Month: July 2020

 

Yesterday on a social distance walk with my close girlfriend she mentioned that she had been asked to contribute to a  BBC Radio 4 programme this week on Friendships and it got me thinking about my own friendships. This particular friend has a wide circle of eclectic friends. Unlike me she is very sociable both in her personal life and professionally. We talked about the nature of friendship and about how many friends we could both put into our  inner circle, those friends that you are really close to, you see often and who you know will always have your back.

So, at 3 am when it was clear that sleep was not coming any time soon, I looked at my friendships and I made circle diagrams of who fitted in where. Friendships have always played a major part in my emotional well being.  It goes back a long way and forgive me if I am repeating myself but this is —  blog 90!!! —  and I just might have forgotten previous anecdotes.  I didn’t have a lot of friends when I was young.  Being Jewish and bullying played a big part.  When it is was my birthday  mum would insist on throwing me a party  and I was  always full of trepidation wondering whether anyone would turn up?  Printed in indelible ink in my brain was the Charlie Chaplin silent movie film about his birthday party.  The table was laid, balloons, party hats cakes etc and as time went on he realised that no one  was going to come. That wonderfully  expressive face went from excited, to anxious to demoralised to very upset. And interestingly that has stayed with me  to date. Tod used to say when we  were giving a party “Don’t start your Charlie Chaplin Roma.”

Oxford Professor Robin Dunbar says that our social networks have a very distinctive structure based on multiples of three.  My screen saver is a pic of Tod and I would say that we were very good friends. We both had each other’s backs at all times and when the chips were down, we knew we could rely on each other completely. In my  inner inner circle my UK friends probably number  3 or 4. In the inner circle there are 5 in the UK and 5 overseas. Then I got stuck between friends that I like and see sometimes – when it isn’t a pandemic and acquaintances. So, the next bubble is around 15 – people that I would consider friends, but they don’t make it to the inner inner  or inner circle. And then there are acquaintances probably around 30.

It made me feel better .  I seem to fit right into Professor Dunbar’s friendship structure; innermost group 3 – 5 next a slightly larger group of around 10 (ok so I have a few more) and then he has another group of around 150.   I guess over the past 68 years I probably do have many more people that I have known and spent time with but their names at this moment elude me. That said oddly throughout the day names have kept coming to me with “I wonder what he or she is doing now.” It would be good to be a voyeur on their lives, first  look in on them and be able to make a decision about whether I wanted to take it further.

But what about those close friends who are no longer alive.  I had 3 very close girlfriends all from my early twenties. We lived, played and spent a lot of time together and they are all dead.  And I know it is depressing but I guess going forward this will become more common place.  My Aunt in New York who is in her eighties often laments about losing nearly all her very good friends.

What I realised  at 4 this morning is the importance of good friends. I could not exist without my friends which are primarily female. Maybe this is because women talk, share, have a higher expectation of friends than men do and place a greater emphasis on intimacy.  From my limited experience men can go on extended periods of time months or even years without seeing a friend and yet still consider them to be a close friend.  We however need regular contact with a close friend.

I probably have not been a great friend over the past 2 years. I have been needy, moody and somewhat self-obsessed but there have been circumstances and I have allowed myself to wallow.  My good friends are patient understanding empathetic and loyal. They know that when I am not all these things then I am a very good friend because I too am patient, understanding empathetic and loyal.

“Let’s be careful out there” 

When I was 2 my father fell down the stairs carrying me. While I don’t recall the actual event there is something in the back of mind – a feeling that remembers. Later on, I wondered if perhaps this accident dislodged something in my brain – the bit that retains information as this has always been an issue for me. I did once go for tests and spent 24 hours with wires attached to my head so they could analyse my brain. The outcome was unclear. This weekend however I read a report about the effects of a high sugar diet on brain function. So maybe it was my mother and her sugar sandwiches rather than my father dropping me.

