Getting older

My husband and I are struggling with elderly parents at the moment. We all have an inkling, I suppose, that our parents getting older can be a difficult time, but it's not until you're in the midst of it that you fully appreciate all that this entails.

At the moment we live in fear of the phone ringing, because one of our parents has fallen a couple of times recently. They have a bracelet around their wrist which allows them to contact a private company that can call an ambulance if they are unwell or have fallen -- otherwise how would anyone know, with them living alone? That's positive, of course, but it's not straightforward.

The foremost problem is that, once called, it takes ages for the ambulance to come -- over four hours, last time. So, you are left with an elderly person lying on the floor in the cold unable to get themselves up. Once the ambulance arrives, the staff are absolutely great, but it's the wait that's the problem.

An added problem is that the company that calls the ambulance doesn't have a call back number, so while they will ring to tell you that your relative has fallen and an ambulance has been called, there is no way of ascertaining when the ambulance has arrived or how long it might be. If you live at a distance from your parent, this leaves you with a huge dilemma -- do you embark on a journey of several hours to reach them or will the ambulance get there first? Last time, not wanting to call 999 when they were clearly so busy, we had to resort to scrabbling around on the Web for possible non-emergency numbers to ring in a bid to get hold of any information.

Social care is another problem. Social services will only visit the elderly on a regular basis if they are incapable of looking after themselves and are in need of personal care, i.e. help with getting out of bed, washing and dressing. If an elderly person is capable of doing these things, then they are judged to be able, but of course there are other things that they may need help with. For example, they become reliant on meals-on-wheels services and hired domestic help if they are not up to cooking or cleaning.

It can also be difficult to persuade elderly relatives to do things that would actually be helpful to their situation. We have suggested joining befriending networks of other elderly people and even hiring someone to help with transport to events, appointments, etc., but with no luck so far.

What we have really learnt from all of this is how important it is to plan ahead. We all need to acknowledge the fact that we will get old (however unwelcome the notion) and think in advance about how we will deal with this and the help that we may need to organise.

Time and time and time

Like many parents, I can’t believe how fast my children are growing up. Remember how, when they were babies, everyone said: ‘Enjoy it while you can – they grow up so quickly!’ You don’t believe it at the time, of course, when you simply can’t see beyond the feeding and the nappies and the nights…

But, I can testify that it really does go fast. And this was brought home to me with a bang this week when I attended my eldest’s GCSE information evening. She makes her GCSE choices in just a few weeks’ time – how on earth did that happen?! I then did a quick calculation and realised that she would be leaving home in just over four years, which is simply stunning.

In another two years, both my children will have left home and my husband and I will have to find new (or rediscover old) ways of filling our time. By then, we will both be in our fifties – something else which I find very hard to believe…

The many faces of old age

I have a number of elderly relatives and I never cease to be amazed by the different approaches that they adopt to old age.

Some never stop talking about their age; it is clearly a fundamental part of their lives. These people tend to be intensely concerned with their health, discussing in minute detail event the slightest ache or pain that they experience. They seem unaware that all people of their age experience this kind of discomfort and malaise on a day-to-day basis. An eighty-year-old naturally feels different, physically, from a twenty-year-old. These people also lose their zest for life. 'I am too old' is a common refrain that is applied to all kinds of situations -- the wish to no longer travel, to stay at home, to cook the simplest of meals...

By contrast, others make the most of their old age. They travel, socialise, entertain, and are probably even more active than earlier on in their lives. It is clear that they too experience the discomforts of old age -- you can observe them rubbing an arthritic hand, walking slower than they used to, sinking down gratefully into a comfortable chair -- but you never hear them talk or complain about these things. Rather than giving in to old age, they seem to meet it head on.

And there is a third approach to old age that I have encountered -- recognising that the end is coming, the people in this category start analysing their lives, looking to right any wrongs that they believe themselves to have committed. They are, I suppose, seeking atonement or some kind of closure and it is this that drives their actions in, and approach to, old age.

I suppose that these different takes on ageing are really just an extension of the individual's personality. A young person with a negative outlook is likely to grow into an elderly person with a negative outlook. Someone who has always embraced life will carry that attitude forwards into old age. But it makes you think and, more importantly, it makes you realise how you would like to be in old age. I hope that I still remember this when I reach that stage in my own life.

Video cassettes and beyond

I recently had an interesting conversation with my daughter, which reinforced just how different the experience of people from different generations can be – and also indicated how much technology has changed over the last 30+ years.

She was telling me about her geography lesson. She was currently learning about plate tectonics, she said, and had watched a film on the subject. ‘It was from about 2000 BC,’ she quipped. ‘Is it called a...cassette?’ I burst out laughing. Yep, a video cassette. Unknown to my daughter’s generation.

