there numerous times and even had my second child there. But it looked bleak at 9 pm. A lady at the entrance to Accident and Emergency asked what the issue was – and they wheeled me in.

From that point on, they were marvellous. Of course, they immediately checked my blood pressure, and it was even higher, dangerously so. They then did an ECG. The nurse said they were more worried about a stroke Than a heart attack. Not good news, in my view.

I was looked after by two or three nurses, coming in and out as needed, plus a doctor. There was no sign of any people with Covid, as Covid patients turned out to be in a completely different area. The nurses wore masks and gloves of course, but no PPE. Indeed, it was very calm, like any emergency room after hours.

They immediately gave me medication to lower the blood pressure, tested my blood and urine, and monitored me for roughly two hours. The readings were duly going down. There were no other signs to worry them, and I was allowed to go home at 11 pm.

Just before I left, I asked the doctor what had happened. He said that he thought it was most likely an example of a vicious circle: my blood pressure went up, so it worried me, so it went up further and so forth. He did not think it was serious, but advised me not to take my blood pressure when I got home!

After thoughts

I was glad I had gone, and my doctor confirmed the next day that I had done the right thing. But I can’t say I wasn’t scared.

And I am hugely grateful to that family member who insisted I go.

Four days later, my blood pressure is already coming down. But I am not keen to phone my broadband provider again.

This post was initially published by SixtyandMe.com

With Covid-19, we are drowning in statistics. Every day, I see the number of new cases, the number of hospitalisations, the number of deaths. For my country and the rest of the world.

They are overwhelming, and it is hard to take them all in.

At the same time, there are plenty of human stories. The deaths of husbands and wives within days of each other. The deaths of one without being able to see the other. The very tired and over-worked health care workers and others.

All of these are powerful and moving stories.

But there is one kind of story that I simply have not seen told at all. Perhaps it is there, and I have missed it. It is also very painful ­– perhaps too painful to write about.

This concerns the people who are left behind feeling enormously guilty because they may have contributed to the death of their loved one.

The human psyche

I am not a psychologist of any kind, but I look around me, and I know that human beings are very prone to a sense of guilt.

Your husband is unhappy – is it your fault? Your child is confused and distressed – did you contribute to this situation in any way? Your mother feels neglected – is this down to you?

Especially women. We do guilt very easily. I don’t know why.

Now, we know we tend to feel mildly guilty if we accidentally gave a friend a cold, because we talked to them longer than was necessary when we met by chance.

And we feel very guilty if our actions contributed to another person’s problems ­– allowing them to drink and drive, for instance, when we should have urged them not to have that third or fourth glass of wine.

But surely, we must feel very guilty indeed if we accidentally passed on Covid-19, because we thought we were disease free when we weren’t. That is the Big one.

Covid-19 is guilt waiting to happen

There are so many ways that anyone with an ounce of sensitivity could begin to feel guilty these days. Covid-19 is passed from one person to another so easily, we must often be part of a possible chain.

Sometimes there are things we did – imagining somehow that it was safe – that look downright thoughtless in retrospect.

Did we need to make that Thanksgiving journey? Should we have gone to that large engagement party?

Of course, in each case, we meant well – to see an aging father, living on his own, to congratulate the bride and groom. But that meant getting into crowds, and we know that that’s where the virus lurks.

But the worst of it is that the people we affect are very frequently the people we love the most. We hugged a grandchild and that led to illness in the family. We visited a sister-in-law, which passed it on to all of her family.

Why oh why, we think afterward, did we not stop and think?

My personal concerns

I personally have not, to date, contracted the virus nor has anyone in my family. But my concern about the potential guilt of those left behind has certainly coloured my decisions.

It is the small children I worry most about. What if either grandson were to visit us when unknowingly carrying the virus, i.e., with no symptoms, and accidentally infected me or my husband?

And what would they feel if we died? Of course, they would be devastated by that fact in any case, but to live the rest of their lives feeling that they had killed Granny or Granddad cannot bear thinking about.

This has certainly affected my views about a potential visit. I just can’t do that to them.