Apparently eating a sugar-rich diet in infancy may affect brain development. Scientists at the University of California fed one group of rats a high sugar diet and the other regular food. A few weeks later, the animals were set tasks to gauge their ability to recognise items – sort of memory recall associated with the hippocampus part of the brain. The ones on high sugar performed much worse than the other group. On analysing the faeces of the high sugar fed rats they found that their guts contained higher levels of Parabacteroides. When these microbes were added to the diet of the other rats, they too performed poorly in memory tests. So, I am wondering if one can reverse this? If so, should I eliminate sugar from my diet now and will I then be able to remember what I had for breakfast.
Seriously there is no doubt that despite this recent survey we all know that sugar is bad for us. And I did once manage 6 months without sugar including pasta and other sugar related items. The first 6 weeks is the hardest to stop the cravings but then once you start to feel the full effects it  does become easier.  Sugar is incredibly addictive more addictive apparently than opioid drugs such as cocaine and of course more prevalent, available, and socially acceptable than amphetamines or alcohol, and so harder to avoid.
So, some 8 years ago I decided to go on a detox, and I chose a retreat in southern Goa. I had already been in India for a few weeks and found a place with good reviews in the southern tip of Goa. I arrived on one of the hottest days in Goa and was greeted with what looked like a delicious  cold smoothie which I promptly downed only to throw up once I was in the privacy of my room. It was disgusting. And every day I had to down three of these each fouler than the last one. And no food. Only on the 5th day could we eat what resembled food. My fellow guests were also having twice daily enemas which I declined as I had spent the previous week in a hotel  clutching the  white porcelain of the toilet bowl violently ill with dysentery.  I felt there was nothing left to be evacuated and quite frankly I had no intention of going anywhere near the rear end of my body.

But it worked and I rid my body of sugar  and kept it up for around 6 months. In this last 5 months since lock down my sugar intake has increased fourfold. Cakes, biscuits, chocolate, ice cream and even boiled sweets. I needed to give myself treats, to lift my spirits even if only momentarily. I, of course, blame my mother for starting me off in life with white sugar sandwiches on white bread.

And in line with the governments new obesity strategy and banning two for one adverts of junk food I have decided to try to renew a sugar free diet. I have just waved cheerio to Toby and Linda who in the midst of a summer storm — I know what summer — have left for a week of wild camping. So, it is just me and I have no excuse not to carry this out. It might mean, of course that I have to don mask and gloves and buy some healthy food. I rather relish getting out it will be a welcome distraction as this past weekend has been tough – five months has finally got to me. Rain, grey skies and a bleak future sent me under my duvet and not even my trusted friend Netflix could lift me out of my gloom. I was thoroughly miserable and piss poor company. But today I dragged myself from under the duvet, dusted myself down and started afresh – with hopefully no sugar.

“Let’s be careful out there”

 

 

 

Oh, dear I am a whole day older today and have done bugger all. But its Friday – or at least I think it is because I have just done my Friday Pilates but then it could have been my Monday or Wednesday Pilates. Everything seems to be interchangeable. The days are punctuated by Pilates, Yoga and Bridge. Without them – well it would be just one long duvet day.

Remember Bill Murray in Groundhog Day  “I wake up every day, right here, right in Punxsutawney, and it’s always February 2nd, and there’s nothing I can do about it.”

I know what he means. I wake up every morning when everything stays the same. COVID statistics, Mask wearing or not? ridiculous claims by our leaders, fears of a second wave.

“What would you do if you were stuck in one place, and every day was exactly the same, and nothing that you did mattered?” asks TV weatherman Connors in Groundhog Day.

For those of you who don’t remember the iconic 1993 film Groundhog Day or didn’t see it; Murray portrays Phil Connors, a cynical TV weatherman covering the annual Groundhog Day event in Punxsutawney, Pennsylvania, who becomes trapped in a time loop forcing him to relive February 2 repeatedly until he gets it right. He awakens every morning at the Cherry Tree Inn to Sonny & Cher’s “I Got You, Babe,” playing on the clock radio.

My morning wake up is BBC News – I check just to see if by any chance it is  all a dream and there is  no COVID19. Fat chance.

So today I was examining one of my most unattractive traits Envy. It hit me during my Pilates class when the teacher who is the mum of my son’s wife and who used to be a ballet dancer – did a particular exercise.

Not only could I not open my legs wide, but I could just about move a few centimetres towards the floor. I have been doing Pilates for 5 years and before that yoga for 5 years how can it be possible that my body is still so stiff that it refuses to accept these positions. While the rest of the class can flow effortless and gracefully from floor to standing, I hobble on to my knees then very gently so as not to alert my sciatica,  heave myself up to the standing position by which time the rest of the class has moved on 2 exercises.  You know when you start with a new teacher and they ask “Has anybody got any injuries” I am torn between reeling my catalogue of injuries, back, knees, ankles, hips, neck or just keeping shtum.