The pace of change is amazing, if you think about it. Videos were new-fangled in my generation. Remember the hours spent finding a blank tape, checking the time of the programme, punching in the relevant times and programme duration... Even then the programme didn’t always record for some unfathomable reason, despite the fact that you were sure you had done everything right. And if the programme time was changed last minute due to, say, a sporting event overrunning, then you really were stuffed. The only hope of seeing the programme then was if the channel chose to repeat it at some point. The technology improved, of course, and became more reliable. It even became possible to programme the later model VCRs to record multiple programmes at different times.

And then the technology changed. In the 1990s, DVDs superseded video cassettes as the medium of choice for pre-recorded material. Now we have digital set-top boxes for recording. We can record what we like, when we like, multiple programmes at a time, all with an easy-to-use visual interface. And, of course, we also have catch-up services, meaning we no longer have to remember to record the programmes that we want to watch. Nor indeed remember to watch them at the time when they are first screened.

Turning the tables, my kids are completely au fait with video on demand and catch-up in a way that I’m just not. It’s no problem at all for them to use iPlayer – and it’s not as though my husband or I have even taught them. They just work it out. Whereas I frequently find myself helpless when the HUMAX has crashed yet again and I can’t even switch on live TV. At times like these I find myself pining for the simplicity of the 1970s and 80s when there were only four channels and when, if you pushed the relevant channel button, the TV just came on.

It’s called getting older, I guess.

A Life in Time

Anyone who reads my blog regularly will know that I am a Penelope Lively fan. I was lucky enough to receive her latest book as a Christmas gift from my children, and recently finished reading it.

This book is called "Ammonites and Leaping Fish: A Life in Time". Unlike most of Lively's other books (the ones I've read, anyway), this is not a work of fiction. Rather it is is something like a memoir, but not quite--perhaps it is best described as an extended essay on the topic of old age.

The book falls into five parts. The first examines what it is actually like to be old (Lively is now eighty)--the pleasures and the pitfalls; what old age feels like. The second examines the overarching backdrop to Lively's life--the political, social and archaeological era that has contextualised her existence. The third examines memory--why people remember as they do and how memory deteriorates with age. The fourth focuses on books and writing--Lively discusses some of the books that have made the greatest impression on her, and how they have have influenced her own writing. And the final part talks about six objects that Lively owns and which, in different ways, represent and define different parts of her life.

The quality of Lively's writing is, as usual, first class. When reading her prose, I always feel as if I am listening to a good friend. Her writing instils that kind of intimacy, while at the same time touching on profound, deeply meaningful matters. Quite a feat, but then that is her gift.

As with all of Lively's work, this book comes highly recommended, particularly the sections on old age and memory. (I found the section on the political and social context informative, but a little dull--although I suspect that someone of Lively's own generation would find the material here much more interesting.)

My only complaint is that this book has a touch of finality about it--memoirs, old age and so on are all suggestive of the end of an era. I just hope that this isn't so quite yet and that this won't be the last book that Lively writes.

Before Midnight

I recently wrote a blog post about two of my favourite films -- "Before Sunrise" and "Before Sunset", starring Julie Delpy and Ethan Hawke. I mentioned there that I was looking forward to the next film in the 'series' --"Before Midnight", which I had put on my LoveFilm list.

Luckily for me, it turned out that I didn't have to wait for "Before Midnight" to appear on LoveFilm, because my lovely husband bought me the DVD for Christmas. We've now found time to watch the film, and here are my thoughts.

True to formula, "Before Midnight" takes place (both in the film and in reality) roughly ten years after the previous film, "Before Sunset". "Before Sunset" closed on a cliffhanger with Delpy and Hawke having just met for the first time after their initial encounter ten years previously. They are still strongly attracted to one another, but Hawke is now trapped in a loveless marriage and has a son. At the end of "Before Sunset" it was entirely unclear whether Hawke would return to his unhappy life in the US or remain with Delpy in Paris.

In "Before Midnight", we learn that Hawke did indeed remain with Delpy in Paris--we catch up with them at the end of a summer spent in Greece with their twin girls, aged six, and Hawke's son, now about to start high school. Seeing his son off at the airport, Hawke begins to question the life that he is now living. He may be living with the woman he loves, but he is missing out on his son's youth entirely.

Hawke and Delpy spend their last evening in Greece together without their children--courtesy of the friends with whom they are staying, who have booked a hotel room for them and are providing babysitting. Instead of being a romantic getaway, though, the evening turns into a full-scale row, with Hawke's fears about his son coming to the fore, and the couple's dissatisfaction with their lives and with one another emerging.