There was a campaign in the UK called ‘Don’t Kill Your Gran,” which some people thought was funny, but it is very serious indeed. Not only for Gran but for the person who did so.

It cannot be much better for people of any age. Yet it must have happened many times over.

Of course, I am concerned for the health care workers feeling over-strained. Of course, I feel for all the people who died over the past nine months or so. But stop a second and think of all those left behind, wishing they had taken a different course on one particular day.

This was originally published on Sixtyandme.com

Almost everybody has friends. It is part of life to have them. Some of us have loads and some have very few, but we all feel that they are important in our lives.

And we all know who our friends are. They are people who are not our family, not our neighbours, and much more important than acquaintances.

(Of course, some people count some family members as friends and married people often say that their spouse is their ‘best friend’. This is a wrinkle that needn’t worry us here.)

We get together with friends when we can, we talk to them in person or on the phone, and generally view them as a significant addition to our well-being.

But although there is a single word – friends – for all the people in this category, in actual fact they do not all mean the same to us at all. They play very different roles in our lives.

Friends who provide us company

You probably have some friends who you enjoy doing things with – they provide company, diversion, and a chance to explore new things. They are often people you see in a group.

There are loads of activities which you might undertake with such friends on a regular basis. You could meet to play tennis, to go for walks, to explore the meaning of books, or to sing together in a choir.

There are also all sorts of other meeting places, where you might get together on a regular basis for a drink or a meal ­– depending on the country, a local wine bar or cafe or pub.

These people tend to share your tastes, whether in movies or sports. They are fun to be with.

We see these friends a lot, but we often don’t really know them very well. We chat about day-to-day events, but don’t go any deeper. They might even be in the middle of a divorce and not tell us about it.

Many of the activities we undertake with such friends are not possible – or are severely hampered – during these difficult times of Covid. You might keep in touch with some of them by phone or email, but that would be it.

Friends who provide us intimacy

In contrast, you probably have other friends who you tell your problems to and listen to theirs. They understand your character and the deeper recesses of your mind – and vice versa.

You tend to see them on a one-to-one basis, at least some of the time, so you can have more intimate discussions.

These friends, whether you do or don’t do things with them, have an importance well beyond the amount of time you spend with them. You may not even see them for years, but the telephone, email and, nowadays, Zoom enable you to keep up to date.

And when you do meet up with them, even after a long break, the connection is so deep that you talk with them as if you had done so yesterday. Uncannily, you pick up where you last left off.

Indeed, you may not bother with the usual niceties (the weather, a minor cold, small irritations), but go straight to the important stuff about what is going on emotionally for you.

It is to these friends that we go when we are worried about something or need to make an important decision. They know us, care about us deeply and always have our best interests in mind.

These friends are often people we knew in school or college and have kept in touch with over the years. They were there for all the ups and downs of early relationships, they knew when you were trying to have a baby, and followed your career choices and dilemmas over time.

But they might equally be people you met through any number of circumstances – perhaps at a dinner or through work or any activity which enabled you to talk comfortably. Somehow, you made a very deep connection and felt there was no need for lots of explanations.

You probably have fewer such friends. Perhaps just one. There is no question of losing touch with them because of the pandemic.

Helping people to make friends

These distinctions became very clear to me over 30 years ago. At that time I doing research on friendships among people with learning difficulties. Many were being released from the hospitals where they had lived most of their lives and much attention was given to fostering their well-being.

There was great enthusiasm for moving them into what was always called ‘the community’. The term is falsely reassuring and makes the new environment sound warm and full of friends.

It was thought that they would then be free to do what they liked, when they liked, just like other people.

But social workers began to notice that, in the course of a day, these people only spoke with shopkeepers and the like. And so, they wanted to help them to find friends of their own.

A popular solution was to arrange discos where they could meet. Their intentions were good, but the effect was limited. How many friends – of either kind – would you make in the loud surroundings of a disco?

A colleague and I wrote a report on the issue, but I am not sure what happened as a result. I would hope that more imaginative ways were found to help this group of people to develop and sustain relationships. It is certainly what I would have wanted if I had a son or daughter in that situation.