Envy didn’t end with the Pilates halfway through the Zoom class her other daughter arrived with her new baby granddaughter – yes, I have no grandchildren, 3 sons but no grandchildren and to top it all – she has a husband!

It is unwarranted envy. And I know she would feel bad if she knew that I was having these thoughts as she is a lovely lady.  Just have to get to grips with Envy and realise while I might be getting a bit decrepit, and have no husband, and I can’t get out and ‘about, I am still  extremely fortunate in so many other ways.

Note to self: Get your priorities in order Felstein.

Talking of partners, I have been watching  the Indian Matchmaking series on Netflix. Matchmaker Sima Taparia helps clients in the U.S. and India to find suitable partners. I am loving it and it offers an inside look at the custom in a modern era. It’s fascinating.  It’s like a Tinder Premium.  Having listened to  stories from my 3 beautiful and intelligent girlfriends one in her 40’s one in her 50’s and one in her 60’s who have kissed their fair share of frogs but not found a prince I am thinking maybe a matchmaker is the answer.

My mother once broached the idea when aged 30 I was still single and she was concerned that I might marry outside of the Jewish faith. Needless to say I ignored her.  But as in India, matchmakers have been part of the Jewish custom for centuries. A shadchan, a traditional Jewish matchmaker is common for ultra-orthodox Jews. The shadchan performs a pivotal role in ultra-orthodox Jewish circles where young men and women rarely mix, but marriage at an early age – 17 or 18 – followed by a large brood of children is considered highly desirable.

In a way I am a kind of matchmaker as I am always on the look out for suitable men for my girlfriends and I have arranged a couple of dates for them which unfortunately didn’t work out. I am wondering why it is so difficult.  Maybe because it takes a very confident man not to be intimidated by very capable women who  they maybe find a bit scary and threatening. Or because my girlfriends have been on their own for a while and are not willing to accept second best. And why should they?

So, after watching the Netflix series I am suggesting they try a matchmaker. Would be safer, less arduous and hit and miss with a lot more miss than hit. What have they to lose?Anywhere from £6,000 to £30,000 and with no guarantee.  If this was a journalist article, I would research it more for you but as it is my blog if you are interested in knowing more you are going to have to do the hard work.

I will keep you posted.

Have a good weekend – if it is the weekend…

“Let’s be careful out there”

 

Argentine sailor Juan Manuel Ballestero appeared in a recent Serendipity blog. Why?  Because he had sailed halfway round the world from Argentina to the UK to visit his elderly father. He is not alone others have gone to extreme levels in order to be reunited with families during this epidemic.  When flights were cancelled to Greece student Kleon Papadimitriou rode his bicycle  on a 48-day trip to Athens to get home. Garry Crothers was determined not to miss his youngest daughter’s wedding, so when flights were grounded, he decided to make the 6,500km journey home by sailing solo across the Atlantic. I get this.  When crisis hits one wants to be with one’s loved ones.

While I never thought I would hear myself say this in some ways I am pleased that my parents are no longer alive. It takes some of the concern from my life. Right now, it is just me I have to keep safe.  And sadly, it is my age which apparently puts me at the highest risk.  I am now considered elderly.  I have never ever thought of myself as elderly and it’s not a nice feeling.  I remember sitting in the doctor’s surgery when I was just 50 and the doctor telephoned another consultant to make an appointment for me. She said, “I have this fifty-year-old lady with me….” and I looked around – where was she?  Who is she talking about?  Before realising that it was me!

In the UK there are around 15.5 million people aged 60 or over, making up 23% of the UK population. The number of “older” old people is also rising – there are now 3.2 million people aged 80 or over, and almost 600,000 of these are aged 90 or over.

And I am one of these.   With care homes much in the news right now I am reminded of just how much I do not want to end up in one. So much so that in the Will which has finally be signed – yes just yesterday — there is a codicil that says that if my children put me in a Home then my entire  estate will go to dog and cats’ homes.  I guess this comes from the experience I had with my mother and my aunt and a few other relatives.