The themes that this film covers will be familiar to any long-term couple with kids--loss of romance over the years, how to combine career and family, how difficult it is for both partners to be fulfilled career-wise, the division of domestic labour, loss of identity, ageing, the 'rational' partner versus the 'emotional' partner...

Needless to say, the tone of "Before Midnight" is quite different from the first two films, which are romantic, focussing on the hopes and aspirations of a couple meeting for the first (and second!) time. In "Before Midnight" the romance is gone and reality has set in. It is not a feelgood film, but it does accurately reflect reality--the reality of an established relationship with children.

And that's exactly what I enjoyed about this film--the reality, something with which we can all identify. It's what I enjoyed about the other two films, as well--I could identify with them since they reflected my own experience and thoughts in my twenties, and then my thirties.

If you're looking for something interesting, provocative and conversation-worthy, the "Before..." trilogy comes highly recommended.

Giving up seats on buses

I travel into work and back on the bus three days a week, so am very used to observing people’s behaviour when travelling on public transport.

As a girl I was brought up to believe that, on a crowded bus, it was the right thing to give my seat up to those less able to stand than myself, i.e. elderly people, pregnant women, people coping with young children, etc., etc. And I still adhere to that belief, even though I am now middle aged (although still, of course, perfectly able to stand on a bus).

It appears, however, that the majority of young people nowadays have not been brought up that way. I have often observed someone elderly and frail board the bus, and not a single young  person has offered their seat, even though they are often taking up spaces at the front of the bus that are expressly labelled as being for the less able or infirm. Usually it falls to someone older (like me) to accommodate.

This morning, a lady made her way to the back of the bus, announcing that she was pregnant and asking whether anyone would like to give up their seat. Someone immediately did.

When I was pregnant with my two children, I travelled to and from work every day on the bus. On the occasions when there were no free seats, I don’t recall anyone offering theirs to me. I certainly  wouldn’t have asked, and, to be honest, I was perfectly fit during both my pregnancies and able to stand fine, even at full term.

It seems a shame, though, that things have changed so much since my childhood and that these kinds of small courtesies have disappeared amongst the young. People are so absorbed in their ipods and themselves that they are apparently oblivious to the world around them. Or perhaps that’s just a convenient excuse...

Changes, changes

I have been a customer of Lloyds Bank for longer than I care to remember. When I first signed up at the tender age of sixteen and deposited my first few pounds, it was just Lloyds pure and simple. No association with any other banks. And the logo was the good old fashioned black horse. The Lloyds black horse looked, back then, like a 'proper' horse with a long, flowing mane and tail. It had nothing remotely in common looks-wise with the prehistoric white horse at Uffington. And, indeed, the television advertising featured a beautiful, galloping, jet black horse.

Some ten years later, Lloyds Bank merged with the TSB and became Lloyds TSB -- although I still, determinedly, continued to refer to it by its old name of Lloyds. At around the same time, the logo underwent a transformation. The 'real' black horse morphed into a mere representation of a horse, bearing more than a passing resemblance to the white horse at Uffington. And, of course, the television advertising no longer featured the beautiful, galloping specimen.

Now, in 2013, it appears that we have come full circle. Lloyds Bank and the TSB have disentangled themselves once more. The old fashioned Lloyds black horse has been reinstated (I wonder how much the advertising company charged for that stroke of genius?). And, what's really funny is that all of this is being marketed as if it's completely novel and has never been thought of before.

But I remember back to pre-1995 when the situation was exactly as it is now in 2013 -- and I'm not that old, so I'm sure plenty of others remember too. Funny old world...

Fireworks -- now and then

We went to see a fireworks display at the weekend. It was great fun -- lots of food stalls, activities for the kids, live music, a laser light show, and a bonfire. And, yes, the fireworks were good too. A really professional display with lots of impressive fireworks set off in very quick succession, creating quite a picture.

My only complaint about fireworks these days is that they're over so quickly. When I was a kid, there were very few professional displays, so it was usually a case of going round to a friend's house where there was a big garden and intrepid parents. There was a bonfire (often barely under control), hot chocolate and undercooked jacket potatoes, and sparklers. But the fireworks display always took an inordinate amount of time because the fireworks were set off very slowly one at a time by adults who didn't know what they were doing. And, of course, many of the fireworks that you could buy in those days simply didn't go off at all. But it all added to the atmosphere.

There was a bit of a health and safety issue back in those days, of course. Uncontrolled fire, incompetent people in charge of fireworks, children running around unchecked. It wasn't so great, after all, but it's always interesting to compare now with then, particularly where health and safety is concerned.