The importance of friendships

Friendships are important, of whatever kind. Human beings are social animals, a fact that has become particularly visible as social activities have come under strain during the pandemic.

Our individual needs differ, with some people wanting loads of casual friends to make themselves feel comfortable. Others have less need for activities with other people but feel a real need for one or two close friends.

I hope that you have managed to sustain your friendships during this difficult – and sometimes lonely – period.

A well-known saying floated into my head recently: “The past is another country.” Interesting, I thought, and wondered who said it first.

It turned out to be J. P. Hartley, the novelist, and it is the first line, slightly wrongly remembered, of his novel (later a movie), The Go Between:

“The past is a foreign country; they do things differently there.”

I began to think about whether this is right or not, in terms of my own past, but then my thoughts took a different turn. The question that was buzzing in my head was whether the same was true of the future, when viewed from the perspective of younger people.

Is Being Old a Foreign Country?

When I was young – pick any age up to 55 or so – I definitely thought that the future was a foreign country. It would be strange to me, and it would be difficult to cope with.

And they would definitely “do things differently” there. I looked around at the old people I knew, and they clearly had different interests and temperaments and felt altogether different to me. It was not something I looked forward to.

Yes, I knew that at some point I would become an old lady, but that in itself seemed an odd concept. Me – old? Surely not. It was, literally, unimaginable.

At the same time, I thought that if it ever happened, I would be a different person when I got there. I would have the same name and the same history, of course, but there the resemblance would end.

Somehow, I thought that when I was magically transformed into this strange state of old womanhood, I would be unrecognisable. I would not be the me I had always known.

It was going to be hard – I would not know how to navigate all the twists and turns foisted on me by the passage of time.

It would be a double learning problem – a new me in a new landscape.

The Future Is Here

How very, very wrong could I be! Now that I am an old lady, by whatever measure, having recently reached the age of 79, I realise that old age is not another country at all.

Yes, there are aspects of my life that are different, but I don’t feel that I am wandering in a strange land. And there is a great deal that is very much the same.

Old age creeps up on us rather stealthily, even if we don’t make a fuss of our birthdays. Only a few things happen fast, like retirement from your lifetime’s work, although in my case, I worked freelance and work just slowly stopped coming in.

But generally, it just means a few things changing each year – the hair getting whiter, the wrinkles getting deeper, and so forth. You walk a little slower, your hearing becomes slightly more difficult, sometimes you even become shorter. I could list much more.

You get used to one thing, absorb that, and start getting used to another. There are very few shocks involved, in the absence of a significant death or illness, which is another matter altogether.

At the same time, other things happen, too. Some are definitely negative – friends die or become much more ill. Your energy slowly diminishes, so you tend to be more homebound.

But on the positive side, you may acquire grandchildren, and they may become a very active and joyful part of your life. Your relationships with your adult children change and deepen. You may develop new interests and activities.

And You’re Here, Too

And, most important, as you get used to these changes, you realise it is the same old you dealing with them. For good or ill, there is no amazing transformation. Whatever your character and personality at age 30, you will be the same at 60 – or 70 – and beyond.

If you were an optimist when you were young, you will find yourself still an optimist later. Have you had a tendency to fuss over unexpected events? You are almost certainly still fussing later. If you laughed at life’s vicissitudes, you will be laughing still.

I was reminded that when my mother was about 50, she declared to my father that she had decided to become an “eccentric” old lady. That sounded a good ambition, but my father laughed. “You’ve never been eccentric in your life,” he replied accurately. “So you won’t be eccentric then. You will be you.”

And he was proved right. She never became the least bit eccentric.

Knowing Yourself

I think this is good news, although perhaps not everyone will agree. It means that by the time you reach old age – however defined – you have lived with yourself a long time and know how to cope with your own individual ways.

Some things in your life will have changed and others remain very much the same. If you liked swimming or playing bridge then, you probably do so now. Yes, there are some new challenges, but they are softened by new joys.

Growing older changes both our internal and external environment in subtle ways. But it can still be a lot of fun!