When Mum moved  from Leicester to London because she had early dementia, she was determined she wanted to go into a Home. She lasted 8 days before I yanked her out, found a lovely 2 bedroom flat near me, and installed a Philippian carer.

This is by no means a criticism of carers who are paid badly and do fantastic work. COVID has shown just how amazing are these carers but what it has also shown is what low priority are the care homes in the pecking order.   Current residents have worked all their lives, fought in one and sometimes two world wars, paid their taxes, their national insurance but are then considered not worthy of enough funding to keep them safe and in some cases alive.

We all know that finance is key but along with this is a different way of thinking about adult social care. We need a new model for the 21st century.  Within days of my mother entering the Home she started to become institutionalised.  One minute she was living on her own, making her own food, cleaning her flat, choosing her clothes, bathing etc and the next she apparently needed a helper to guide her to the dining room.

One day 2 when they had finally chucked me out of the Home saying this wasn’t helping my mother having me sleeping on her floor!  I returned next day  to see my mum walking slowly like an old woman with a nurse holding her hand. “Why are you holding my mother’s hand,” I asked.  “Because she might get lost finding the dining room.”  “Well she could ask directions,” I said. “She has a tongue in her head and her speech is working just fine.” Maybe unfair, the carer was most likely just following protocol. And I guess in some ways it is easier to control situations this way.

I was definitely their worst visitor. Actually, I am usually everybody’s worst visitor. When mum was in hospital after a stroke unable to move, the nurses used to hide when I arrived.  Word got round quickly “Mrs Felstein’s daughter is here.” And they would scurry away hoping not to have deal with any of my demands.  Not   unreasonable demands. Just please can my mother be fed her food while it is still hot.  And would be better for my mother’s health if she could get a commode rather than wet herself because it has taken too long for someone to  check her, or yes she is a bit dehydrated because no-one has bothered to  give her any water. Eventually I paid someone to sit by her bed until I could get there after work.  Over protective me? No just a lioness looking after her pride .   My friends say should they get sick they want to be in my family.

So following  mum to the dining room we met a fellow resident.  “So how is it here,” I asked. “Don’t judge a book by its cover,” he said  and carried on eating. What did he mean? I soon found out.  Outwardly the home was beautiful with fresh flowers, clean and most important no smell of urine. But inside the book the pages were empty.   One would think that for £1000 a week – which is what it cost back then, one could do a bit better.

Admittedly this was 15 years ago, and I know there have been changes. But we do need to have a radical rethink about caring for the older adults in the 21st century.  We need to look at Denmark, Sweden and Holland for guidance. And some  Care Homes are now trying to model themselves on the Dutch Dementia Village.  Inspirational and apparently no more expensive than a regular Care Home.

Home

One UK Care Facility is Castle Brook. It runs a similar programme to the Dutch facility.    No plonking residents in front of the incessant drone  of the tv which they can’t understand anyway. Never understood why they did this. Playing music has been proven to have a far more positive effect on dementia.  I suppose it is a bit like putting children in front of the tv to give mums some breathing space.  The Castlebrook  Home  is designed around six households of 14 people. They have their own kitchen and the concept like in Holland is ensure that the Home is really a Home with a semblance of normality offering shopping, cooking, general housework etc all geared to the residents wants, needs and how they feel and where possible leaving them with a feeling of independence. There is a sense of freedom rather incarceration.    And this is key. Bad enough that you are leaving your home but then also losing your independence must be so very demoralising. I know Tod hated it  when he deteriorated and had to rely on me and lost his independence.

I had  no intention when I started today’s blog  to go on this journey into Adult Social Care.  Anyway  I am going to be going out with a bang. Its Jenny Joseph’s Warning – The Lady In Purple  all the way for me.

“Let’s be careful out there”

Argentine sailor Juan Manuel Ballestero appeared in a recent Serendipity blog. Why?  Because he had sailed halfway round the world from Argentina to the UK to visit his elderly father. He is not alone others have gone to extreme levels in order to be reunited with families during this epidemic.  When flights were cancelled to Greece student Kleon Papadimitriou rode his bicycle  on a 48-day trip to Athens to get home. Garry Crothers was determined not to miss his youngest daughter’s wedding, so when flights were grounded, he decided to make the 6,500km journey home by sailing solo across the Atlantic. I get this.  When crisis hits one wants to be with one’s loved ones.