Scooby Dooby Doo!

My kids were watching Scooby Doo on TV recently. I always rather approve of this, since I used to watch Scooby Doo on TV as a kid as well, and have good memories of it. The mystery; the constant sparring between Scooby and Shaggy; the denouement at the end that invariably seemed to involve the dramatic unmasking of the manager of the theme park/hotel/museum/whatever...

In a break in cooking the evening meal, I sat down with my kids to catch a bit of the programme. It all looked pretty familiar, but then I realised that something wasn't quite right... Scooby and Shaggy were poring over a laptop. Well, laptops sure as hell didn't exist in the 70s when I used to watch! And then I realised that Scooby was talking. Yes, talking. Not the grunts that he used to come out with, but actual, complex conversation!

Well, well. My nostalgia trip was shattered. Scooby Doo had been revamped. Today's series may look similar to, but it certainly isn't the same as, the original that I grew up with. It seems strange in a way. Why not stick with the original rather than update it? Or create something entirely different and new instead?

Cameras: an indicator of age?!

Another age related post—this seems to be becoming something of a theme!

This time it’s about cameras.

I was sitting in a work meeting the other day when someone announced that he would be willing to take a photo of the group using a “film camera”. Shock, horror! It was apparent that this guy considered this type of camera to be something rather unusual, something rather old fashioned, in fact. And it transpired that it’s a hobby of his to take photos with a film camera.

The thing is, although I’ve used a digital camera for some years now, still, when I think about it, this seems a little strange to me. I grew up before digital cameras were around and so my first cameras were, inevitably, non-digital. I still occasionally find it odd that, in order to view my holiday snaps, I no longer need to get a film developed.

Quite the opposite was true for my colleague, of course.

I suppose that’s the outcome of working with a group of people the majority of whom are (at least) ten years younger than me...

The problem with hospitals: a very personal experience

My elderly mother recently had a spell in hospital. It was a pretty standard story for someone who is almost eighty--she fell while doing some cleaning at home, couldn't get up again and had to call 999. She was diagnosed with a fractured hip and had to have an operation to mend the fracture, which necessitated her staying in hospital for a short period.

We are hearing a lot at the moment about the poor state that our hospitals are in--how A&E departments are near breaking point, how low standards of care can be. My experience of my mother's spell in hospital gave me a very personal perspective on this state of affairs.

I live a two-hour drive away from my mother and I am the only relative (my mother has no other children and she divorced years ago). This means that all responsibility in this kind of situation falls on me. I don't mind this at all, but it does mean that I need people to be understanding and, sometimes, flexible.

The visiting hours on my mother's ward were 2.30 until 4.30. I needed to visit my mother during the week (as soon as possible after she'd been admitted) so that I could see her and collect some things that she needed from her flat. I also needed to be back home in time to pick up my kids from school. So, visiting hours of 2.30 until 4.30 were no good to me at all. I explained all this over the phone to the staff nurse (Jan) and she said that she couldn't give me permission to visit outside visiting hours on my planned day because she wouldn't be there then. She advised that I ring the ward before I set off on the day that I planned to visit to check with the staff nurse on duty then that it would be alright for me to come.

I did exactly as I was told--rang the ward number before I left. The ward phone was answered by an answerphone telling me that the ward couldn't take routine patient enquiries between 7 and 11.30 am (!) but that if my call was an emergency, I could ring an alternative number.

I rang the alternative, emergency number...and rang and rang. I must have tried about six times before I left and then again several times en route. The phone was never picked up. And this was the EMERGENCY line!!

When I eventually arrived at the ward, I was met by rude and unhelpful staff. They implied that I was lying, saying there was no staff nurse with the name of Jan who worked on the ward, and denying that the phone was never answered. I did get to see my mother in the end, but only after a lot of arguing on my part. The whole experience left me feeling angry, frustrated and sad.

While I understand that hospitals are overstretched and that the primary role of staff must be to care for patients rather than to worry about relatives, I do expect that wards should be answering their emergency phone lines. I also expect to be treated with courtesy and respect by ward staff, even more so when I have exactly followed the instructions that I have been given by the nurse in charge. If ward staff fail to treat relatives--people who can fend for themselves--with courtesy and respect, then one seriously wonders about the attitude they adopt towards patients--the people for whom they are meant to be caring.

Physical decline and the forties

A few weeks ago I wrote a blog post about being “of a certain age”, meaning that being in my forties, I now find that there are certain elements of culture that are only meaningful to my generation, and not to the generation behind mine. We are no longer the youngest adults on the block.