This post was initially published by Sixtyandme.com (see https://sixtyandme.com/old-age-not-another-country/)

They say that the older you get, the more difficulties you have sleeping. This may be true, but I have always had trouble sleeping, so for me it is nothing new.

I have read all the advice about how to avoid – or, at least, minimise – sleeping problems. No coffee after 2pm (in my case, no coffee at all), no daytime naps, no screens an hour before bedtime, and so forth.

None of them seem to help much. Or if they do help slightly, I still do not sleep well.

And then I discovered sleep apps, and they have made a huge difference.

The Device

Some people sleep with their smartphones, but I don’t like to do so. I am always afraid that it will go off. It is somehow not relaxing.

But long ago, I discovered – and fell in love with – the Apple iPod. This is a very simple and small device on which you can listen to music or podcasts, updated regularly via the computer.

This is otherwise known as an MP3 player.

It is wonderful for sleeping, and I never go to bed without it. You can put an earplug into one ear, with no problems of size or weight and hence not disturb a sleeping partner.

In the daytime, the iPod is useful for listening to the radio or podcasts while cooking or gardening.

Meditation Apps

I have been using meditation programmes for years and managed to find one or two that I work well. They encourage you to relax your muscles, to breathe in a deep and soothing way, and to focus on various matters that take your mind away from your day-to-day concerns.

Some work better than others. I find those that direct your mind to focus very specifically on some image or action work best. Very general suggestions don’t work so well for me, because my mind goes back to whatever is worrying it.

A number of meditation programmes emphasise that it is important not to try to achieve some particular end, but how do you try not to try? This is a conundrum. Sometimes contemplating what this means in practice puts me to sleep. Problem solved.

Sleep Stories

The most recent addition to this genre is the sleep story. This is a brilliant idea. Reading you a story that lulls you off to sleep, just like a small child.

There are a growing number of stories available on sleep apps. Some are old stories you may have read before, whether fiction or non-fiction. Some have been written expressly for the purpose.

A common theme is a travel story, taking you on a journey from one well known place to another or along a particular coastline or through especially lovely scenery.

Many are labelled by headings to suggest that they are not arousing or that it won’t matter that you never hear the end. All this is sensible.

What to Look for in a Sleep App

But the problem with sleep apps is that finding ones that suit is not as easy as one might think.

First, you need the person doing the talking to have a pleasant voice. Not raspy or too nasal. No strong and distracting accent. They need to be very mellow and gentle. Surprisingly, many are not.

Then you don’t want self-advertising. I found one meditation programme that I liked a lot, but every episode started with a long invitation to donate if you found it helpful. Plus where to do so.

Another informed the listener, with some excitement, that they had just produced a book and added where it could be bought.

If you know your system well, all these intrusions can be eliminated by a quick forward wind, but that is still annoying when you are trying to sleep.

Whether fiction or non-fiction, the stories need to succeed in the delicate balance of being neither too interesting nor too boring.

You might think the latter would be perfect, but it’s not – if you are too bored, you cease to listen and then start thinking of your own worries. But if it is too interesting, of course, you try to stay awake to hear how it all turns out.

I have found this a major dilemma and difficult to get right.

Another difficulty for me is, I also get annoyed if I think the story is badly written. I am an inveterate editor when I read books, newspapers, or any other writing, which sometimes distracts me from the content.

The same is true for sleep stories. Too many adjectives? You need an editor! I am awake.

And there are still other difficulties. One reader did a wonderful job of lulling me to sleep, only to add at the end of the reading that he hoped this had put me to sleep. His voice was so loud that it woke me up.

Another was probably recorded in a not completely sound-proof room. I could easily hear the sound of a distant doorbell. Perhaps he thought no one would notice. But I was immediately awake – was it mine or on the recording? At this hour, who could it be? It certainly made me jump, and it took a while to settle down.

Keep Trying

There are new sleep stories being developed each day. I will keep trying to find the app that works well and has none of the above annoyances.

If you suffer sleep problems, do give it a try.

This post was originally published by SixtyandMe.com (see https://sixtyandme.com/sleep-apps/)