While I never thought I would hear myself say this in some ways I am pleased that my parents are no longer alive. It takes some of the concern from my life. Right now, it is just me I have to keep safe.  And sadly, it is my age which apparently puts me at the highest risk.  I am now considered elderly.  I have never ever thought of myself as elderly and it’s not a nice feeling.  I remember sitting in the doctor’s surgery when I was just 50 and the doctor telephoned another consultant to make an appointment for me. She said, “I have this fifty-year-old lady with me….” and I looked around – where was she?  Who is she talking about?  Before realising that it was me!

In the UK there are around 15.5 million people aged 60 or over, making up 23% of the UK population. The number of “older” old people is also rising – there are now 3.2 million people aged 80 or over, and almost 600,000 of these are aged 90 or over.

And I am one of these.   With care homes much in the news right now I am reminded of just how much I do not want to end up in one. So much so that in the Will which has finally be signed – yes just yesterday — there is a codicil that says that if my children put me in a Home then my entire  estate will go to dog and cats’ homes.  I guess this comes from the experience I had with my mother and my aunt and a few other relatives.

When Mum moved  from Leicester to London because she had early dementia, she was determined she wanted to go into a Home. She lasted 8 days before I yanked her out, found a lovely 2 bedroom flat near me, and installed a Philippian carer.

This is by no means a criticism of carers who are paid badly and do fantastic work. COVID has shown just how amazing are these carers but what it has also shown is what low priority are the care homes in the pecking order.   Current residents have worked all their lives, fought in one and sometimes two world wars, paid their taxes, their national insurance but are then considered not worthy of enough funding to keep them safe and in some cases alive.

We all know that finance is key but along with this is a different way of thinking about adult social care. We need a new model for the 21st century.  Within days of my mother entering the Home she started to become institutionalised.  One minute she was living on her own, making her own food, cleaning her flat, choosing her clothes, bathing etc and the next she apparently needed a helper to guide her to the dining room.

One day 2 when they had finally chucked me out of the Home saying this wasn’t helping my mother having me sleeping on her floor!  I returned next day  to see my mum walking slowly like an old woman with a nurse holding her hand. “Why are you holding my mother’s hand,” I asked.  “Because she might get lost finding the dining room.”  “Well she could ask directions,” I said. “She has a tongue in her head and her speech is working just fine.” Maybe unfair, the carer was most likely just following protocol. And I guess in some ways it is easier to control situations this way.

I was definitely their worst visitor. Actually, I am usually everybody’s worst visitor. When mum was in hospital after a stroke unable to move, the nurses used to hide when I arrived.  Word got round quickly “Mrs Felstein’s daughter is here.” And they would scurry away hoping not to have deal with any of my demands.  Not   unreasonable demands. Just please can my mother be fed her food while it is still hot.  And would be better for my mother’s health if she could get a commode rather than wet herself because it has taken too long for someone to  check her, or yes she is a bit dehydrated because no-one has bothered to  give her any water. Eventually I paid someone to sit by her bed until I could get there after work.  Over protective me? No just a lioness looking after her pride .   My friends say should they get sick they want to be in my family.

So following  mum to the dining room we met a fellow resident.  “So how is it here,” I asked. “Don’t judge a book by its cover,” he said  and carried on eating. What did he mean? I soon found out.  Outwardly the home was beautiful with fresh flowers, clean and most important no smell of urine. But inside the book the pages were empty.   One would think that for £1000 a week – which is what it cost back then, one could do a bit better.

Admittedly this was 15 years ago, and I know there have been changes. But we do need to have a radical rethink about caring for the older adults in the 21st century.  We need to look at Denmark, Sweden and Holland for guidance. And some  Care Homes are now trying to model themselves on the Dutch Dementia Village.  Inspirational and apparently no more expensive than a regular Care Home.

 https://www.dementiavillage.com

One UK Care Facility is Castle Brook. It runs a similar programme to the Dutch facility.    No plonking residents in front of the incessant drone  of the tv which they can’t understand anyway. Never understood why they did this. Playing music has been proven to have a far more positive effect on dementia.  I suppose it is a bit like putting children in front of the tv to give mums some breathing space.  The Castlebrook  Home  is designed around six households of 14 people. They have their own kitchen and the concept like in Holland is ensure that the Home is really a Home with a semblance of normality offering shopping, cooking, general housework etc all geared to the residents wants, needs and how they feel and where possible leaving them with a feeling of independence. There is a sense of freedom rather incarceration.    And this is key. Bad enough that you are leaving your home but then also losing your independence must be so very demoralising. I know Tod hated it  when he deteriorated and had to rely on me and lost his independence.