But this doesn’t only apply to things cultural. It also applies to things physical, unfortunately.

I’m pretty fit and healthy on the whole. I eat wholesome food, exercise several times a week, don’t smoke, drink little, etc., etc... And yet, when I turned forty a few years back, I found that things began to go downhill. My eyesight took a turn for the worse—suddenly I found that I needed specs to read the smaller print on things like menus, recipes and maps. (The optician who I consulted reassuringly told me that “at my age” this was just to be expected.) I made jokes about needing to wear my glasses on a string around my neck so that they were always available should I need them. But, slave to fashion that I am, I opted in reality for the ‘hipper’ alternative of keeping a spare pair in my handbag so that I could whip them out as and when required.

It’s not just eyes, though. There are other niggling gripes. Sore lower back, on and off. Poor circulation (in the case of another forty something who I know).  Odd aches and pains that come and go. I don’t remember these kinds of things back in my twenties... Neither do my friends who are of a similar age and who are experiencing a similar kind of decline.

I was struck by Penelope Lively’s comment in How it all Began that in old age pain is a "constant companion". So, the slippery slope begins at forty and apparently continues unremittingly into painful old age.

We forty somethings have a lot to look forward to, then!

Friday I'm in love...and other ruminations

I was walking to work on Friday and, as usual, I took a shortcut through the local shopping centre. They often have music playing over the PA system there and this morning it was "Friday I’m in Love" by the Cure. 

Highly appropriate in day-of-the-week terms, at least. But it made me smile because when I was a teenager, back in the 1980s, the Cure was one of my favourite bands. ("Dressed up to the eyes/It's a wonderful surprise/To see your shoes and your spirits rise..." Not an easy line to beat, I reckon.) And you don’t hear the Cure's music that often these days--certainly not in a shopping centre.

All of this got me thinking about age and about context. How many people, I wondered, would recognise this Cure song, or indeed any Cure song? Certainly not the majority of today’s youth. They’re just too--well--young. And the Cure was, of course, an indie band (yep, I was alternative back then), so it’s in fact rather ironic to hear their music playing somewhere as mundane and mainstream as a shopping centre.

On Radio 4’s Today programme the other day, one of the presenters referred to “those of us of a certain age” who would remember only too well the '80s image of Nick Cayman stripping off in a launderette to the tune of “I heard it through the Grapevine”. For people not of that age, he added, YouTube could no doubt assist.

That placed me, time wise. Same with my Cure experience on Friday. Apparently I've now reached  “a certain age”. In the past I've always interpreted that expression as referring to people who can no longer be described as young. And that group now includes me, it seems...

Scary!

The National Trust and Cadbury: an utterly commercial partnership

Last weekend my family and I visited one of our local National Trust haunts—Basildon Park—and our kids did the Easter trail there. These NT Easter trails are something that we’ve only recently started doing (just last year, I think), even though our kids have been around for over ten years now and even though we are regular NT visitors. I’m not sure why it’s taken us so long, really.

However, having started doing the trails, I am always rather stuck by their incongruity. They are an utterly commercial exercise. Sponsored by Cadbury, the staff greet you in large, attention-attracting tents, emblazoned with the word ‘Cadbury’ and the company’s logo. You pay a couple of pounds per child to enter and the aim (from your point of view) is to find all the clues that are hidden in the grounds of the house. Your prize, once you have completed the trail, is, naturally, a Cadbury’s egg.

The aim from Cadbury’s point of view is, presumably, some very well placed advertising. Strike a deal with an organisation that has sites countrywide which are visited by lots of people with kids over the Easter weekend and, hey presto!, you’re in the sights of a shed load of young potential customers, most of whom just LOVE chocolate.

Neat idea.

But the incongruity for me lies in the difference between the NT of today and the NT that I knew and loved as a child growing up in the seventies. I touched on this a while ago in a blog post that I wrote about NT tea rooms. Back when I was a kid, the NT was a dusty, old fashioned organisation that got very few visitors through the doors of its houses, even on bank holiday weekends. No point in Cadbury teaming up with the Trust in those days. But now, the NT’s sites are teaming with visitors, so much so that at peak times you have to queue up for entry and you don’t stand a chance of getting a table in the tea room—unless you happen to have extremely sharp elbows!

The National Trust has become an utterly commercial, utterly twenty-first century money-making machine. And its collaboration with Cadbury simply epitomises this.

When we were leaving Basildon Park at around 3pm, I heard the Cadbury staff turning one hopeful Easter trailer away. “We’re at capacity for this weekend,” they said. In other words, they’d run out of eggs. Much the same might be said of the Trust, I thought, with a rueful smile.