I had  no intention when I started today’s blog  to go on this journey into Adult Social Care.  Anyway  I am going to be going out with a bang. Its Jenny Joseph’s Warning – The Lady In Purple  all the way for me.

“Let’s be careful out there”

Ok people no need for any more anxiety about this virus killing off the planet. There just might be an escape route. Apparently as reported in the Sun – my go to newspaper – “Experts suspect that aliens are living in underground tunnels on Mars formed by Lava Billions of years ago.”  And despite Mars being about 33 million miles away and cosmic radiation making its surface inhospitable, it is hoped humans will one day be able to colonise the lava caves on Mars and the Moon.  Pascal Leem, a planetary researcher at NASA Ames Research Centre in California, said “On Mars and other places, lava tubes have the potential to have made the difference between life and death.”  So maybe not in my life time but my  great grandchildren!!!

This sodding virus  has crept  into all our conversations, our consciousness and even our dreams.  I can’t remember the last time I called someone when the virus wasn’t mentioned and  I almost cannot remember what my life was like pre last March.  Makes me wonder what we talked about before this – ahh yes Brexit.

Last night at 2 am when I finally gave up trying to get to sleep, I picked up the journalist Karoline Kan’s book Under Red Skies. She was born in 1989 the year of The Tiananmen Square massacre. Fascinating nonfiction account of what her life was like growing up in a society beset by poverty and political unrest. But what was most striking was her account of the Sars epidemic

“…  it was spreading throughout China and killing people but without the governments formal confirmation that it was a deadly epidemic most people dismissed it as a rumour. We worried about it a lot because it was said that you could catch the disease by talking to somebody who was infected and then get a fever and cough your muscles ached and your immune system would break down in days. Many felt it was natures revenge on the Kwando people because they were believed to be savages who ate wild animals like snakes and monkeys. …… …. every family scrambled to the shops for vinegar which was thought would help protect you from the disease.  The streets were empty as people wanted to avoid crowds and infection……. What scares me most was not the disease itself, but the horrid atmosphere created by the disease which felt like an invisible monster lurking in the shade that could jump out to eat me at any time.”

Reminiscent of the scene in the UK back at the beginning of COVID19.

At the weekend I left my compound and visited a couple of close friends for dinner in their garden.  It was just 3 of us but I needed to prepare; disposable gloves in case I needed the toilet, anti-bacterial hand wash, antibacterial wipes, a mask and some Dutch courage as it was my first outing since the beginning of March.  Maybe a bit OTT.   Took me back to the days of leaving the house with a baby and all that entailed.  Remember thinking gone are the days when I can instantaneously get up and go.    What’s more as I had nothing to take because my online grocery order  wasn’t due for a few days   I made some lemonade which proceeded to spill all over the passenger seat in the car which is now a sticky mess.  But it was worth it to have a short injection of semi normality in my life and  spend time with very close friends.

I feel much more anxious  now we are opening up because I have to make choices. Before when we were locked down it was easy. We were all in the same boat. Now I have to weigh stuff up risk versus necessity versus sanity.  Moreover, I am the most careful out of all of my friends because I am the only one with an immune issue. And I do feel a certain amount of pressure  to be a bit more relaxed  and maybe they have a point.  The  virus has made some of us more defensive and judgmental. Either because we are taking social distancing less seriously or because we are taking it too seriously.

I am not alone  in my anxiety about society  ‘opening up’  others I have spoken to  are also  finding the decisions difficult.  Do we accept a dinner invitation? How many people will be there? How big is their table? What if it rains and we can’t eat outside? Where have the people who are inviting us been?  How safe are they? Can I eat in a restaurant where they are not wearing masks  etc etc. It’s not easy.

But what gives me a lot of hope is that while our world has shrunk the virus has unleashed a resurgence of community spirit.   People seem genuinely much nicer, they talk, they smile at you and there is a real sense that they care. I have chatted with strangers in my local park who have now become regular social distance  buddies. I know about their lives, their friends, their work, their dogs  and their worries.  We have shared stuff that I would not have done before COVID19.  Conversations end with “you take care” or “stay safe”.

The Isolation Economy research revealed back in June that two-thirds (64 per cent) of UK adults feel their communities have ‘come together to help each other’ during the crisis. This includes extending financial support to local businesses, with 60 per cent plan to buy more goods from local stores in a bid to help local economies following the lockdown.  Nigel Wilson, Legal & General chief executive, said: “Being more isolated has made us also more inclusive.”

According to the Isolation Economy study, one in every five UK adults (19 per cent) has volunteered their time for community-level activities or organisations since the start of the lockdown on March 23. This includes nearly a quarter (23 per cent) of furloughed workers.

So ending on this positive not meet  Michael 91 and his wife Gillian 88 who both  walked out of a Leicester hospital last week after recovering from COVID19 following a three-week stay in the  hospital.  Each morning  Mr England would get himself dressed before the therapist arrived so that when he needed to exercise, he could walk to his wife’s bedside. And there, awake and awaiting his arrival would be his wife ready for their daily cup of tea together.  Mr England said, “while I’ve been in hospital, I’ve not really missed anything because Gillian is here, and I have been able to see her every day.”

 

“Let’s be careful out there”

Michael was a boy a few years older than me at primary School.  I remember him even now. He had blonde hair and lots of freckles. He was small for his age and wore those round NHS spectacles with sticky tape on one side holding them together. Maybe I remember him because he wore callipers. There were  a few children in the school with callipers. Our teacher explained that the boys had polio.  She showed us pictures of iron lungs and I was very frightened. I had nightmares about these great big machines and was terrified that I might have to get into one of them.

And I had completely forgotten about this until I read an article in The Guardian – The Man in the Iron Lung. It tells the story of Paul Alexander who in 1952 in Texas USA contracted polio which left him paralysed for life.  He has spent most of his life in  an  Iron Lung.   Reading the article bought back those memories and  indeed the fears that I have right now about  Coronavirus.

It’s an interesting read.  Takes some guts to live the life he has

https://www.theguardian.com/society/2020/may/26/last-iron-lung-paul-alexander-polio-coronavirus

Thanks to Jonas Salk the scientist who discovered a polio vaccine in 1955 it has now been almost eradicated worldwide.  The last case of polio in the US was in 1979 and in the UK 1984. The World Health Organisation had declared The Americas and the Western pacific region polio free.  It is only endemic now in Afghanistan, Nigeria and Pakistan. I am not sure why but I am sure you can google it and find out.

Many of you thankfully will know nothing about the polio epidemic. It was incredibly destructive and every summer during the polio season — it was a virus that liked warm weather – parents would live in fear.   In a way they are the same fears that we are now going through. Parents stopped sending their children to school, they kept them indoors, swimming pools, cinemas etc were closed, public places were shunned and like us today they social distanced.    I imagine for those who lived through the polio epidemic of the last century this must feel strangely familiar.

Ina Pinkney, now 77 was a year old when she contracted the disease in Brooklyn, N.Y. “When my parents would take me out … you could hear everybody get silent and move away, which is very much what it feels like now.”

The sheer numbers of people affected by Polio in America during its worst outbreak in  1952 were staggering:  57,626 cases, 3,145 died and 21,269 left paralysis.

 

Interesting too are the parallels between the two viruses that for every person who got polio hundreds of others would get the virus without serious effects and yet they too could carry it to others.

Maybe we have been lulled into a false sense of security and forgotten the terror of other diseases which we are now routinely vaccinated against: Diphtheria, Typhus, Measles, Mumps and TB.

So, this is our generations pandemic. Knowing what has gone before us doesn’t make the current epidemic any less scary but it is just putting it into context.  It is hard to imagine whilst we are in the midst of COVID19 that we might also one day – hopefully forget about it too.

Ina said that in surviving the polio epidemic it has given her perspective with this current epidemic.  “I live with hope and I live with anticipation that we will get on the other side of this. I don’t know what it looks like. It doesn’t even matter, as long as people are not getting sick and people are not dying.”

I too am cautiously optimistic that we have many ‘Jonas Salk’s’ around the world working on finding a vaccine for COVID19.

“Let’s be careful out there”